Even if she could explain to Connie what she had seen, what if her father went to jail for a long time? Then what would happen to her? Why would Connie care? Back to Benton? Back to another foster family. Maybe back to the same foster family she was with when she was little, before she got to live with her father all the time. Never.
She tried to think of who else she could call. Her mother? No. She didnt know where she was, hadnt heard a peep from her since she ran away with Jimmy. When she tried to bring up the topic of her mother with her father, his lips would press into a thin tight line and he would pull Jenny close to him. You dont want to think about that now. Youre safe. No one will hurt you ever again. I promise. Jenny thought about telling him that she wasnt ever really afraid of her mother. Her mothers boyfriend, yes. And even he wasnt always such a bad guy, but when he was mean he was really mean. Besides, she wanted to tell him, there were many kinds of hurt. There was, of course, the pain of being beaten, but there was also the ache that stretched itself across your belly when you realized that your mother was never coming back. Jenny also wanted to tell her father, but wasnt quite sure how to put it into words, that the very worst kind of hurt was the kind that wasnt there yet, but you knew was slowly creeping toward you.
In the seat across the aisle, the rumpled man wearing the camouflage jacket stood, his knees crackling as he rose and stretched his arms above his head. Unsmiling, he nodded at her as he stepped into the aisle and wedged his way through the narrow bathroom door.
Jenny bent over and unzipped her fathers duffel bag, hoping to find something, anything that would help her get out of this mess. She riffled past two pairs of jeans, four shirts, underwear, a pair of dress pants that shed never seen before, a disposable razor, deodorant and a box of condoms. Jenny recoiled. She never actually thought of her father having sex, but of course he did, with all the women who came in and out of their apartment over the years. She learned all about condoms on the school bus while eavesdropping on a conversation between two middle-school girls. It unrolls right over it, a girl with purple streaks in her hair and a mouth filled with braces explained to her skeptical seatmate with canary-yellow hair and eyes heavily lined with black makeup. The two girls looked up to find Jenny peeking over the seat. The two began giggling, huddled more closely together, lowered their voices and resumed their conversation, but Jenny could still hear.
Jenny pushed the box of condoms to the bottom of the bag and turned her attention to an overstuffed manila envelope that was sealed shut. She pulled it out of the duffel bag and turned it over in her hands. The envelope was wrinkled and battered and there was no writing on the outside to indicate what the contents were. Jenny was picking at the red string that was wound tightly around a small, round metal clasp at the top of the envelope when she felt someone settle in the seat next to her. Startled, Jenny looked up to find the plump man wearing khaki pants in the seat next to her. You looked lonely back here all by yourself, he said with a wide grin that showed a set of small, straight white teeth. Tic Tacs came to Jennys mind. You hungry? Ive got trail mix. He produced a baggie filled with nuts, dried fruit and chocolate chips and shook it at her like she could be lured like a hungry puppy.
Jenny shook her head. Excuse me, she said, I need to go to the bathroom.
Someones already in there, the man said. He didnt look so good. He might be in there for a while. Jenny looked around the bus, hoping to get someones attention, but the other passengers were near the front of the bus. Shed have to yell and what did she have to holler about? A man with trail mix? A pink flush had risen up the mans neck and he leaned in closely to Jenny so that she could feel his breath on her cheek. His short, pudgy fingers released the plastic bag and it dropped heavily into her lap. Before the man could retrieve the bag and just as the man in the army jacket emerged from the bathroom Jenny stood up, causing dried cranberries and peanuts to spill to the floor.
Jeez, she exclaimed. Took you long enough, Uncle Mike. Jenny squeezed past the surprised man in the seat next to her and quickly stepped into the bathroom, slammed the door and slid the lock into place. Jenny breathed a sigh of relief. If the man in the army coat was surprised at being called uncle, he didnt let on and she hoped that he wouldnt tell the creepy man with the trail mix otherwise. The bathroom was tiny and dimly lit. Realizing she really did have to go to the bathroom, she set the manila envelope she was carrying carefully on the edge of the small sink, spread toilet paper around the rim of the toilet seat as her father had always told her to do. When Jenny was finished and had washed her hands, she found that she was hesitant to open the door and return to her seat, worried that the strange man was still there and that the army jacket man had told him that he wasnt really her uncle. She could stay where she was, ensconced within the stuffy, narrow walls of the bathroom and wait until the bus stopped or return to her seat where her book bag and fathers duffel, and possibly the weird man waited for her. There was a sudden knock on the bathroom door, causing Jenny to jump and forcing her decision. Jenny slowly opened the door and found the grouchy old woman in the red-and-pink sundress waiting outside.
Everything okay? the woman asked. I thought you fell in.
Im okay, Jenny murmured, ducking past her, relieved to see that the khaki man had returned to his own seat. She avoided eye contact with Uncle Mike, slid into her seat and dropped the manila envelope damp from her sweaty fingers on the chair next to her. Sensing the weight of his stare upon her, Jenny finally looked up to meet his gaze.
He leaned slightly toward her and whispered conspiratorially, By the way, its Uncle Dave. Jenny responded with a limp smile and returned her attention to the unopened envelope.
She tried to imagine what could be inside. She often played this game with wrapped birthday and Christmas presents, with unopened doors. Maybe there was a treasure map in the envelope with clues to a buried treasure, but the chance of a pirates booty ending up in Iowa was not a good bet. Maybe there was a wad of money inside, enough for her to buy a bus ticket so that she could get back to Benton and get her father out of jail. Someone was always bailing someone out of jail on television. She could imagine herself walking into the police station, wearing her blue-jean skirt and her best polo shirt. Soft pink and sporting an alligator emblem, she saved this shirt for the most special of occasions: school concerts, holidays, and now for bailing her father out of jail. Here, she would say importantly as she slapped the money down on the counter. Billy Briard is coming with me now. The policeman behind the counter would be impressed and quickly bring her father to her.
If you just open it youll find out whats inside, the man in camouflage offered. Though Jenny saw the wisdom in this, she was undecided. Inside the envelope could be something awful, the evidence of a terrible crime, some apparently deadly powder that is always being sent in the mail to courthouses and important people. But, even worse, there could be nothing inside. Nothing of value anyway. Receipts or bills or boring clippings from the newspaper. She dared a look at her newly acquired Uncle Dave. He was staring expectantly at her as if saying, Just open it already. Jenny unwound the red string and pushed back the flap. Peering inside the envelope she could see that she was right on almost all counts. There was no toxic powder, but the envelope held a map, a wad of money and a stack of smaller envelopes held together with a thick rubber band.
If you just open it youll find out whats inside, the man in camouflage offered. Though Jenny saw the wisdom in this, she was undecided. Inside the envelope could be something awful, the evidence of a terrible crime, some apparently deadly powder that is always being sent in the mail to courthouses and important people. But, even worse, there could be nothing inside. Nothing of value anyway. Receipts or bills or boring clippings from the newspaper. She dared a look at her newly acquired Uncle Dave. He was staring expectantly at her as if saying, Just open it already. Jenny unwound the red string and pushed back the flap. Peering inside the envelope she could see that she was right on almost all counts. There was no toxic powder, but the envelope held a map, a wad of money and a stack of smaller envelopes held together with a thick rubber band.
You want me to call someone for you? Uncle Dave asked, wagging a cell phone toward her.
Jenny shook her head and held up her fathers phone. Im good. Thanks though. Uncle Dave looked at her thoughtfully for a moment nodded and closed his eyes. Jenny pulled out the folded map of Iowa. It had been folded and unfolded so many times it looked as if it would disintegrate at any moment. How far are we from Cedar City? Jenny asked suddenly, struck with a wonderfully, startling idea.
Uncle Dave opened one eye. Its the next stop, about an hour from here. He sat up, the narrow space between his eyes creased with worry. You getting off there? You sure youve got someone meeting you? What town are you getting off at?
Im getting off in Cedar City, Jenny answered, hope rising in her chest as the bus lumbered onward.
Whos meeting you at the station? Dave asked, his steadfast gaze making Jenny uncomfortable. She didnt like lying, especially to those who were nice to her, but it had never stopped her before.
My grandma, Jenny said, pinning her eyes to Daves. The quickest way for someone to figure out youre lying is if you look away when the hard questions are being asked. And, besides, she wasnt really lying, not really, she rationalized, thinking of the letter from her grandmother in the lavender envelope inside her backpack.
Dave didnt look convinced, but Jenny continued looking him in the eye until he sighed and reached for the phone she held in her hand. Give me your phone and Ill put my number in. If you need something, give me a call and Ill try and help if I can. Jenny reluctantly handed him the phone and he began punching numbers. Dont try and get so good at it. At Jennys confused look, he went on. Lying. Dont get so good at it that you forget whats real. Dave handed Jenny the phone and slumped back in his seat and closed his eyes.
Chapter 7
When I arrive at the familiarly ramshackle neighborhood, I am struck at how depressingly run-down it has gotten through the years. Burnt yellow lawns are edged with rusty metal fences, windows are boarded up and the ones that are intact are covered with grungy sheets or threadbare blankets.
Before I even turn onto Madison Street, I hear the sirens behind me. I pull to the side of the road to let a police car pass. Please just be precautionary, I say to myself, hoping that help hasnt arrived too late. I drive the final four blocks as people in the neighboring houses peek out screened windows and step out onto crumbling front steps to see whats happening. I stop three houses away, throw the van into Park and leap out and hit Lock on my key fob. The temperature has risen in just the few minutes Ive been driving; the oppressive air crawls heavily into my nostrils and sits like sludge in my chest. Two police cars are idling in front of the house and I rush up to the nearest officer, who has emerged from his squad car and is calmly surveying the house that looks eerily quiet, empty.
Without looking at me, the officer holds up his hand to silence me before I even speak.
Please stay back, he says.
Im Ellen Moore, the social worker. I called 911, I say, as if this explains everything.
He raises his eyebrows, finally looking me in the face. Sweat glistens on his bald forehead, his uniform already darkened with perspiration. Officer Stamm, he introduces himself. Then you probably know a lot more about whats going on in there than I do. Whats the situation?
I try to keep my voice composed, level, but it still shakes with fear. Manda Haskins lives here with her two children, Kylie who is seven and Krissie is four. Kylie called me a few minutes ago and said that her moms boyfriend, whom Manda has a temporary restraining order against, came over last night. Kylie said that this morning he started beating up their mother, so she and her little sister locked themselves in the bathroom and called me. We got disconnected and then I called you. Im afraid the boyfriend is done with the mom and now is going after the girls.
I dont have time to go into the entire all-too-familiar story of Manda Haskinss life with Officer Stamm. That Manda is twenty-five years old but still seems to always choose the wrong man. She may have been pretty once, but now Manda looks closer to forty than twenty-fivea meth addiction will do that to you. Her face is set in a permanent scowl. Manda lost custody of Kylie and Krissie two years ago when the police stopped her van and found that she was housing a mobile meth lab inside. She swore that her boyfriend was the one who placed all the drug paraphernalia in the back. In return for testifying against the boyfriend and admitting herself into an inpatient drug treatment center, Manda avoided jail time. In foster care the two children did well and all thought that Manda had done the work. Gotten clean, gotten a job. Id hoped for so much more for Manda and her girls, but apparently her self-improvement didnt extend to her choice in men.
Any weapons in the house that you know about? Officer Stamm asks.
I shake my head. No. I mean I dont know. Have you been able find out whats going on inside?
Not yet. Were going to walk around the house, take a look in the windows, see if we can hear anything. Have you tried to call the kids back? Stamm asks.
No, I say. I was afraid if the phone started ringing it might lead the boyfriend to where Kylie and Krissie are hiding. Should I call now?
Yeah, go ahead. Well walk around the perimeter and see if we can hear a phone ringing. That might give us an idea of where the kids are. If the kids or the mom answer, try to find out the status of the situation and keep them on the line. Stamm and the other officer begin to make their way around the house and I scroll through my received calls to find the number that Kylie called me from, hit Send and the phone goes directly to voice mail. Stamm looks at me over his shoulder and I shake my head in disappointment. He rotates his hand in a keep-trying gesture. I scan my phone looking for Mandas contact information. In the back of my mind I remember that at one time she had a landline number as well as a cell phone. I locate the number, press Send and an instant later I can hear the faint trill of a phone ringing from within the house.
A woman, a neighbor I presume, sidles up next to me. Whats going on? she asks. I give her a cursory look. She is wearing flip-flops, flannel boxers, a tank top and holds a crusty-nosed toddler on her hip.
Im sorry, I cant talk right now, I say to her, and take two steps toward the house. The phone continues to ring and ring. Whats going on? the woman asks again, this time more insistently. The boy in her arms begins to giggle, a strange sound amid such a tense situation. I turn to face the woman and immediately recognize her as one my former clients, a woman whose son was removed from her home because of severe neglect. Jade, Anthony, I say. I give the little boys bare foot a squeeze and he smiles shyly back at me before burying his face in his mothers shoulder. I lower my phone down to my side as it continues to ring, unanswered from within the house. Its Manda Haskins. The police are afraid that shes got some trouble in there and are worried about her girls.