Love You to Death (5 page)

“Good to see you still have a sense of
humor,” Cass said through the bars.

I didn’t move. I didn’t even open my eyes.
Why wouldn’t he go away and leave me alone?

“Can’t leave you alone for a minute, can
I?”

When I didn’t answer him, he went on.

“What would your momma say if she were here?
I don’t think she’d be too happy to see her baby girl in the same
situation as her daddy.”

“Just shut up about my family!” I snapped,
sitting up, shooting daggers at him.

“Hoohoo, what a temper...” He raised his
eyebrows appreciatively. “I came to work today thinking about you.
Wondering what you and Sped Ed were up to. Then, I get a case
report tossed on my desk. My good buddy Franklin remembered you.
So, I thought I might come and see if you needed anything.”

I stared up at him, stunned. I wanted to hate
him. I wanted to tell him to piss off and leave me alone. I
couldn’t seem to stop myself, though. I stared at him, taking him
in. He was dressed in a dark slate gray suit with a powder blue tie
that matched his eyes. His platinum blond hair was casually
haphazard. He really was good looking.

He watched me studying him with a perceptive
look. I had no idea what he was thinking, but when his lips curled
up into a predatory smile I had a good guess. Men were all
alike.

“I appreciate your concern. I’ll call you if
I need anything,” I chirped sarcastically.

He surprised me by laughing. I caught the
word “spunky” as he unlocked the cell door. It swung open with a
squeal of protest.

“Let’s go five-finger-Franny,” he wiggled his
fingers, directing me toward him.

I just sat there. Was he joking? I gave him a
hard look. He seemed serious enough. I wondered if it was a trick.
I’d heard about this sort of thing, cops raping girls in jail. I’d
do my best to fight him, but he outweighed me by at least sixty
pounds.

“Quit looking at me like I’m Ted Bundy,” he
snapped. “You wanna stay here? You wanna end up being charged and
sent to jail for stealing a pack of socks for $5.99? Be my guest,
sweetheart.” He stepped back, getting ready to close the door.

“Wait!” I flew off the thin mattress. He
paused, holding the door halfway open. “I don’t wanna stay
here.”

“I didn’t think so.” He smiled, opening the
door again.

“But I don’t wanna owe you either,” I said,
looking down at his shoes. They looked expensive.

“Then we are at what is referred to as an
impasse.” He sighed.

I thought about that for a minute. I wasn’t
really sure what that meant, but I was sure it wasn’t in my
favor.

“What do you want?” I asked, afraid of his
answer.

He didn’t answer me right away. After a
couple minutes passed, and I quickly assumed he was going to slam
the door in my face, he spoke.

“What do I want? Hmmm. What does anyone
really want, Arden?” His voice was soft. I thought he was making
fun of me. I looked up, ready to defend my question.

“I don’t know,” I lied. I knew what most
people wanted. The people
I
knew anyway. They wanted to be
safe. They wanted to be loved. They wanted to matter.

“I wanna help you. You got a bad break, babe,
with no options to fall back on. That’s tough.” He casually leaned
against the wall.

I slowly lifted my shoulders and let them
fall. Lots of people had no options.

“Okay, here’s what I did... I returned the
socks. The owner was pretty decent. I talked him outta pressing
charges, restitution and all.” He waved a hand nonchalantly. “I’m
willing to make this all go away.”

“Why?” I asked. “What’s in it for you?”

“So cynical for one so young.” He shook his
head. “Can’t I be doing it out of the goodness of my heart?”

“Yeah, maybe, but I doubt it,” I said,
pinning him with my stare.

He didn’t seem to like my answer. Too bad, I
wasn’t in the mood to pump up his ego.

“If I admit to ulterior motives, will you
admit to not hating me as much as you pretend to?” he asked,
pushing himself off the cinder block wall.

Why was it so important to him that I like
him? I scratched my furrowed brow. I couldn’t come up with
anything. I glanced down at my feet, wishing for the hundredth time
I had new sneakers. My beat-up Sketchers were worn thin. That’s why
I stole the socks. I figured if I wore two pair at a time the holes
in my shoes wouldn’t matter as much.

“Wow, that hard, huh?” He spoke quietly, like
I’d hurt his feelings. What a crock. I raised my doubtful eyes to
give him a ‘gimme a break’ look.

“If you can’t do the time, you shouldn’t do
the crime,” he quoted.

“Yeah, right, like the punishment fits the
crime here. Ninety days in jail for a six dollar pack of socks,” I
quipped.

I must’ve caught him off guard, because he
blinked a few times before he said anything.

“Never thought of it that way. You got a lot
of smarts for a sk—” I glared at his almost word. “—for a kid.”

“I’m not a kid, according to the legal
system, a week before turning eighteen counts as an adult.”

“Alright, Perry Mason... I swear... the mouth
on you...” He chuckled.

“Who’s Perry Mason?”

He rolled his pretty blue eyes and snorted.
“You never heard of Perry Mason, the greatest TV lawyer in the
world?”

“Guess it was before my time,” I said. “You
must be older than you look.” I liked getting a dig in about his
age since he seemed so keen about harping on mine. I expected him
to not like it. He didn’t. He reached into the cell, grabbing me by
the arm.

“Let’s go Punky Brewster,” he growled.

“Who?”

“You’re killing me, kid.”

“Whatever, Pops.”

He tightened his grip, pinching my arm. I
gave it a jerk, but he hung on. He kept his tight hold on me until
we reached the checkout desk. I signed for my backpack. The old guy
behind the desk had hair sprouting out of every orifice. He ogled
me and gave a lascivious wink to Cass before getting my pack.

“Nice guy,” I said.

“Martin? He’s okay, just a little on the
hound dog side.”

“Gee, I couldn’t tell.”

Officer Martin—the perv—brought me my pack. I
didn’t bother thanking him. Cass led me outside. The sun was
setting, casting a golden light over the city. I shivered as a cool
gust of air slipped under the collar of my shirt and down my neck.
Cass tilted his head and gave me a quick look. He shrugged out of
his jacket and draped it over my shoulders. I fought myself for a
long second before giving in and mumbling, “Thanks.”

He was parked a block down from the precinct.
When I saw the car I took off the jacket, handed it back to him,
and slung my pack over my shoulders. I kept on walking.

“Back to the shelter?” he called after
me.

“Yep.” I turned around to face him but kept
on walking.

“Why? There’s nothing there for you. I don’t
get it.” The perplexed look he gave convinced me he was telling the
truth.

“Stewie,” I said, as if he should know.

“You’re serious, aren’t you?” He put a hand
on his hip. “What
is
it with you two?”

I heard the insinuation in his tone. Why did
all men think every relationship worth having had to have sex in
it? I sent him my best f-you stare and turned back around. I hugged
my arms tightly around my stomach and tucked my chin into my chest
to ward off the chilly night air. The threadbare socks I wore,
inside the holey shoes, were like wearing flip flops out here. My
toes were ice cold.

I never looked back to see if Cass was
following me, but I sensed that he was. I thought about him as I
picked up my pace. He was a conundrum. His behavior was
inconsistent. Badass one minute, comforting the next. Although my
first instinct was to stay far off his radar, I couldn’t help but
wonder what it was about him that kept drawing me out.

* * * *

Stewie was sitting on the steps with a group
of kids when I arrived. They were huddled together playing cards
under the street light that suddenly blinked on.

“Cherry!” He hollered when he saw me. He
broke away from the kids and shuffled over to me. He reached down
and picked me up in a big bear hug. I hugged him back. I loved
Stewie. I really did. He was the only family I had.

“Okay, big boy, you’re squeezing my guts
out.” I faked throwing up. He giggled and put me down.

“Where were you, Cherry?” His hazel eyes
rounded with concern. “I was so scared. I looked everywhere for
you.” Spit gathered in the corners of his mouth. I ignored it.

“I got caught taking a bag of socks, buddy.”
I shrugged. I wanted him to think it was no big deal. When Stewie
thought of the cops he kinda got a little freaked out. I guess
because of Cass.

“You got arrested?” He gasped and started
shaking.

“Easy, Stewie, I’m alright. They let me go
with a warning.” I didn’t tell him
who
in particular
though.

“They did? Wow. I was scared, Cherry. Don’t
do that again,” he scolded. It was cute the way he said it, with
his best adult voice. The warning still came out sounding
childlike.

“Did you eat?” I asked, changing the
subject.

“It was spaghetti night.” He nodded. That
explained the faint red splotches on his chin.

“Think there’s any left?” I was starving.

“I dunno. Let’s go look.” He grabbed my hand.
“No garlic bread though, this ain’t no restaurant.”

I smiled. Box of Rocks must’ve been serving
tonight. Box was one of the homeless guys that used to work in a
restaurant in Little Italy. He liked to bust our chops, especially
Stewie. But he had about as much common sense as a box of rocks,
hence the nickname.

“That’s okay. I don’t want garlic breath.”
Stewie found this very amusing. He laughed loudly and covered his
mouth with his hand in that childlike way he had.

Chapter
Five

October 31
^st
is Halloween. It’s
also my birthday. For as long as I can remember, my mom would
always bake a cake shaped like a jack-o-lantern. When I was little,
she’d throw a trick or treat party for me. All my friends would
come over for cake and ice cream, and then we’d go begging for
candy.

My last birthday wasn’t so happy. My dad had
stopped by, drunk as usual, and started a fight. He ended up
hitting her while I called 911. After the cops hauled him away,
kicking and screaming, she put two candles on my cake, the chunky
kind, a one and a seven.
“Make a wish, baby...”
She tried to
smile with a cracked lip. I cried as I blew out the candles.

This year I didn’t expect much. I was turning
eighteen, supposedly a magical age. Most kids my age were taking
their SAT’s and prepping for college. They were dreaming of prom
nights and graduation parties, while I struggled to keep myself
safe and warm. I told myself I wasn’t missing anything.

I was more than a little surprised when Miss
Vinnie showed up at the shelter on her day off and presented me
with a store-bought cake with candy corn sprinkled over the top.
She bought the chunky candles, like my mom. She and Stewie sang
happy birthday, and then Miss Vinnie said, “Make a wish, baby
girl.”

I blew out the candles, wiping the sleeve of
my shirt across my wet eyes.

“Can I have a corner piece?” Stewie
asked.

“You sure can, sweet face,” Miss Vinnie cut
into the cake, giving him a large corner.

We were sitting at one of the long lunch
tables, across the room from the front entrance. I was laughing at
Stewie picking at the candy corn. He thought they were real
vegetables and wanted nothing to do with them, no matter how much
Miss Vinnie tried to explain. It felt so good to laugh. I threw my
head back and let the sound float around me.

Then I saw him. He stood just inside the
entrance. In one hand was a large gift bag decorated with the
Peanuts gang dressed for Halloween. Tufts of orange and white
tissue paper poked out of the top. He had an odd look on his face,
a strange mix of awe and yearning. He crossed the worn linoleum
slowly, glancing at Stewie.

Stewie noticed when my laughter died and
looked at me, questioningly, then followed my gaze to the doorway
to watch Cass making his way toward us. Stewie’s eyes bugged out,
his lower lip quivered. A quiet keening noise started in the back
of his throat.

“It’s okay, Stewie. He’s not here to hurt
you. I’ll make him go away, okay?” I took his face between my hands
and forced him to look at me. It took a minute for him to focus. I
repeated my assurance to him, and this time he gave me a tentative
smile and went back to eating his cake.

In two angry strides I was in front of Cass,
latching onto his arm, and pulling him out the door.

“What do you think you’re doing here?” I
hissed when we were outside. The polite smile he’d had when he saw
me melted into a fierce scowl. He held up the bag and gave it a
little shake.

“I came to wish you a happy birthday,” he
snapped, lowering the bag.

“Did it ever occur to you that seeing you
would send Stewie into hyperactivity?”

“How was I to know? I assumed he’d be fine,
since he was with you.”

It sounded plausible, but when I thought of
Stewie and how he just lost it in there when he’d seen Cass...

“Well, you know what they say about
assuming,” I said smugly, crossing my arms over my chest.

“I know you can’t help being a smart mouth.
But the least you can do is use the manners I’m sure your mother
taught you and open the gift.” He shoved the bag at me.

I winced at the mention of my mom. He always
did that to me. Made me feel bad about the way I talked to him, or
treated him, even if he deserved it. I took the bag from him.
Whatever it was, I would give it to Miss Vinnie.