Cesspool (9 page)

“How do we do that?”

“You’ve been through a lot. You need help that I can’t give you.”

Her eyes watered. “Are you gonna make me leave?”

“No, I’m not. I just want you to talk to a nice lady who works at the counseling center on campus. She can help you.”

She wiped her eyes with the side of her index finger. “I’m fine. I just get nightmares sometimes.”

James had a lump in his throat. “I just … I’m just so sorry for what you had to go through. I can’t even begin to imagine how hard things have been for you.”

Tears spilled down her cheeks. She shrugged, wiping her face with her sleeve. “It’s over now.”

“That’s the problem, Brittany. Some things can make you really sad for your whole life if you don’t get some help. If I made you an appointment, would you go?”

Chapter 8: Help Wanted

Chapter 8

Help Wanted

James spoke into his cell phone. “I know it’s really short notice, but can you fit her in tonight?”

“Bring her in at five.”

“Thank you so much, Diane. I really appreciate it.” James hung up and shoved his phone in his pocket. “You’re all set for tonight.”

Brittany sat at the kitchen table, blank-faced. She had a black-and-blue shiner, her neck was bruised, and she had a scab on her lower lip.

“You okay?”

“Do I have to answer all her questions?”

“No. She’ll mostly want you to talk about how you’re feeling.”

Brittany frowned.

“I know it sounds weird, but it’ll help, and she’s really nice.”

She nodded. “Okay.”

James packed his backpack with trail mix, water, and a few plastic bags.

She surveyed the one-room cabin. “Don’t you get bored without TV?”

“The opium of the masses,” James replied.

“Huh?”

“It’s like a drug that makes people complacent and docile and stupid.”

“Harold watches TV all day.”

“Maybe that’s why he’s so stupid.”

Her mouth turned down. “He thinks I’m the one who’s stupid.”

James set down his backpack and looked at Brittany. “I’ve been teaching for eighteen years. I’ve seen thousands of kids. I can tell you, without a doubt, that you’re not stupid.”

She smiled for a moment. “So, what do you like to do, if you don’t like TV?”

“I like to read. Your imagination can be more interesting than the best movie. Haven’t you ever heard people say, ‘The book is better than the movie’?”

She shook her head.

“A lot of the most popular movies were books first. And the books are
always
better than the movie. Do you like to read?”

“I used to read the Goosebumps books when I was little.”

James attached his knife and scabbard to his belt. “We’ll stop by the library on the way to your appointment. I’m sure we’ll find something that interests you.” He slung his backpack over his fleece. “You ready?”

They stepped outside. The air was crisp, the sun playing peekaboo with the clouds. They walked past the outhouse.

“I have to go the bathroom real quick,” she said.

James stood waiting. He gazed into the woods. He heard a rustling of leaves, and he saw movement in the distance. He strained his eyes, trying to determine if it was human or otherwise. Brittany appeared from the outhouse.

“I just need to wash my hands,” she said as she walked back to the cabin.

“Could you grab my keys and lock the door on your way out?” James asked. “They’re sitting on the kitchen table.”

She turned around, her brow furrowed. “Is everything okay?”

He nodded. “We need to get in the habit of keeping the doors locked.”

James hiked through the woods, following Brittany along a well-established trail. She walked ahead, unburdened by a pack, testing out her new footwear.

She waited for James. “It’s just ahead at the fork,” she said.

They stopped on a small bluff, in front of a wooden post emblazoned with a yellow mark. To their right, a country road was visible from the bluff. A few farmhouses lined the road. The trail beyond the post snaked down the hill toward a gravel parking area large enough for three cars. Across from the parking area was a dilapidated self-storage center, with rows of garages, and boats and trailers parked along the chain-link fence. To their left was an unkempt trail.

“This way,” she said, as she traipsed down the overgrown trail.

The forest canopy was thick, the ground leaf-covered. She slowed at a cluster of dead and dying oak trees. One was horizontal across what was left of the trail. She searched the base and the trunks of the trees, circling them like she was playing ring around the rosie.

“Found one,” she said.

James followed her voice around the trunk of a standing oak. She stood smiling at the enormous cluster of vibrant yellow-orange mushrooms growing from the tree.

“Wow,” he said.

“Chicken of the woods.” She put her hands on her hips. “Pretty, huh?”

“Beautiful.” James inspected the human-head-size mushroom cluster. “How do you know it’s not poisonous?”

“I been eatin’ from here for two years. Plus I know what the good ones look like and the bad ones that look like the good ones. My grammy used to say, ‘They taste like crabmeat, not chicken.’ But I never had no crab.”

James removed the fixed blade from the scabbard attached to his belt. He sliced the mushroom from the tree trunk and placed it in a plastic bag. He put it in his backpack, and they hiked home.

James checked his watch as they returned to the cabin. “We should get moving if we’re going by the library before your appointment.”

* * *

Brittany browsed the middle-school section of the public library, with a stack of books under her arm. She wore jeans that fit her, a sweatshirt, and a scarf that covered her neck. Her hair was brushed and tucked behind her ears. She was on her tippy toes trying to reach a book on the upper shelf. James walked over and grabbed the book for her.

“Thanks,” she said, stepping back. Her shiner was under heavy concealer.

“Why don’t I take those to the librarian?” he said. “She’s holding our books.”

Brittany handed James her stack of books.

He smiled. He was clean-shaven, his hair purposely disheveled. “It looks like you found a few things.”

“I wanna do that reading workshop you were tellin’ me about. A book a week makes you smart, right?”

James nodded. “The research shows that kids who read a book a week outperform their peers.”

“That’s what I wanna do.”

* * *

James sat in the waiting room of the counseling department. He graded research papers on the political system of ancient Greece. Every few minutes he glanced at the windowless door. The placard read Diane Fitzgerald, PhD. The door opened, and a thin woman with wispy white hair came out with Brittany. He gathered his papers and stood.

Diane smiled at Brittany. “Same time on Monday?”

Brittany nodded.

Diane waved at James over Brittany’s shoulder. James waved, and Diane retreated into her office. Brittany turned around as James approached. She wiped her nose with a tissue.

“You okay?”

She nodded.

“Do you want me to run you back to the cabin? If we hurry, I can make it back in time for class.”

“I don’t wanna be left alone, if that’s okay.” She looked down for a moment.

“You can come with me to class every night if you want.”

They walked to his classroom in silence.

“Aren’t you gonna ask me what we talked about?” Brittany said.

“That’s between you and Diane.”

She smiled at James.

“I do have one question,” James said.

Brittany looked up at him with red-rimmed eyes.

“Did you like her?”

“She’s really nice.”

During class, she sat in the back reading
Wonder
by R. J. Palacio. Leon, Jessica, and a handful of others debated whether or not taxation was moral. After class, James and Brittany went to Dot’s Diner for dinner.

They entered the shiny metal-clad diner. A Help Wanted sign hung in the window. They sat at the end of the metal counter, reading plastic-covered menus. Jessica sauntered over with a crooked smile. Her blond hair was pulled back in a ponytail, exposing her round, attractive face.

“Hey, Mr. Fisher. What can I get you two?”

“Jessica, this is my friend Brittany,” he said motioning to the petite eighteen-year-old sitting next to him.

Jessica smiled. “It’s nice to meet you.”

“You too,” Brittany said, barely audible.

“You were in class tonight, right?”

Brittany nodded.

“You look really familiar,” Jessica said, her eyes narrowed. “Did you go to Schuylkill High?”

“No,” she said, her head bowed. “I’m not from around here.”

“You just have one of those nice faces then.” Jessica grinned. “So what can I get you?”

She shrugged, looking up at Jessica. “How much is a peanut butter and jelly sandwich?”

“What about your crab cakes?” James asked, his finger pointing to the dish on the menu. “Are they any good?”

“Depends on the day,” Jessica said. “They’re usually pretty good on Wednesday because the seafood shipments come on Tuesday.”

“Brittany’s never had crab,” James said.

“You haven’t?” Jessica asked.

“Should I try ’em?” Brittany asked James.

“That’s up to you.”

“If you don’t like them,” Jessica said, “I’ll buy you a peanut butter and jelly sandwich.”

Brittany smiled. “Okay, I’ll try ’em.”

“What about you, Mr. Fisher?” Jessica asked.

“I’ll have breakfast again,” James replied.

Jessica put her index finger to her temple. “Scrambled eggs, bacon, coffee, and … wheat toast.”

“You’re good.”

Jessica took their order to the kitchen and waited on her other customers.

“She’s nice,” Brittany said.

“And smart too,” James replied.

“They have a Help Wanted sign. You think
I
could get a job here?”

“Do you have any identification cards at Harold’s? Like a social security card or a birth certificate?”

“No.”

“Do you know your social security number?”

She shook her head. “What do I need that for?”

“If you want a job or financial aid for college or a driver’s license, you’ll need your social security number.”

She frowned; her head sagged. “I don’t have that stuff.”

“It’s all right. We can go get it.”

She raised her head and looked at James. “From where?”

* * *

They drove past trailer homes, modular homes, a house with a blue tarp for a roof, and farmhouses with dilapidated barns. The cloud-filtered sunlight made everything seem dull and gray. They saw yards filled with cars and car parts, aboveground pools with cold green water, bicycles and sports equipment, and large dogs attached to chains. Brittany pointed out the tidy yard on their right. James stopped the truck across the street from a rusted double-wide trailer.

“I can’t do it,” she said, her face pale.

“I’ll be right there with you,” James said.

She shook her head; her body trembled. “I can’t.”

“You can. I know you can. Nothing’ll happen to you. I promise.”

“It’s just …” She looked at James, her eyes wet. “I’m scared.”

“I know. We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to.”

She pursed her lips. “What did you say about courage before?”

“The truly courageous aren’t without fear. They’re afraid, but they go anyway.”

“I wanna be like that.”

He looked at her, his eyes unblinking. “You are.”

She opened the truck door and hopped out.

They trudged up the gravel driveway, past a beat-up Oldsmobile Cutlass from the mid-90s and a Plymouth Duster from the 70s. The Plymouth had a sparkling orange paint job and shiny chrome rims. The rear wheels were much larger than the front wheels. They climbed five wooden steps to the front door. James glanced at Brittany and knocked.

A short middle-aged man with a potbelly opened the door. His eyes locked on Brittany, scanning up and down. He had scraggly dark facial hair and a bright red T-shirt with a Dodge Ram logo. His sweatpants had stains on the knees. “Damn, girl. Never thought we’d see you again.”

Brittany looked down.

His eyes darted to James, glaring. “Who are you?”

“I’m James, a friend of Brittany’s.”

“A friend, huh?” He chuckled. “I know how that goes.” He turned his attention back to Brittany. “How old are you now girl?”

She didn’t respond.

The man counted on his fingers. “You must be eighteen at least.” He grinned. “Legal now.”

“We just came to get her birth certificate and her social security card. Or just her birth certificate, if that’s all you have.”

The man frowned. “Her what now?”

“Brittany needs her birth certificate and her social security card.”

“Hold up.” He turned around and called out, “Hey, Terri, come out here.”

“What?” a female called from the house.

“Get your ass out here,” he said louder. “Brit’s here.”

The female replied, each word getting louder as she approached. “What the hell you talkin’ ’bout her—” The petite woman’s mouth hung open as she caught a glimpse of Brittany. The woman’s hair was perm-curly and dull brown. She wore painted-on tight jeans and a fitted turtleneck. Her face was decorated like a shopping mall glamour shot.

She pursed her lips and said to Brittany, “You ain’t got nuthin’ to say?”

Brittany looked at her mom. “I just want my birth certificate.”

“Ain’t nuthin’ changed,” the man said, still staring at Brittany. “Always wantin’ somethin’. Never givin’ nuthin’.”

The woman looked at her man, staring, then narrowed her eyes at Brittany.

“Brittany needs her birth certificate and social security card,” James said.

The woman scrunched her face. “Who the hell are you?” she said.

The short man smirked. “Her friend.”

She glared at James’s left hand. “Your wife know you’re runnin’ around with this little homewrecker?” she asked.

James said, “I’ll ask you one more time to please produce her birth certificate and social security card.”