Pieces of Me (10 page)

I picked up my own cup. “Are you serious about us keeping him?”

“Absolutely,” he said.

“I don't know if I can,” I said.

Dylan stirred, sat up and looked around in a panic. I was off the picnic bench almost before my brain had a chance to tell my feet to move. I opened the car door and put my arms around him. “It's okay, kiddo,” I said. “I'm right here.”

He was crying—no sound, just huge heaving shudders against my chest. It felt like a knife, slicing out a piece of my heart. He clutched fistfuls of my jacket with each hand. I pressed my face against the top of his head. Q had come to stand beside the open car door. I looked up at him in the faint light. “I'll do it,” I said.

I took Dylan for a pee and washed his face. He didn't say much, but he wouldn't let go of my hand.

When I came out, Q had gone into Tim's and had bought me a new cup of coffee as well as a breakfast sandwich, and there was a sandwich for Dylan and a bottle of apple juice. We took a table in the corner. Dylan watched the early morning delivery trucks in the drive-through. He ate with one hand, still clinging tightly to mine with the other.

“We need a place to live,” Q said in a low voice. “The three of us can't stay in the car.”

“We can't afford an apartment.”

He wrapped his hands around his paper cup. “I know, but maybe a room.”

“So how are we going to pay for this room?” I asked. I set down my cup and pulled a bit of egg out of my sandwich.

Q touched the front of his jacket. “I have the money I made last week.”

I thought about my emergency fund and my go-back-to-school money. Dylan's hand was warm in mine. I looked at him as he slowly chewed his sandwich and watched a milk delivery truck go past the window. “I have some money,” I said.

“Okay, so what we need is a place.” Q propped his elbows on the table. “I might have an idea.”

“What?”

“John Goddard.”

I picked up my cup. “The guy you worked for last week.”

He nodded.

“The guy you called a cheap asshole.”

“Yeah.” He drank the last of his coffee. “I know he has a couple of rental places, and I don't think he's the type of guy to be real picky about who he rents to.” Q looked over at Dylan. “I don't think he'd ask a lot of questions.”

“That would be good,” I said.

“I'll go over to where we were last week. I think they're going to start there this morning.” He glanced at Dylan again. “Will you guys be all right?”

“Yeah, we'll go over to the mall. We can walk around, and I can even push him in a cart.” I pulled a slice of cold bacon out of my sandwich and ate it. Q reached across the table, broke off a piece of the top biscuit and popped it into his mouth.

I leaned over to Dylan. “Have some more juice, kiddo,” I said. “We're leaving soon.”

He turned. “Okay,” he said softly.

I handed him the bottle.

“I'll drive you over,” Q said.

“You sure?” I asked.

His face softened into a smile. “Uh-huh. It's too cold for the two of you to walk. We'll go in about ten minutes.” He stood up. “I'll be right back.” He headed in the direction of the washrooms.

My coffee was cold, but I drank it anyway.

Dylan set his juice bottle on the table. He looked around and sighed.

“Wanna come sit on my lap?” I asked.

He nodded, and I picked him up. He leaned his head against me, and I wrapped my arms around him. I'd never much liked all the huggy, kissy stuff—not that my mom was much for it—but I didn't mind keeping Dylan close at all.

We stayed like that until Q came back. He smiled at us and put both hands on the table. “Ready to go?” he asked.

“Do you need to pee again?” I asked Dylan.

“No,” he said.

There were lots of bathrooms at the mall, I figured. “We're ready,” I said. I set Dylan down, and right away he reached for my hand. “Just let me put my jacket on,” I told him.

As soon as my hand was through the sleeve, he grabbed it. We headed out to the car. “I'm gonna sit in the back with him,” I told Q.

“Good idea,” he said.

We drove back to the mall. It was starting to feel, well, okay, not like home but kind of like our place.

“I don't know how long I'll be,” Q said. “I'll find you.”

“Okay,” I said.

“It'll be okay,” he said.

I nodded and stepped away from the car. The mall was quiet. The stores were still closed, although the mall walkers were already out. “Let's go find the giraffe,” I said to Dylan. He was holding on to me with one hand and the grocery bag with Fred in it with the other.

He looked up at me, frowning. “Maddie, where are we going to sleep tonight?” he asked in a small voice.

“Probably in the car like last night,” I said.

His eyes went from me to the big doors we'd just come through and back again. “But Q took the car,” he said.

I crouched down to his level. “He's coming back,” I said.

“No, he's not.” He stared down at his feet instead of at me. “My mom didn't come back.”

I didn't know how to do this. “Dylan. It's not the same thing. Your mom would come if she could.” Was it wrong to say that? I took a deep breath. “She would never leave you. I bet she has a good reason, and when she does come back, she'll tell us what it is.”

His lower lip quivered. “I was bad,” he whispered.

I threw my arms around him. “You were not bad,” I said. My mother had told me I was bad more than once, and maybe she was right, because, after all, here I was in a mall at eight o'clock in the morning with someone else's kid, living in a car with a guy I only met last week. But Dylan was not bad. His father was a total prick, but I couldn't exactly say that, could I?

“You are the best, best, best kid,” I said. “And Q will be back, I promise.”

I broke out of the hug, fished out one of the napkins I'd stuffed in my pocket, and wiped his face. “Let's find the giraffe,” I said.

We started down the mall. I couldn't help glancing back at the mall entrance. Q
would
come back. Wouldn't he? He had the car. He had money. My stomach started to tie itself into a knot.
Don't be stupid
, I told myself.
Q's coming
back. He's not like Dylan's jerk-off of a father
.

I wanted to go back to the doors and look outside. I don't know what I thought I'd see…maybe Q in the parking lot, getting ready to hit the road? I felt, I don't know, trapped in the mall, like if I could just get outside, I could somehow make Q come back. Right—and if I went racing for the parking lot, I'd scare the crap out of Dylan.

Just then Dylan pulled on my hand. He'd spotted the giraffe. We headed for it, and there was nothing I could do except go climb on a big pink-and-purple giraffe and hope things were going to work out.

Dylan was playing in the helicopter next to the food courts when Q found us. He touched my shoulder, and I wanted to fling my arms around him, but I'd already done that and it just made things weird between us. I held up a finger and leaned inside the helicopter to nudge Dylan.

“See?” I said. “I told you Q would come back.”

He leaned around me to see for himself. Q smiled and did his spazzy eyebrow thing, which made us all laugh.

“Q and I are going to sit right here on this bench,” I said. “Okay?”

“Don't go anywhere,” Dylan said, but he didn't reach for my hand. That had to be good.

“I won't,” I promised. I dropped onto the padded seat next to Q. “He's got this thing that I'll leave him.”

“Can you blame him?” Q said.

I watched Dylan showing Fred how to move the levers and push the buttons. “No, not really.” I shifted sideways and pulled one leg up underneath me. “So,” I said. “Did you find the guy?”

Q nodded, and I could see the start of a smile on his face.

“So tell me,” I said, giving him a punch on the shoulder.

“He has a room in a building downtown. It doesn't sound very big, but it has its own bathroom.”

“Its own bathroom. You're sure? Not some grotty thing we have to share with strangers?”

“I'm sure,” Q said. He reached in his jacket pocket and pulled out a key ring with two silver keys on it. “We can go see it if you want. Before I give him any money.”

Dylan was making
vroom, vroom
noises in the helicopter. I suddenly realized that with a real address, I could get a library card. The first thing I was going to get was a book about trains and another about helicopters for Dylan.

I turned back to Q. “How much money?”

He sighed. “Hundred a week. Cash every Saturday.”

I shook my head. “It's too much.”

He unzipped his jacket and leaned forward, hand hanging between his legs. “We aren't going to find anything better, Maddie,” he said. “Shit! We aren't going to find anything as good. As long as he gets his money, Goddard won't ask any questions about you, about me, about the kid.”

I raked my fingers back through my hair. “We don't have a hundred dollars a week. Between the two of us, we wouldn't even make it two months.”

“Goddard offered me a job,” Q said. “Off the books. Cash.”

I looked at him, not quite sure what to say. On the one hand, it was the answer to a prayer—if I had actually prayed for help, which I hadn't. On the other hand, it was pretty clear John Goddard was a sleazebag who took advantage of people who didn't have a lot of other choices. Like us. “Are you taking it?” I asked finally.

“I already said I would,” he said. He held up a hand, but I wasn't going to object. “It's the best choice for now, Maddie. We'll have some place to live. The three of us can't stay in the car. Once we get ahead a little, I'll find a real job. It's just for now, I promise.”

“I can keep collecting bottles,” I said.

He nodded. “And we should be able to keep getting food from the hotel at least a couple of times a week.” He looked down at his feet. “There's one other thing,” he said.

“What?” My stomach started retying the knot that had loosened when Q had touched my shoulder.

“I'm getting rid of the car.”

I straightened up. “No.”

“It's a done deal,” he said.

“So, make it an undone deal,” I said. “That's your car. It's your, your…” I gestured with both hands. “It's your place.”

Q put one hand on the top of his head. He looked beat. “The room—the building is right downtown. There's no parking. We need the room way more than we need the car. I can get a lift or take the bus or even hitch to get to work, and downtown, you can get everywhere you need to go.”

I leaned all the way back against the bench. “You sold it to Goddard, didn't you?” I said.

Q didn't say a thing, which was as good as saying yes.

“He's going to give you nothing for it and then turn around and sell it to someone for probably three times as much.”

“We need the money.”

“He's ripping you off!”

“The world is like that sometimes, Maddie,” Q said. “You'd better get used to it.”

Dylan climbed out of the helicopter then, holding Fred in one hand. He came and stood in front of Q. “I need to pee, and so does Fred,” he said. “Will you take us? Fred doesn't like to pee around girls.”

Q looked down at the bear with a totally straight face. “Fred, my man, I know exactly how you feel.” He held out a hand to Dylan, who took it.

Dylan looked at me. “We'll be back, Maddie, promise.”

Something in his face made my chest ache, but I smiled and said, “Okay.”

By the time Q and Dylan—and Fred—came back, the mall stores were open. I'd got the bag Dylan had left in the helicopter ride and was waiting for them, leaning against the back of the bench.

“Wanna go look at the place?” Q asked.

“Okay,” I said.

Dylan let go of Q's hand and reached for mine. “Where are we going?” he asked.

“To look at a place where maybe all three of us can live,” I said.

“Is it a van?”

I looked at Q over the top of Dylan's head. A van. His only thought of somewhere to live was a van. I couldn't speak because I was suddenly overwhelmed with the idea of hunting down Michael and beating on him with my backpack.

“No, not a van,” Q said. “A room, a little apartment with our own bathroom.”

We started for the mall doors.

“Just for us, or other people too?” Dylan asked.

“Just us.”

He hugged the bear to his chest. “Fred doesn't like those places where everybody sleeps together.”

“You mean the shelter?” Q asked.

Dylan shrugged. “I don't know. There were a lot of people, and some of them weren't very nice. So my dad said we should just all sleep in the van, but it was kind of cold.”

“This place will be warm,” Q promised. He turned away, and I could see he was gritting his teeth.

When I was at church, I thought about praying to God to take care of Dylan. Had it only been yesterday morning? Maybe this was his answer. Maybe it was his plan for Q and me to take care of the kid. I was starting to sound like the Holy Rollers. But just in case God was listening, I sent out a silent prayer:

Dear God,

Please take care of Dylan's mom and the other kids, and if
you could give his father a really itchy rash on his privates, that
would be good too.

Amen

nine

The room was filthy. Not dirty like the people who had lived in it were pigs: dirty like actual pigs had lived there.

“Maddie, it smells bad,” Dylan said. “I don't like it here.” He leaned against me, and I put my hand on the top of his head. I looked at Q.