Twenty Grand (4 page)

I said I didn't think I could make it.

He was angry. He stood up and yelled in the empty dining room that I'd wasted his night but that he wouldn't let me waste his night. Then he yelled some other things, about how he'd brought champagne from home and bought a new portable radio. Boris was swaying, and there was beer spilled on his shirt. I said I was sorry. He said he didn't care if I was sorry or not. I went back to the bathroom and stayed there awhile. I counted my tips a few more times. Then I went into the kitchen to ask Dina for a ride. It was late, and I'd thought perhaps she would have been gone, but she was there. She had her black coat on, and all her things in a bag. When I asked her for the ride, she stared. Her black hair was pulled back, her face looked gaunt, and she had the purple lipstick on. She didn't answer right away. When she did she just said, Call a cab.

 

T
HE NEXT MORNING
when I came downstairs, Jean was eating a muffin at the kitchen table and Jessica was making tea. They said, in gentle voices, that they were glad I'd come home. Then they said that I should probably live somewhere else.

But the day was bright, and by our third hour on the beach together, they'd hugged me, forgiven me, and told me they didn't want me to leave.

We're not stupid, you know, Jessica said. Especially when it seems like someone gross asked you to do something gross, and it seems like you said yes, and then it seems like you changed your mind.

I knew you wouldn't do it, Jean said. I was just mad you considered it. And I wasn't mad, it was more I was concerned for your health.

Your mental health, Jessica said.

Not to mention your soul, Jean said.

Sometimes times are hard, Jessica said. But you still have to play the game right.

I nodded. Then I lay down on one of their towels, drank a bottle of their juice-water, and put some of their suntan lotion on.

At three o'clock, Jean went up to the house, and when she came back, she was yelling, Yahoo! Yahoo!

Jessica wriggled up onto her elbows and shaded her eyes. My sister's lost her mind, she said.

Jean yelled, Our dad's stocks are healthy again!

Yahoo! Jessica said.

Healthier than they've ever been!

Jessica turned to me. He was really worried, she said. He was so worried he could barely do number two.

And we're getting our car! Jean said.

Jessica's hands shot up. Yahoo! she yelled. Yahoo, Yahoo, Yahoo!

And, Jean said, I saved the best for last. She looked at me. Are you ready?

I nodded.

He reduced the second half of the summer's rent! He cut it right in half and then he cut it in half again!

That's terrific, I said.

Jean touched my arm. I told you not to worry, she said.

 

T
HAT NIGHT
we arrived late to the restaurant. Dina was setting the tables for dinner, and her white shirt had the same patch of dried grenadine on the pocket that it had had on it the night before. She was walking funny, taking tiny steps around the room, walking without moving her hips. Also, it looked like someone had punched her in the mouth.

In the kitchen, Jessica's eyes went wide. Wow, she said.

Jean nodded. I don't feel bad for her, she whispered.

Jessica put a hand on Jean's.

That night Dina was slow serving customers and she got stiffed twice. Boris stayed in the kitchen, and didn't get drunk while he cooked or yell at us for not picking up our meals right away. He mostly stayed in the back, chopping things.

The next day I came down with the flu. I was sick for a week. When I recovered, the twins told me that during my absence, the Swedish couple had come in to eat lunch at the restaurant and Dina had told them to get out. According to the dishwasher, the Swedish couple had simply walked into the dining room, and Dina had told them to get out. She'd also said other things. Boris, who'd been listening from the kitchen, came in and made Dina take the rest of the day off. Then he served the Swedish couple their meals himself, and gave them their drinks for free. The dishwasher, who'd listened from the hall, said the Swedish couple hadn't been angry at Dina, and that they'd even argued on Dina's behalf—they'd said that a child's illness could make anyone crazy, and that they'd each gone crazy several times themselves for less compelling reasons, and that therefore Dina should be forgiven. Boris had told them not to think about it. She already was, he said.

Soon after Dina was let go from the restaurant, he took me aside. The twins had gone back to the college, I'd stayed on to finish the season's last few weeks, and the Christmas Inn seemed different without them—familial. Boris said a lot of things had happened that summer, and that he hoped he and I were okay. I nodded. He said Dina had wanted to leave the restaurant. I nodded again. He'd employed her fourteen years, he said. But sometimes people needed changes in scenery, and not all business relationships lasted forever. Plus, lately—his finger rose into the air and made a little circle near his head. I nodded. He thrust an envelope into my hand. The envelope had some paper in it, but I couldn't tell if it was money, or a long letter. Boris wished me well at college. His T-shirt had hardened crusty yellow armpits, and he looked tired. But he smiled. I hope you also know, he said, that whatever happens at school, you can always come back here. He put his arm around me and squeezed. He said, We'll make a place.

I
COULDN
'
T BELIEVE
we were getting away, my friend and I—sister, if you like. She was my sister. Somehow she'd gotten a car. It was one of those twenty-year-old Chevrolets or Lincoln Town Cars, it was like a boat, by which I mean I can see why people say those cars are like boats. The outside was cream with teak paneling, the seats were pale leather and somewhat cold even though the sun was shining, and the inside was big and tall enough to climb around in. I'd been on a boat once, and it had flown up and down the river beyond my control.

My sister picked me up on a street downtown, not a street near the home, so we were really getting away. For years I had written her letters, begging her to help me get out. I never doubted she would. We'd always helped each other no matter what. When she lived in the home, she argued with anyone who wanted to hit me and sometimes she combed my hair. And before we were in the home, when she shot the man, we said I did it. That was her idea, because I was younger. We both wanted him dead. And I probably would have done it myself, if I wasn't so scared of him and if I wasn't only six. I didn't mind, because for so long we were together in the home. Then she got out. She was gone. I waited as long as I could. Then I wrote letters. They weren't very good letters, but they expressed my desire that she help me get out of the home. When she didn't answer, I wrote more letters. Eventually she wrote, Don't contact me again. I wrote very small, short letters. She wrote, Don't write me again. Then I wrote that I would really rather die than stay in the home and she said that she would get me to the interstate. All we needed to do, she said, was get me to the interstate. I'd jumped from the roof, taken the dog path, and waited downtown near the gun store, where she'd told me to wait. Now I was sitting in the back. She was sitting in the front. I would have done anything for her. She was going fast. My idea was, we should go both far and fast, so we would really get away, but I noticed we were circling through the town. I didn't understand why.

I said, Do we need gas?

Yes, she said. We need gas.

I still hoped we might get out of town before we got the gas, but ahead was a red light, and that's when I saw the homeless men. There were two, by the light, and by the way they were standing I knew they'd try to get in the car. It's not that I hate homeless men and wish they were dead. It's more I know they hate me and wish I were dead.

Lock the door, I said. Then I pressed the lock myself. It was a long silver knob on the door. When I pushed it, it only went a little way down. My sister didn't say anything, but I felt safe because I thought the doors were locked. My sister had a determined look on her face. I thought she was determined we would get away. As soon as she stopped at the light, both homeless men walked toward the car. I felt scared, but I thought what would happen was that they'd try to open the door and be humiliated, because the doors would be locked. The door next to me opened. I wanted to close it but if I did it would shut on the man's groin and I knew that would make him mad. He got in the car. The other one got in the front.

These are the kind of locks where you have to push them down really far, my sister said, pushing one down really far to illustrate. We were still at the red light.

Thanks for not slamming the door on me, the homeless man next to me said. That would have hurt.

No problem, I said.

You know those handicapped buses? he said.

I nodded.

Well, he said, now they have doors that open up really suddenly, so all the handicapped people trying to get inside get knocked on their asses.

I nodded. He wasn't handicapped but I guessed he was probably friends with a lot of handicapped people, because he was homeless.

The light turned green and my sister took off. She was going really fast now, and finally we were beginning to drive through the town. We were flying along the dark two-lane road that passes the town hall, the old fire station, and the abandoned ski area, and the leaves of all the old trees were hanging above and blocking the sun overhead, a pale sun going down. The homeless man up front was having a conversation with my sister about something that had happened to him when he was homeless. The one who'd been next to me was moving around the car.

Look, I said to my sister, even though she was clearly having a conversation with someone else, we've got to get rid of them.

How? she said.

Both men looked at me. The tall one, who was telling my sister a story, had stiff red hair all around his face and a long wrinkled white nose. He was thin and wearing jeans and a red plaid shirt. The one who'd been next to me had a squat yellow face, yellow hair, and tiny lips the size of baby lips.

I crawled to the front of the car. Look, I said, to the one with the red hair, we have things to do.

We do? he said.

No, I said. My sister and I have things to do.

Oh, he said.

So we're dropping you off, I said.

Okay, he said. He rubbed his long white nose. Then he pulled his red beard.

My sister looked back at me. She said, Is it okay if we drop them off near the home?

No, I said. No way. We're not going near the home. We're dropping them off downtown.

So she turned around and drove back downtown, slowed by the village store, and pulled over in front of it. They got out. They didn't look at me. They just stood as if waiting, facing the road, with their hands in their pockets.

Drive, I said to my sister, and she drove. We're getting out, I said. We can't stop for any more lights.

All right, she said.

We need to go fast, I said.

All right, she said.

I was worried. Already time had passed, and at any minute I expected to see squad cars blocking the road and signs telling us to stop, or telling people to stop us; and it might have been, although I hoped it wasn't, already too late to get onto the interstate.

Don't worry, my sister said, and she began to drive fast and circle through the town.

I want to get out of town, I said.

All right, she said.

But up ahead was the light, the same one as before, and the homeless men were waiting by it.

Don't stop, I said.

All right, she said. But I do have to slow down.

I locked the door. The lock was the kind where you push one and they all go down, and this time I pushed the lock all the way down. But when the car slowed down at the light, just at the moment when I expected the homeless men to be humiliated, they opened the doors and got in.

The locks don't work, my sister said.

The tall one was next to her again, and the squat dumb-looking blond one with the tiny lips was next to me. I say dumb-looking, but he looked dumb in a sly way, as if he'd already pulled several over on me.

Thanks for letting me in, he said.

All right, I said.

I knew I couldn't say anything else because he was already in the car. I was angry at my sister for slowing down at the light, and for not being a good enough driver to get us away from the homeless men.

Can we at least get out of town? I said.

Sure, my sister said, we'll get out of town, but we need gas.

Oh, I said.

I didn't have any money. Also I didn't want to get gas, I wanted to get out of town; but I knew the car wouldn't work without gas, and already it was slowing down, like it needed gas.

I have a dollar, the tall redhead said, and he put his hand in his pocket and withdrew a dirty dollar from his jeans.

I have another dollar, the sly dumb-faced man said.

All tolled, the homeless men had three dollars and fifty cents. We used it to buy gas. I had a plan to get in the driver's seat at the gas station and take off with my sister before the homeless men got back in the car, but they were quick and got back in the car before I could do it. Also they were grinning at me as if they'd known what I'd been planning to do, and they probably did.

All I wanted to do was get on the interstate. But a lot of time had passed, and now, I knew, it might be too late.

Look, I said to the homeless men. You need to get out. You don't belong in the car.

The dumb, sly-faced one looked at me.

We don't? he said.

No, I said.

Okay, he said, we'll get out of the car.

My sister kept driving.

But we won't get out of the car, he said, because we're homeless.

I don't care, I said. You don't live here.

We don't live anywhere, he said.

Die then, I said. But not in this car.

We won't die, he said. We don't do that. We're homeless, but we're not dead.

We were driving along the same street as before, the one with the trees that hung over the road and blocked up the sun, and it wasn't a road that led to the interstate.

They paid for the gas, my sister said, and I saw that her hand was on the tall one's shoulder. Plus, she said, they're already in the car.

Well don't drive here, I said, because the sky was dark and the crows were hauling by overhead and the road we were on led to the top of the abandoned ski area. Drive somewhere where it's light, I said.

It's too late, my sister said again.

She was still in conversation with the taller, more handsome, redheaded homeless man about some event that happened to him years ago and I realized that while I had been busy trying to save us, I should have been trying to make friends. My sister is a wuss and will be nice to anyone who has a knife to her throat, whereas I am more honest and will tell the truth. I don't know why I do that; perhaps because of where I am from, which is the coldest part of New England. My sister is from there too, but since she left the home and lived somewhere else, she had escaped. I wanted to tell her what a liar she was, and how unfair it was that she was making me look like the only one who was afraid, but it was pointless to say that because the knife was already in the dumb-looking one's lap. It wasn't too big—it was only as long as the top half of his leg—but it was wide.

As soon as I noticed the knife, the tall redheaded man looked back and said, I think not all four of us can get onto the interstate.

The dumb-looking one looked at me. Sorry, he said.

My sister was still driving up the old wooded hill that led to the back of the abandoned ski area and she was looking forward without saying much, I think because she had known all along everything that was going to happen. Or maybe she'd wanted to save me, and thought it might not be too late. We had been sisters ever since we were born and it was in her nature to help out anyone she could, so that might have been the case. But now the tall redheaded homeless man had his hand on her arm and he was pointing toward a dirt road in the pines.

I like your sister, the sly, dumb-looking one said.

I nodded.

There really wasn't time, my sister said.

We could have driven faster, I said.

I drove pretty fast, she said.

In circles, I said.

At least she drove, the redheaded one said.

My sister kept driving. That's it then, I said, trying to be casually funny, I give up on the interstate. I was planning to jump out of the car. My sister pushed a button. The button was on the dash. After she pushed it, I tried to open my door.

Door doesn't work, my sister said.

It worked before, I said.

Temperamental, she said.

You pushed a button, I said.

She shrugged. She was very beautiful. She had long dark hair and was pale and thin. I'm only doing this, she said reasonably, because I want to live.

What?

She looked straight ahead.

They threatened you? I said. I meant them, the people in the house that she'd helped me escape.

Well no, she said. They didn't. But I just knew they'd be happy if I did it.

Oh, I said.

All those letters, she said. Wah wah wah. You should have shut up and waited it out.

I know, I said. All those years, I'd never realized how annoying my letters were. As I said, my sister had been in the house for a long time herself, but she'd waited it out and then scrambled around and led a miserable life, and now she had a pretty good position in the state, and I had thought she could help, even though by writing the letters I knew I was reminding anyone who happened to read the letters that once we lived together in the house.

Sorry about the letters, I said.

She looked out the window. She watched the firs fall past and the clustered black dots in the triangular valleys below. You always have a problem, she said. You need to buck up. I'm not even your sister.

You're not? I said.

No, she said.

We came to the top of the hill. The road was a dirt path. She parked next to a pine. I guessed no one had alerted the police after all, about our escape. My sister got out with the redhead and told the sly, dumb-looking one that they were going to find a spot.

He nodded.

Stay with her, my sister said. Then she walked with the redhead toward the woods.

The dumb-looking one slid closer. What are you thinking? he said.

I was thinking about my moves. I had three, but none of them was very good. Plus, the knife was on his lap. His blond hair was damp and his lips were pursed. He wasn't touching the knife but he was looking at me, and when he looked at me I knew that I was slow and he was fast. While I was thinking, I heard a shot in the woods. When I heard the shot I felt a gladness in my heart, because I don't like homeless men. Then I felt sad because I guessed he'd wanted to live. I realized my sister would kill us all because she wanted to live. I looked at the dumb one. He was studying me.

I love you, I said.

You do? he said.

Yes, I said. Very much.

You love me? he said.

From the moment I saw you, I said.

If I find out you're lying, he said, I'll kill you myself.

I'm not, I said. I convinced him to start the car. I pointed out that we'd both heard a shot. I said that it was time to leave. He started the car and backed it up.