Boy Who Shoots Crows (9781101552797) (31 page)

Then Livvie said, “Is it okay if I come in?”

Charlotte turned away from her desk. “Oh, hi. You're up. Come in, come in and sit down.”

Livvie remained standing just inside the threshold. “Did I really sleep for five hours?”

“You really did.”

“And it was this morning we talked to the sheriff? Not yesterday?”

“Same day,” Charlotte said with a smile. The pounding inside her head had stopped. Livvie stood in the wide archway with the afternoon light from the kitchen filling the space behind her, and all around her, tiny motes of dust moved up and down in the yellow light, rising and falling in their unpredictable orbits.

“Thank you for everything,” Livvie said.

“For what? I didn't do anything.”

“It's a lot to me.”

“Well . . . I'm glad to hear that. And you're very welcome.”

Neither woman spoke for a while. Charlotte sat there smiling, watching Livvie, who appeared deep in thought. Then Livvie said, “Is that Hawaiian music?”

“By way of Beverly Hills,” Charlotte said. “Hawaiian, calypso, a little reggae thrown in . . . Do you like it?”

“I do.”

“I'll make you a copy.”

Livvie smiled, but Charlotte could tell that the young woman's thoughts were already elsewhere. Then Livvie said, “I think I'll head back now and get things straightened up.”

“You can't go back there,” Charlotte said.

Livvie only looked at her.

Charlotte swung around fully in her chair. “Is the trailer in your name?”

“No,” Livvie said. “Why?”

“You don't own it and you're not really married. So legally you have no rights there. Legally he could have you arrested for trespassing if he wants to.” Charlotte knew that this was not wholly accurate, that Livvie and Denny's relationship could be considered a common-law marriage, but she saw no reason to discuss those points.

“But the sheriff said he'd put a thing out for him. An APB.”

“That's just it,” said Charlotte. “Let's say he slips back here and goes to the trailer and finds you there. Do you think he's going to be pleased to know that you filed charges against him?”

“But everything I own is back there.”

Charlotte thought for a moment, then stood. “We'll go back together. You get everything you need, we come back here, and in a day or two, when we know he's in jail and not getting out, then maybe we can find some way to get you back into your trailer.”

“I'm the one who paid for it,” Livvie said. “I give Denny money every month.”

“Wait a minute,” Charlotte said. “You've been living there thirteen, fourteen years? And you're still paying on that trailer?”

“Denny had to borrow against it. When he bought his truck.”

“That's what he told you?”

Livvie nodded. “The payments are three hundred dollars a month, he said.”

Charlotte crossed to her and put her arms around her and held her close in the yellow light. “We'll get it all straightened out,” she said. Livvie stood with her hands at her sides but leaned her head close, and Charlotte laid a hand to Livvie's hair, pressed the side of her head against Livvie's. “Don't worry, okay? I'll get it all straightened out for you.”

C
HARLOTTE went into the trailer first, walked from the front to the back, and looked into every room. Then she returned to the front door, where Livvie stood waiting. “It's okay,” Charlotte said.

The first thing Livvie did was clean up the bloody tissues she had left crumpled on the sofa. She carried them into the kitchen and put them in the trash. Then she noticed a dirty plate and cup and fork on the kitchen table. She put them in the sink and turned on the hot water and reached for the bottle of dish detergent. Charlotte stepped up beside her and took the bottle of orange liquid from her hand. “I'll clean up. You go pack your things.”

Livvie stood motionless for a few moments, then turned away and started for the bedroom. Then she remembered something and came back to the kitchen and opened a cabinet. She took out a blue plastic cup, looked into it, and placed it back on the shelf.

“He took Jesse's lunch money,” she said.

“How much?” Charlotte asked.

“It was only ten dollars or so. But if he took the rest . . .” She turned away and walked quickly toward the rear of the trailer. Charlotte shut off the water and dried her hands and followed.

When Charlotte came to the doorway of Jesse's room, Livvie already had the twin mattress lifted halfway off the bed. “Can you hold this up for me?” she asked. Charlotte put both hands on the mattress and lifted it higher. Livvie dropped to her knees, ran her hand back and forth over the top of the box spring mattress. Then she checked the bottom of the twin mattress to make sure nothing was sticking to it.

Charlotte asked, “What are you looking for?”

Livvie did not answer but went to the other side of the small bed. “You can let it down now,” she said, and after Charlotte did so, Livvie raised the other side and looked between the mattresses. When she finally dropped the mattress into place again, she stayed on her knees and leaned her forehead against it.

Charlotte asked, “How much was it?”

Livvie leaned back a few inches but continued to stare at the mattress. “Four hundred and twenty.”

“What were you saving for?”

Livvie shrugged. “Anything. Christmas, Jesse's birthday . . . He'll be a teenager this year. July seventeenth. I wanted to get him a really good art set.”

A slowly twisting pain worked its point around inside Charlotte's chest. She felt the frame of the doorway closing in toward her, pushing the breath from her lungs. She knew she should excuse herself, say something like,
I'll wait out here while you gather up your things
, but she could not open her mouth or she would vomit, all the blackness would come spewing out, so she turned away, and with a hand to the wall, made her way back to the living room, back to the kitchen. She leaned against the sink and fumbled for the
Hot
lever and turned the water on, gushing into the basin. She leaned close to the water and sucked in the air and kept blinking and gasping until she could see the water and could feel it splashing against her face. And even after she smelled the heat and felt the sting of the tiny droplets, she remained in that position until certain she would not pass out, would not fall to her knees and start blubbering, would not bring what little was left of the world crumbling and crashing in a landslide atop her.

I
N the bedroom directly across the hall from Charlotte's, they deposited Livvie's clothes and the bags and one suitcase she had packed at the trailer. “This is actually the biggest bedroom,” Charlotte told her. “I only picked the other one because I like the sun in the morning. But you can sleep late in this one. And it gets the afternoon sun, so it will always be nice and warm when you come to bed.”

Livvie nodded and offered a small smile but said nothing. She had spoken very little at the trailer or on the ride back to Charlotte's house. Now, after emptying her hands, she stood nearly motionless. Across the bed lay a dozen pieces of clothing on wire hangers, two grocery bags full of shoes and socks and underwear, and a small, brown pasteboard suitcase.

“Can I help you put things away?” Charlotte asked.

Livvie turned to look at her. “I was supposed to be at Mrs. Shaner's at one o'clock. I should call her and apologize.”

“Let me call her,” Charlotte said. “What's her first name? I'll look up the number.”

“It's seven-four-two-two,” Livvie said. “Rosemary. Tell her I'm sorry, tell her I . . .”

“Don't worry,” Charlotte said. “I'll take care of it.”

She started toward the door, but stopped when Livvie said, “He took my car.”

“Yes, he did.”

“I have to work tonight. I need to call somebody, see if I can get a ride.”

Charlotte moved close again and put both hands on Livvie's shoulders. “You cannot work tonight,” she said. “It's impossible. You get sick days, right?”

Livvie nodded.

Charlotte asked, “Who do I call?”

“I don't know for sure, I never took off.”

“You've never taken a sick day?”

“I can't afford to.”

“This time you will,” Charlotte said. “Tell you what. There's a very comfortable chair right over there. Go sit by the window and get your breath back. I'll make the phone calls, then I'll be back to put your things away, okay?”

Livvie's eyes were frightened, her face without expression. “I feel so out of it,” she said.

Charlotte said, “I'll bring you something to help you relax.”

L
IVVIE ignored her clothes and opened the little suitcase. From the suitcase she took a child's backpack, a plastic picture of four turtles dressed like martial arts warriors on it. She zipped open the backpack and removed items one at a time and arranged them atop the heavy cherrywood dresser. A bendable Superman doll and a GI Joe. Four colorful, shiny miniature pickup trucks, all of them red. Two unopened packs of Topps baseball cards. One scuffed and dirtied baseball. A yellow miniature Tonka dump truck. A spiral pocket notebook.

Against the dresser's mirror she leaned a handmade valentine and a handmade Mother's Day card, one at each end of the dresser. Between them she set a framed picture of Jesse, a copy of the same five-by-seven school photo used at the candlelight vigil. She set the empty backpack in the corner nearest the bed.

From the bottom of the suitcase she removed several loose sheets of paper, the same four drawings from the corkboard plus five others. She picked them out of the suitcase one at a time, held each for several seconds as she gazed at it, smiling, then laid it atop her pile of clothing. The last item in the suitcase was a sketch pad. She lifted this out, looked at each of the first three pages, the only pages used, then laid the sketch pad atop the nightstand. Now she returned the loose sheets to the little suitcase, with its lid standing open, on the floor beside the backpack.

Charlotte was fully inside the room, a bottle of Evian in one hand, an Ambien in the other, before her eyes fell on the dresser. The breath caught in her chest, and she turned away from it quickly, said “Here you go” to Livvie, and handed the water and Ambien across the bed to her.

“Is this the same thing you gave me before?” Livvie asked. “'Cause I still feel really spacey.”

“It's just a mild sleeping pill if you need it. But if your cheek hurts, or your lip . . . the Vicodin is for pain. Would you like another one of those?”