Love You to Death (4 page)

I dropped to my knees, rubbing my thighs to
get rid of the awful prickling. Tears threatened to spill, but I
swallowed them back.

“Stay on your knees! Get your hands up where
I can see them.”

I lifted my head, still working my thighs,
and looked into the clear blue eyes of Angel Face. He was holding a
gun, and it was pointed right at me. I saw the gleam of his badge
hooked to his belt. I couldn’t believe it. Angel Face was a
cop.

“Well, well, well, if it isn’t my good
friend, Cherry,” he smiled, his perfect snow white teeth
practically glowing in the dark. He holstered his weapon and came
toward me.

“I got this one, Franklin,” he called over
his shoulder.

He grabbed me by the arm and hoisted me up.
The stinging in my legs kicked up a notch, turning pins and needles
into burning jabs. I cried out. Angel Face let go of me. I fell
hard, right on my butt.

“What is wrong with you?” he asked. There was
a small measure of concern in his voice.

“My legs fell asleep, you jerk.” I bit my lip
to keep from crying as I clutched my legs. Angel Face bent down and
scooped me up into his arms. I panicked, squirming to be free. He
squeezed me, hard.

“Settle down, Cherry. I’m just taking you
inside to thaw out. You feel like a popsicle. Have you been here
all night?”

It wasn’t until we were inside, and the waves
of warm air hit me, that I heard my teeth chattering. In fact, my
whole body was shivering.

“You little idiot,” he said with a sweet
smile, carrying me into a small room that consisted of a faded,
worn-out couch, a tiny table holding a coffee pot, and Styrofoam
cups.

I sighed as I sank into the lumpy cushions.
He took his jacket off and covered me with it, his body heat still
clinging to the fabric. I laid my head down and closed my eyes. I
was waiting for my legs to stop tingling and my toes to just feel,
period.

* * * *

I woke up with a start. I didn’t recognize
where I was. I took inventory. I was fully dressed. I wasn’t
bleeding. I wiggled my toes. My shoes were gone. Someone stole my
shoes! I’d never last the winter without shoes. I jumped off the
couch. The door was closed. I could hear the ebb and flow of body
traffic on the other side.

I cracked opened the door. The hallway was
filled with cops. With a mousy little
eek
, I closed the
door.

It all came rushing back. Angel Face.

I looked for my shoes, found them on the
floor by the couch, and hurriedly put them on. I took a few deep
calming breaths and inched toward the door.

Everyone seemed to be busy faxing, filing,
phoning, and everything in between. I didn’t see Angel Face. I
straightened my shoulders and walked into the corridor teaming with
law enforcement.

Justbreathe. Justbreathe. Justbreathe.

I made it to the double doors marked with a
red-lettered exit sign. Just as I grabbed the long bar handle and
pushed in on it, another hand shot out to pull it back.

“Why are you always in such a hurry to leave
me?” Angel Face asked. “You’re starting to hurt my feelings,
Cherry.”

“You’re breaking my heart,” I croaked. My
morning voice was worse than usual. I needed something to
drink.

“How about some breakfast?” He held out a box
of doughnuts.

“Cop food,” I smirked. Unable to stop myself,
I took two. Angel Face looked fresh as a spring breeze, even though
he was still wearing the same clothes from last night. He pulled a
plastic bottle of milk from his pocket. I almost purred.

“Are you ready to have that talk now?” he
asked. It was a rhetorical question.

He led me back to the same room and shut the
door behind him. I devoured both doughnuts and was licking glaze
from my fingers when I saw the heat creep into his ice blue eyes. I
lowered my fingers and twisted the cap off the bottle of milk.

“I think we got off on the wrong foot,” he
began. “Since you seemed less inclined to share with me after
dinner—” He trailed off.

“What, you thought you could bribe me with
pastrami on rye?” I flashed him a sardonic smile.

“I love your quick wit.” He grabbed a roll of
paper towels from the coffeepot table, ripped one off, and handed
it to me. I wrapped a third doughnut in the paper towel. Last night
I’d eaten the chips I was saving for Stewie, so I’d give him a
doughnut instead.

“You can have the whole box,” Angel Face told
me, watching me ease the pastry into my backpack. Slightly
embarrassed, I shrugged my shoulders, like I could take or leave
his offer.

“First off, I think we should introduce
ourselves. My name is Detective Cassel Bateman. Most people call me
Cass.” He held his hand out. I narrowed my eyes suspiciously, but
shook his hand.

“Cherry,” I said.

“You have a real stubborn streak, Arden
Elliott,” his tone pitched low as he said my name.

I yanked my hand back, fisting it at my side.
I hadn’t heard anyone say my real name in so long it caught me off
guard. I felt the familiar flutter in my chest. Images swirled in
my mind. Me and my mom bent over a cake, frosting on our face and
hands, laughing...
“Happy Birthday, Arden...”

“How?” I glared at him.

“I’m a detective. I detected.” He smiled
mischievously. “I went through your backpack. Let’s see what I
found out... Arden Rachel Elliott, born on October 31 in Harford
County, Maryland to Curtis and MaryAnn Elliott. Mrs. Elliott is
deceased.” He recited the information with all the warmth of a
computer printout. I cringed when he said their names. More images
flickered... Blood everywhere, my mother staring up at me with
empty eyes.

“Shut up,” I gritted between my clenched
teeth.

“You’ve had a real hard time, haven’t ya
sweetheart?” His voice softened. He came to stand in front of me. I
refused to look at him. “Daddy was a mean drunk. Momma tried to
keep him away only to have him keep coming back until he finally
did what he kept promising to do.”

I squeezed my eyes shut, holding the tears
in. Somewhere in the distance there was the loud bang of a heavy
door slamming shut, reminding me of a gun blast, making me jump. I
hiccupped a sob at the same time I raised my fist. My tightly
curled hands pounded on his chest and arms. I didn’t care if they
arrested me. I hated him for bringing it all back.

Cass easily captured my flying fists and
pulled me into his arms, rocking me gently. I struggled. He held on
tight. I finally gave up and rested my face on his chest.

The tears found their way out and rolled down
my cheeks. Cass shushed into my ear. I hadn’t allowed myself to
grieve, at all, in the last eight months, since that awful day.
Instead, the unwelcome feelings and emotions were pushed deep into
the empty spaces inside of me, where I kept them locked away, until
now.

How long had it been since someone comforted
me like this? A hug, an actual heartfelt embrace that showed
someone cared? A little voice inside my head whispered warnings,
but I didn’t listen.

When I recovered from my cry baby meltdown,
clear thinking kicked in. My first instinct was usually always
right, and it told me to steer clear of this man. I couldn’t help
but think I might be wrong, just this once. How bad could he be? He
was a cop after all. And he clearly had a softer side. He’d let me
blubber all over his nice suit jacket.

“I knew there was more to you than a pretty
face and a bad attitude,” he joked, smoothing his fingers over my
tangled hair. “I dug round a little.” He handed me another paper
towel. “Seems you have an aunt over in Edgewood. I’m gonna call
her—”

“No! I won’t stay with that woman.” I jerked
away from him. My mother’s sister was a witch, complete with a
flying broom. She’d hated my mom and talked trash about her. I
would rather live on the streets than live with that heartless
cow.

Cass narrowed his eyes, pursing his lips. I
recognized this look now. It was his thinking face. “Alright...” he
said, staring earnestly into my eyes. “What do you suggest I do? I
can’t let you stay out there on the street, Arden.” I cringed again
when he said my name. He didn’t seem to notice.

“You’re going to be eighteen in a few weeks,”
he continued. “I can’t tell you what to do, but I can tell you that
it won’t get any easier for you out there.” He reached into the
inside of his jacket and pulled out a pack of cigarettes. He
offered me one. I shook my head.

“I know, bad habit, right?” He took out a
cigarette and stuck it between his nice white teeth. I was sure he
bleached them.

“They’ll kill you,” I said, as I watched him
cock his head and light the cancer stick.

“Everybody has to die of something.” He
inhaled deeply then exhaled a cloud of toxic fumes.

I didn’t acknowledge the comment. I was antsy
to leave, ready to get back to my life of blissful oblivion. Back
to where no one knew me as Arden Elliott or anything about my
painful past. I grabbed the box of doughnuts on my way to the door.
Cass didn’t try to stop me, which kinda surprised me.

The early morning air was a little nippy, but
the sun was fierce, warming my face. It was a nine-block trek to
the shelter and, not for the first time, I wished I owned a pair of
sunglasses. I ate another doughnut as I walked, balancing the box
carefully under my arm, guarding it like it was a million dollars
instead of fried dough smothered in sugar water.

Stewie was beside himself when I opened the
box. He ate the rest of them like a man on death row. His hair was
sticking up in the back, and his clothes were dirty. Cass’s parting
words of wisdom echoed in my ears. It was hard enough to take care
of myself. How was I supposed to take care of Stewie too?

Buck Rogers sometimes called us George and
Lenny, the characters from John Steinbeck’s
Of Mice and Men
.
I’d read it in school. I sure hoped our ending would be better than
the one in the book.

I’d stolen two toothbrushes from the Rite
Aid. After breakfast, I fished them from my pack and handed one to
Stewie. He giggled over the Batman handle. I didn’t realize we’d
run out of toothpaste, but I figured brushing without it was better
than not at all. I also swiped some dental floss. I hated to steal,
but I hated cavities worse.

The next few days passed in a slow haze. The
weather cooperated, no rain, so we walked all over the city, just
for something to do. Sunday we decided to head over to Fells Point,
in the historic district, for a change of scenery. I’d forgotten
all about the Fun Festival. The cobblestone streets were crammed
with people listening to live music, watching the dancers, and
eating.

I lifted the wallet off a young guy who was
well past his legal limit to drive. I felt a brief twinge of guilt,
but it didn’t last long once the aroma of pit beef caught my nose.
My stomach grumbled to life.

“I’m hungry, Cherry,” Stewie whined.

“Me too, big guy.” I steered him toward a
vendor and opened the wallet. “Sorry, Josh Foster, I gotta eat.” I
mumbled as I emptied the wallet of all its money, eighty bucks. I’d
turn the wallet in later, but for now, Stewie and me, we were
living large.

After we scarfed down the sandwiches, we
bought French fries and funnel cakes. My stomach felt like it was
going to explode.

There was a marionette show starting in five
minutes. Stewie was rocking back and forth on his heels with
excitement.

“Please, Cherry, please can we watch?”

I didn’t have the heart to deny him. We sat
in the front row and waited. I didn’t pay much attention to the
show. I smiled at Stewie as he clapped along with the other
children.

I sat there letting my mind wander. Usually a
mistake, but once it gets going, my brain picks up momentum and
rushes on until it runs out of steam. My mom used to tell me the
mind was a terrible thing to waste.

I closed my eyes and did the one thing I
promised myself never to do more than once a year. I pictured her
face.

It was a warm summer day. She was wearing her
favorite dress, light pink cotton with thin straps. Her short, wavy
brown hair softly styled around her face. She was laughing at
something I’d said, crinkling her gentle gray eyes, and tipping her
head back.

I opened my eyes, the same gentle gray as
hers, forcing the image to disappear.

She’d brought me to the Fun Festival once,
about two years ago. It felt like a lifetime ago. We’d done the
same thing I was doing with Stewie. Eating, walking, and enjoying
the shows. I was thinking about her way too much these past few
days. Not that I didn’t want to. It simply hurt too much. I blamed
it on my run-in with Angel Face.

“Cherry, can we watch it again?” Stewie
tugged on my sleeve. I didn’t trust my voice, so I nodded. I’ve
learned a lot this past year.

The most important lesson is that you have to
enjoy life while it lasts, because you never know what the future
will bring.

Chapter
Four

Two weeks later I was arrested for
shoplifting.

For a measly pack of socks, I was facing the
possibility of ninety days in jail. Not juvie, but a real jail,
complete with iron bars. My eighteenth birthday was a week away,
but they were charging me as an adult.

They fingerprinted me, took my picture, and
threw me in a holding cell. They confiscated my backpack.
Everything I had in this world was in that pack. I sat on the cot,
with my knees knocking together, holding my stomach as it rolled.
Thank God I’d left Stewie in the toy department.

We’d discussed emergency situations like this
before, so I knew he’d head to the shelter when he couldn’t find
me. I leaned over on the cot, curled tightly in a ball, still
holding my stomach. It was official. I was a juvenile delinquent.
If my mother were here she’d kill me. I chuckled softly, on the
verge of hysteria. If my mother were here, I wouldn’t be anywhere
near a place like this.