The Big Picture (26 page)

I open my mouth. Then shut it. “I really haven’t given it a lot of thought.”

“Are you serious? You haven’t thought about your future? Your career? College?”

“I’m more of a day-by-day girl, myself.” I punctuate my sentence with a playful wink. But inside the butterflies start a tango. How can I think about the future? Who knows where I’ll be or what will happen to me? College was never even an option for me — until I went to live with the Scotts. Before them, graduating high school wasn’t too likely. And now — I just want to figure out my place here in Middleton with my mom. Who has time to dream?

He pulls into a parking spot at the church, and by the time I grab my purse and script, he’s opening my door. I take his outstretched hand and slide out of the truck. I inhale just a hint of his tangy cologne, a smell that’s becoming familiar to me, and feel a brief moment of calm. I can do this. I can totally be Peter for those kids.

The corners of Tate’s mouth lift, revealing pearly white teeth. “You ready to walk on water?”

“I think I am.” I return his smile. “But like I mentioned earlier, I will
not
refer to you as God before
or
after the skit.”

“Oh, come on. Lunch is on me if you keep it up the whole day.”

“You’re lucky I’ll even be seen in public with you.” And we enter the building and head back to the children’s area.

I change into my low-budget costume (a sewn-up brown sheet belted off with one of Pastor Jamie’s ties) and meet Tate “onstage” in time to greet the first batch of kids to walk through the door.

I watch him call each kid by name, rough up one’s hair, then give another little guy a piggyback ride. The kids are all over him — pulling on his clothes for his attention, showing spaces where teeth used to be, and telling stories about their weekend. And Tate, hanging on their every word, couldn’t look more interested if he were talking to the president. Humming a happy tune, I join the group and help him greet the rest of the kids.

At ten o’clock, Tate welcomes everyone and begins his tale of Jesus feeding five thousand people. The kids’ eyes widen as he holds up five loaves of bread and two rubber fish. In the role of Jesus, he builds on the Bible story, describing the disciples drifting in harsh winds on the lake.

I climb into Pastor Jamie’s canoe and pretend to row. “Wow, it sure is windy out here. Sure is dark. I hope my hair isn’t getting messed up.” My body jerks in trembles, and the front row of kids giggle.

“Wait!” I cry. “What is that?
Who
is that? Do you guys see that man? He’s walking on water.”

“It’s Jesus!” our crowd cries.

“Jesus,” one kid repeats, like I’m a total moron.

I stand up in the canoe, balancing myself with a paddle. “Jesus? Is that you?” As best as I can with my gimped ankle, I shake my legs, my knees knocking.

Tate raises his arm and unfolds his hand. His eyes burn into mine. “Take courage. Don’t be afraid. It’s me.”

I chatter my teeth so hard, the back row ought to be able to hear. “Lord, if it is you, call out to me. Tell me to come out to you on the water.”

God, I feel like this is my own life. Like you’ve put me in this impossible situation — like Peter walking on water. I need you to make it okay for me too. Peter couldn’t walk on water without you, and I can’t do this — this new life — without you. I want to take my courage from you. Please reach out and get me before I go under. Please.

“I’m right here.” Tate’s soft voice washes over me, snapping me back to the moment.

With one crutch, I climb out of the boat and step by tedious step, make my way to him. “Look at me!” I call out to the audience. “I’m walking on water! I’m walking on water! I’m — ” My face falls. My head jerks down. “I
can’t
walk on water!” And I slowly squat down, flailing my arms. “Help me! I’m drowning. Help me, Jesus!”
Please help me, Jesus.

Tate meets me, and my hand warms as he holds it. “I’m right here. I’m not going to let you go. Not ever.”

I start to rise, my eyes steady on my castmate. “Don’t let me sink.”

“Where’s your faith? Why do you doubt me?” And together we climb back into the canoe. As Peter, I bow my head and pretend to pray as Tate approaches the group and gives them some final thoughts on faith.

“No matter what situation you find yourself in, God’s always there, hand out, ready to pull you through.” He looks back over his shoulder, and I feel the weight of his stare. “He saved Peter. And he wants to save you.” And he leads the kids in a prayer.

“That went great,” Tate says, as he drives through my trailer park. “Loved the part where your knees knocked together. But I was a little afraid you were going to fall.”

“Yeah,” I laugh. “I might need to stay off my ankle this afternoon. All that rocking in the boat wore me out.” He stops in my driveway and races around to get my door before I can protest.

“Hey, a group of us are going to watch a meteor shower on top of Stony Peak tomorrow night.” He sees my look of ignorance. “It’s a cliff top in Tuckerville. You should go with us.”

“I don’t know. I’m not really into meteors.” Or cliffs.

“Oh, come on. These things don’t come around every day. It will be something to remember.”

Oh, I think I’ll have plenty to remember from this time in my life. “I don’t know. I was going to get some important stuff done tomorrow night — like file my nails. Or dust my mini-blinds.”

“This astrological wonder is calling your name, and you know it. You can make a wish on it or something girly like that.”

I shake my head and look toward the trailer, where the blinds are all closed. My mom’s car is in the driveway. She’s supposed to be at work by now. “I’ll let you know tomorrow.”

“So Noah and the ark for next week?”

“Yes, but this time, I want to be the lead. I’ll be Noah.”

Tate grimaces. “I don’t know if I’m ready to see you with facial hair.”

I shut my door and eye the steps with dread.

“I’m going to help you up there, so there’s no point in hiding behind the back of the house this time.”

“You saw that?” I close my eyes and sigh. “All right, let’s go.” He grabs my purse and leads me up the stairs, talking to the cats like they’re his long-lost friends.

“Blackie says you haven’t gotten him that filtered water yet.”

“It’s on my list.”

He stops at the door as I pull my key out. “Just make sure Stony Peak is on your list.” And he hops down as I shut myself in.

“Mom?” No answer. I crutch it back to her bedroom and knock on the door. “Mom?”

The fan on her dresser blows across the room, sailing over her body and ruffling her washed-out hair. Sprawled on the bed, she opens a bleary eye. “Whaddyawant?” Her mouth barely moves.

“Mom, you’re supposed to be at work.” I shove my watch in her face. “It’s twelve-thirty.”

“Don’t feel like it. Call in for me, would you?”

“No.” I feel her head. No heat. “What’s wrong? Are you sick?” Dread settles in my stomach.

“Leave me alone. Shut the door.” She yanks the sheet over her head.

“Mom — ”

“Out.”

I stand there for a moment, my heart heavy, my brain in overdrive. What do I do? Do I call the salon for her? Tell them she’s sick? Do I let her take care of it? Do I call a doctor?

I call Millie.

Closing my bedroom door, I feel my burden lighten as soon as I hear her sweet voice.

“What’s new with my girl? How are you?” Though I can’t see her, I know she’s smiling.

“Hey, Millie. Just . . . um, got back from church.”

“What’s wrong?”

“I think my mom is sick.” I give her a vague description of her condition. “What should I do?”

“If you think she’s sick, just let her sleep a while. If she’s not better in a few hours, then you need to call me back.” Millie asks a few more questions. No, I don’t think she’s thrown up. No, she isn’t running a temp. Yes, her color looks fine. “It doesn’t sound too serious. Maybe she just needs the rest.”

Mom’s been home every night this week, though. Why does she need any more rest? “Yeah, I’m sure she’s fine. Just wanted to check with you.”

“Katie, if she isn’t up and around by this evening, we can come get you.”

“No. We’ll be fine. I’m sure it’s nothing.” I’ve nursed her through stuff before. “I can’t wait to see you guys on the Fourth. You’re still bringing Frances when you come and get me, right?”

“Um . . . about that. Katie, I talked to your mom last week.” I hear Millie stacking dishes in the sink. “She’s asked that we cancel our Fourth of July plans with you.”

“What?”

“She said she wanted to have you to herself on the holiday.”

“No!”

“It’s understandable, honey. She is your mother, and she has the day off. She doesn’t get many of those.”

Oh, she gets more than you know
.

“Katie . . . I know it’s not what you wanted.” Millie’s voice lowers. “It’s not what we wanted. But we’ll get to see you for Chihuahua Days the next week. You can’t miss that. Bobbie Ann said we could have you all weekend. And you can spend all the time you want with Frances.”

I rest my head on my desk and hot tears spill onto my cheeks.

“Katie?”

“I’m here.” I rub my hand over my nose. “I gotta go. I’ll let you know if anything changes with Mom.” And I hang up.

I crawl onto my bed, curl myself into a ball, and lie there until the sun tucks itself in.

When I hear the front door open and the Cougar start, I don’t even get up.

Chapter twenty - nine

THE POUNDING ON THE DOOR shakes me from a dream Monday morning. I throw on a short robe and race to the door.

I look through the peephole. A woman who could be Iola Smartly’s twin scratches her gray bun with her Bic pen and waits.

“Yes?” I say from my side of the door. I don’t know this woman. Sure, she looks like a teacher on the verge of retirement, but for all I know she could be a serial killer. Her frumpy tweed suit could be her cover. Maybe she charms her victims with efficiency and poor clothing choices.

“I’m Janice Holloway. I’m with Child Services of Norton County.”

Oh, crap.

I crack the door and speak through the screen. “Yeah?”

“I have an eight-thirty appointment with Bobbie Ann Parker. Is that your mother?” Her eyes take in my morning attire. I know. The combination of the skimpy robe and the Aircast is mesmerizing.

“Yes. Bobbie Ann’s my mother.” But she’s not here. And I don’t think she’s been here since she took off last night. I never heard her come in, and I waited practically all evening. And no Pop-Tart laying out for me this morning. Guess I’ll be missing another doctor appointment.

“May I come in?”

“Um . . . Now’s not a good time.”
Never
would be good. Come back never.

The woman frowns sternly and steps closer to the door. “Are you . . .” She consults the file in her hand. “Katie Parker?”

Yes, but wouldn’t I pay a million to be anyone else right now. “Yeah.”

“I’d really like to come in, Miss Parker.”

“My mom’s not home right now. She’s at work.”

“Work? She was supposed to meet me here this morning. We have a scheduled visit.”

“Um . . . I think her job has been pretty hectic lately. They’ve been calling her in a lot.” The work of a shampoo girl is never done. Lots of dirty heads in this town.

“Katie, might I come in for a minute?”

“I can’t let you, ma’am. I’m not supposed to let strangers in the house,” I say like I’m in first grade.

She pulls out some identification and holds it to the screen. “I would like to wait on your mother, if you please.”

The screen door creaks as I open it wide, letting Mrs. Holloway into my living room. “I’m just going to change really quick, if that’s okay.” I don’t wait for a response, but hop back to my room. It’s everything I can do not to lock myself in there and jump out the window. Except the trailer’s too high off the ground, and I know I’d sprain something else.

Thirty minutes later Janice Holloway and I still sit in the living room. By this time I have offered her a glass of water, a snack cake, and remote control privileges. She looks around the trailer and jots things down in her file.

Mrs. Holloway clears her throat and peers at her gold-tone watch. “I believe I will call her employer before I leave.” She consults her file and punches in the number on her cell. “Can I speak with Bobbie Ann Parker? Yes, I know you’re not open for business yet, but I was told she was there. It’s important that I speak with . . . what? Oh. I see. Very well
then. Good-bye.” She slips the phone in her purse and regards me over tiny glasses. “Your mother is not there.”

I stare at the floor, unsure what to say.

“Has everything been going okay here at home, Katie?”

“Yeah, sure. Great.” Horrible. Lousy. I mean, I thought things were going to change. I thought we had a chance. But the last few days — I don’t know. A few days ago my mom was reminiscing about
Gilmore Girls
and now she’s AWOL.

“When was the last time you saw your mother?”

My eyes flit to the refrigerator where a bent picture of Mom and John hangs by a magnet. “T-today.”

The caseworker stands up and smoothes her skirt. “You tell your mother I stopped by. This does not please me that she wasn’t here.” She hands me her card. “Tell her to call me as soon as possible.”

I don’t release my breath until the woman drives off. Then I close the door and sink to the floor.
Mom, what are you doing? Where are you?

At noon Tate picks me up to take me back to his house to work on our Noah’s ark script for Sunday.

“The first cross-dressing Noah.” He taps the wheel to a Maroon 5 song. “I like it. Noah will be a little feminine, but maybe he’s just metro, right? He’s in touch with his — hey, are you in there?”

His hand waves in front of my eyes and I drag my concentration back to the present.

“You’re a hundred miles away.”

Don’t I wish.

“You’re not thinking about the stench of the ark or why they brought the skunks onboard, are you?”