Pieces of Me (7 page)

I put my hair back in a braid, pulled on my jacket and dug the sleep crud out of my eyes. Q locked the car and we started for Tim's. I couldn't help looking down the row of
RVS
for the old blue van. There was no activity around it.

“He's okay,” Q said.

I nodded and hoped he was right.

It was quiet at Tim's. I got washed up, changing into my second-to-last clean shirt. Then Q and I sat at a table by the window and had our coffee and sandwiches.

“Hey, Maddie, I got something I gotta do this morning,” he said.

“Did that guy lend you his truck?” I asked.

Q pulled a piece of bacon out of his sandwich and ate it. “No. All that stuff ended up going to the dump. What a waste.” He stretched his legs under the table. “It's that I kinda promised I'd do something this morning.”

“Okay,” I said.

“There's this woman…she's old and she doesn't have much, plus she's raising her granddaughter, I met them at the food bank a couple of times. She needs a couple of screens put on her windows, but the landlord keeps putting her off. I told her I'd do it.”

He looked kind of embarrassed, pushing his coffee cup back and forth across the table from one hand to the other.

“That's really nice of you,” I said.

“It's not a problem,” he said. “And I like her.” He looked up at me then. “So is there anywhere I could take you?”

It was my turn to look down, embarrassed. “You'll laugh,” I said.

“No, I won't.”

“Church.”

“Church?”

I looked up at him and nodded.

“Okay, you have clearly been taken over by the Holy Roller pod people,” Q said.

“See?” I said. “I knew you'd laugh.”

Q pushed his cup away. “I'm not laughing. I'm just trying to figure out why the heck you want to go to church. Didn't you get enough ‘Come to Jesus' on Monday night?”

Had it just been Monday night that I'd met Q? I'd only known him a week, but it felt a lot longer. “It's not like that,” I said. “There's this big old church down by the river.”

He nodded. “I know the place. With the copper roof?”

“Yeah. Sometimes I like to go there. I can just sit in the back and listen to the music, and no one bothers me. I like it. It's peaceful.”

They had a couple of services on Sunday morning, and sometimes I'd sit through both of them, putting a dollar in the collection plate each time. I didn't mind. I figured it was a pretty good deal to be out of the weather and wrapped in all the music.

And no one ever bothered me. I noticed a lot of students, and I just managed to blend in with them. A couple of times, I'd even gone for cookies and coffee in the hall after the service, walking around with my cup, smiling like I belonged.

“Okay, so I'll drive you down,” Q said.

We finished eating, and I brushed my teeth in the bathroom. Then Q and I walked back to the car. Most of the
RV
people were up and moving around. It was still quiet at Dylan's family's van.

“Do you think the baby is okay?” I asked Q.

“Yeah,” he said, eyeing the van himself. “Little kids get sick all the time, and they're better before you know it.”

I nodded, but I couldn't stop myself from watching for some sign that Dylan and his brother and sister were okay.

It was still early when Q left me at the church, so I crossed the street and walked along the river for a while. When I did go in and find a seat, I found myself staring at the huge cross at the front. I looked around to see if anyone was watching, then I bent my head and closed my eyes.
Thank you for Q and for having food and somewhere to sleep
, I prayed silently.
Please watch out for
Dylan and his brother and sister. Amen.

I felt a little silly when I opened my eyes again, but if you couldn't pray in a church, then where could you do it? I hoped God was listening. I'd been in the church enough to know that here they believed that God was always listening, and I hoped for Dylan's sake that he was.

When I came out about quarter after twelve, Q was across the street sitting on the hood of the Honda in the sun. It felt good to have someone waiting for me, to not have to walk around the city for hours and then scramble to get something to eat and find somewhere to sleep. That cramped little car was starting to feel like home.

“How was church?” Q asked, pushing his sunglasses up onto his head.

“Nice,” I said. “They did something called a cantata. The music was beautiful.”

He slid down off the car.

“How was your friend?”

Q shook his head. “I thought she seemed tired. She said she wasn't, but that's just how she is.” He reached for the car door handle. “I gotta get gas, so that means either the soup line or Pax for lunch.”

I got in the passenger side. It would be hard to avoid Hannah if we went to Pax. If we went to the Community Kitchen, there was a chance I'd see Dylan and his family. And I'd have Q with me.

“Soup line?” I asked.

He grinned and pulled his shades back down. “Your wish is my command.”

We parked the car a couple of blocks away from the Community Kitchen. Leaving it any closer was just asking for it to be trashed while we were in there. The line was long, and there was already some pushing and loud voices at the front. Q stood close behind me, and just the sense of him there, even though we weren't touching, made me feel safer. I scanned the line for Dylan or his mother, or even Michael, but I didn't see them.

It was soup day—chicken vegetable with lots of veggies. Q and I took our bowls and a roll each and went to sit at the same table I'd sat at with Dylan's mother and the children. I looked around the room. They weren't there.

“They might have gone to Pax,” Q said.

That made sense. I was dipping the last bit of my roll in my soup when he touched my arm. “Maddie,” he said. He pointed to the door. Michael was just joining the end of the line. His wife was behind, shepherding the children forward. She looked worn-out. Dylan looked scared, cowed, but he was holding his little brother's hand.

I moved to get up to go over to them, but Q put out a hand to stop me. “Don't,” he said.

“Why? I just want to make sure the kids are okay.”

“You'll piss off their father.”

I would have pulled my hand away, but I couldn't. “Just by saying hello?”

Q scooped up a spoonful of vegetables and let them fall back into his bowl. “Yes. Just by saying hello. Stay here. Let them come to you. I know what I'm taking about. Just pick up your spoon and eat. Please, Maddie.”

I swallowed. I picked up my spoon and pretended to eat while I watched the family work their way through the line. Q let go of my other arm.

They took a table about halfway from the back on the end wall. Michael started eating right away while his wife helped the two boys get settled. I wanted to go over and help her. No, that's not true. I wanted to go over and dump that bowl of soup on Michael's head.

I realized Q was watching them too when he said softly, “He's an asshole.”

Dylan's mother shifted the baby from one arm to the other, and even out of the corner of my eye, I knew she'd spotted us by the way her body language changed. She bent and kissed the top of Dylan's head, and I had to put my spoon down again, because there was no way anything was getting past the lump in my throat.

At least Dylan had her, I reminded myself, and it was clear that she loved him. I turned my head for just a quick look at him. He was eating and talking to his mother.

“Don't stare at them,” Q said. “Look at me, Maddie. Talk to me.”

“This is not a place for little kids,” I said through clenched teeth.

“I know,” Q said. He put down his spoon and ran his palm across his chin and down his neck. He hadn't shaved for a couple of days. The dark stubble made him look older, and then I realized with a shock that I didn't actually know how old he was.

“Maddie, Michael is the kind of guy who always has to prove he has the biggest set of balls in the room. Anything or anybody that challenges that, means he'll strike out. The thing is, he'll strike out at her and those kids.”

I played with the zipper on my jacket. “So you want me to just pretend I don't see what a dip wad he is.”

He blew out a breath. “For now, yeah. Like I told you last night, no one's going to listen to us.”

It didn't feel like anyone had heard my prayer after all. I made myself eat the rest of the soup. I didn't look directly over at Dylan and his family, but I did sneak little sideways glances. I was pretty sure Q noticed, but he pretended he didn't.

“We should go, Maddie,” he said finally. He stood up and took our dishes back to the counter. I swung around and sat with my back to Michael and his family, because otherwise I knew I'd stare at them, or even worse, go over and make a mess of things. So I didn't see Michael get up and come toward us as Q came back to the table.

“Hey, guys,” Michael said.

“Hey,” Q said. He stood in front of me in the same position as he had taken last night, hands in his pockets, feet apart.

“You got any plans for this afternoon?” Michael asked. I noticed the jacket he was wearing was a lot nicer than the ones the kids had. And his blond hair looked like it had been cut fairly recently by someone who knew what they were doing with a pair of scissors.

Q shrugged. Michael looked at me. My heart was suddenly pounding.

“You said you like kids. Could you watch Dylan for a while? We gotta take the baby back to the doctor, and I think the other one has something too.” He rolled his eyes. “Kids. They get every freakin' germ out there.”

I knew I had to play this right. I looked up at Q. “Would it be okay?” I asked.

He nodded and then turned to Michael. “Yeah, she'll watch the kid for you.”

Michael gave me a lazy smile. “You goin' back up to the mall?”

Q nodded.

“Okay, man, I'll see you up there in about half an hour.”

“Yeah, that's good,” Q said.

Michael walked back to his family. “C'mon,” Q said.

I followed him out. “That was good,” he said as we headed for the car.

“I figured if he thought I didn't have a brain of my own, it might be a good thing,” I said. I didn't know what to do with my hands. I suddenly had the urge to punch something. Or someone.

“I'm sorry,” Q said.

I stopped walking. “What are you sorry for?”

“We should just tell that jerk to go shove it.” He made a fist with one hand and smacked his other palm with it.

“Yeah, and she and the kids'll pay for it,” I said. “You're right. Nobody is going to listen to us. A couple of runaways against a husband and father.” I remembered how my mother's face got closed when I told her that Evan had hit me. No, no, he was a good Christian. He wouldn't have done something like that. I was lying. I was making it up.

“Anyway, we get Dylan for the afternoon,” I said. “That's good, right?”

Q looked at me and smiled. “Yes, it is,” he said.

He looked ahead to where the car was and then back at me. “I'll race you,” he said. “One, two…”

I didn't wait for three. I was off like a shot, tearing down the sidewalk. Q came flying up behind me, passing me easily. He leaned against the car to catch his breath.

“No fair,” I gasped. “Your legs are longer than mine. They're mutant legs, alien legs.”

“Hey, you cheated,” he said, pulling a hand through his hair. “You're supposed to wait until I say three.”

I reached for the door handle on my side. “You didn't say that.”

“It's understood.”

“Not by me.”

His fixed his dark eyes on my face. “Cheater.”

“Alien legs.”

We glared at each other, and then we both started laughing at the same time. And suddenly I felt good. The sun was shining, and at least for this afternoon, I'd know Dylan was okay.

It was more like forty-five minutes before Michael showed up with Dylan in tow. We'd pulled the Honda back into the same parking spot between the
RV
and the van. I was starting to get crazy, thinking maybe Michael wasn't going to show after all. He came down the line of trailers with Dylan behind him. He didn't hold the kid's hand. He didn't even look back once to see if he was there. Dylan had a plastic grocery bag in one hand. He stood quietly behind his father. “I figure we'll be two, three hours at the most,” Michael said.

“Sure,” Q said. He inclined his head in my direction. “They'll be fine.”

“Great,” Michael said. He looked down at Dylan. “Hey, you be good.”

Dylan nodded his head slowly. “I will,” he said.

“Okay, see ya,” Michael said, and he was gone.

I smiled at Dylan. “What's in the bag?” I asked.

He looked down at the Superstore bag. “That's Fred,” he said. “He doesn't like always having to stay in the van and be quiet.”

“Me neither,” Q said behind me. “I like making noise.” He started dancing from one foot to the other, waving his arms above his head and singing, “Oooh laa, rah, rah, rah!”

“What is that?” I asked.

“It's the bird dance,” Q said.

I made a face at Dylan. “We can do a better bird dance than that, can't we?”

I twisted at the waist, tucked my hands in my armpits, and flapped my elbows like wings. I must have looked like a total spazoid, but it was worth it to see Dylan begin to smile and start his own arm-flapping dance.

Q stopped first and dropped, panting, into a squat. I sagged against the front fender of the car. Dylan hopped around for about a minute longer. Then he stopped and looked up at me. I leaned forward. “What is it?” I asked.