The Limit (4 page)

“Stay here,” she ordered the three of us as she jumped out of the car. She didn’t bother to close the door behind her. I’d never seen Mom run in her jeans and heels before. She could go fast.

A sob came from the backseat. I looked over my shoulder. Abbie had stuck her thumb in her mouth again, and Lauren was crying.

“What’s happening, Matt?” she asked as tears dripped down her cheeks.

Abbie pulled her thumb out of her mouth long enough to say, “I don’t like it.”

“Mom’s upset because we went over the limit, isn’t she?” asked Lauren. “Can Dad fix it?”

“I don’t know,” I said. “I hope so.”

“I’m scared,” said Lauren. “At school the other day—when we heard about that Lakeview girl who got taken—some kids were talking about families who go over their limit. They have to do all sorts of terrible things like sell their clothes and move out of their houses. And then the moms and dads have to go to jail.”

“No one’s taking Mom and Dad to jail,” I said. At least I didn’t think so. I’d never heard of people going to jail because of the limit.

“What’s going to happen to us?” asked Lauren.

What could I possibly say—without lying—that would make it sound as if it wasn’t a big deal?
No sweat. Our family’s just about to fall apart. Don’t worry.
Nope. Didn’t quite cut it. It was like trying to explain away the danger of an F5 tornado barreling down on your house. Since scaring the girls wasn’t my goal, I kept my mouth shut.

Lauren pouted her lips. “I hate the limit.”

Mom walked very slowly out of the building and slumped into the car. “Karlene’s the only one in the
office. She said he’s at the country club.” Mom stared out the front window, three fingers pressed against her trembling lips. “I just don’t know what to do.”

She looked at me, as if I might have the answer. It was backward. Parents are supposed to know how to fix things, not kids.

“Let’s go find Dad,” I said.

A hint of a smile lifted one corner of her mouth. “That’s a good idea. You’ve always been such a smart boy.” She leaned over and pulled me to her with an arm around the back of my neck. “I love you, Matt.”

“I . . . love you too.” Her shoulder muffled my words. Why, exactly, were we saying this right now? I tried to pull away, but she clutched me tighter and held on for what seemed like a really long time.

Eventually we made it to the country club, Mom driving calmly and not breaking any traffic laws. We searched the parking lot but couldn’t find Dad’s car.

“We missed him.” Mom pressed harder on the gas. “I bet he’s back at the office by now.”

During the next hour we drove back and forth between the country club and Dad’s office, stopping to check out a restaurant Dad might have taken a client to whenever we saw one. Karlene stopped answering our phone calls, and I was surprised we didn’t fill Dad’s cell phone voice mail.

“Where is he?” Mom kept asking.

“Let’s just go home,” I said. “Maybe he’s there.”

“It’s too early,” she said. She glanced over her shoulder to make sure the girls weren’t paying attention. Abbie had fallen asleep, and Lauren was deep into texting. “I’m afraid to go home without him.”

“Let’s go back to his office and wait,” I said. “We can’t keep driving around. You’ve probably used up a week’s worth of our gas allotment already.”

Mom’s phone rang. She tried to grab it out of my hand, but I switched it to my far ear as I clicked it on.

“Hello?”

“Hey, Matt. What’s up?”

“Dad!”

“William!” Mom let out such a big sigh of relief she could have filled a hot air balloon. I put the cell on speakerphone and held it up so Mom and Dad could talk.

“You guys seem a bit overeager to get in touch with me today. So what’s the big news?” Dad’s joking manner instantly put everyone at ease.

Except for Mom. She started crying. “We went over the limit at the store today. How could this happen, William? Didn’t you say you were getting a deposit this morning from one of your clients?”

Dad’s voice went ice cold. “Yes. I’ll have Karlene find out what the glitch was. This has to be a mistake.”

“I need you to come home right now,” said Mom.

“Why?” he asked.

“Did you get a message from anyone besides us this afternoon?” she asked.

“Just a minute.” We heard electronic beeps as Dad scanned his messages. “Yes. Here’s one.”

“Put us on hold and listen to it.”

All went silent in the car. When Dad came back, his voice was as somber as when he spoke at my grandfather’s funeral two years ago. “I’ll get there as fast as I can.”

“We’re fifteen minutes from home,” said Mom. “Are you at the office?”

“Yes. I’m leaving now. I’ll be five minutes behind you.”

For the first bit of the drive I asked Mom a bunch of questions—Lauren broke away from her phone long enough to ask a few too—but Mom never answered. She just shook her head and said she couldn’t talk. Eventually we gave up. We drove the rest of the way in silence.

“Oh, my,” said Mom as we turned the corner onto our street. “I didn’t think they’d arrive so quickly. I thought we’d have time to call someone . . . to do something.”

“Who?” I asked. Before I finished saying the word, I noticed the shiny black limo sitting in front of our house. The windows—even the front ones—were tinted too dark to see inside. “Do you know who
it is?” I made my voice sound stronger than I felt. Mom didn’t answer. Slowing the car, she pulled into our driveway.

Abbie, awake again, bounced around like a rubber ball in the backseat. “Who is it, Mommy?”

Lauren sat rigid in her seat. Her arms made a tight X across her chest, and her eyebrows made a V in the middle of her forehead.

Mom didn’t pull into the garage but stopped in the driveway underneath the basketball hoop.

She gave my thigh a tense squeeze. “Whatever happens, remember I love you. We’re going to fix it.”

“What’s going to happen?” I asked, fumbling to unbuckle my seat belt.

She shot a glance at the limo, rubbing her lips together so hard her lipstick smudged. Heaving a deep sigh, she sagged against the headrest and closed her eyes. “I wish your father were here.” After a few seconds she cleared her throat and sat up straight, tapping her closed fists against the steering wheel. “Okay,” she said, more to herself than to us. She opened her door. “Listen, guys, I’m going to go talk to the people in the limousine. Stay in the car. Do you understand?”

“Why?” Abbie asked.

“Just do what she says,” said Lauren.

Mom climbed out and shut the car door behind her. She took two steps away, came back, reopened the door,
and pushed the lock button before closing it again.

I twisted a loose thread from the hem of my T-shirt around my finger as I watched Mom walk to the limo. She bent at the waist and talked to someone who sat in the front passenger’s seat. Mom became very animated, throwing out her arms, shaking her head, looking up every few seconds for any sign of Dad’s car.

Mom backed away as the limo door opened and a lady got out. No, it was more like she flowed out, because she moved in such a smooth, liquid way.

Honey,
I thought, watching her slow, gliding motions. Her tan skin was only a few shades lighter than the light brown color of her suit. Her long, golden-brown hair rippled around her shoulders, like honey when you pour it and it mounds up on itself before settling flat.

I stared at her, my mouth hanging open. She looked like those ladies on TV and in magazines who try to sell us soft drinks, shoes, or dishwashers.

Honey Lady turned, her gaze hitting me like an unexpected pass in a basketball game, bam, right in the face. She walked toward me with even, flowing strides, Mom right beside her and talking all the while.

Honey Lady rapped lightly on the window. I looked at Mom, questioning. She dipped her chin in a small nod.

“You guys stay in here. Got it?” I said to the girls as I unlocked the car and climbed out.

“Are you Matthew?” Honey Lady asked with the warmest smile I’ve ever seen.

The breath in my nose sucked in fast and got stuck in my throat at the sound of her speaking my name. Her voice was thick and sweet and matched the rest of her just right. For a moment I wished I were fifteen years older and tall and covered with muscles.

I nodded.

“Hello. My name is Sharlene Smoot.” She held out her hand to me, but I couldn’t move. She lowered her arm. When she spoke again, her voice still came out smoothly, but it also contained authority. “Matthew, you are the oldest child of William and Rebecca Dunston, correct?”

“He is,” said Mom. “But if you’ll just wait a few minutes, my husband will be home. He’ll explain the mix-up with our account. In fact, he probably has it fixed by now, if you’ll just check.”

Ignoring her, Honey Lady continued to direct her words toward me. “In light of the fact that your family unit has exceeded its debt limit and that option D of Federal Debt Ordinance 169 has been chosen for your rehabilitation, I must verify your identity and age.”

“Can we at least discuss that option?” Mom asked, her voice growing frantic. “We’ll happily go on supervised spending. I don’t see why we’re not allowed to
choose our own rehabilitation option. I’d like to see some sort of legal explanation for why the choice was made for our family. What’s so special about our circumstances?”

With a slow, fluid movement Honey Lady turned to look at Mom. “I’m sorry, I know this must be very upsetting for you, but I don’t have that information. It’s the responsibility of a different department. If you’d like, I’d be happy to e-mail you the contact information once I return to my office. I’m sure someone in that department will be able to answer all your questions. Now, Matthew, if you will please hold still.” She smiled so sweetly I allowed her to take an eye scan as well as a handprint scan with a handheld unit. “Thirteen years old, correct?”

“Uh . . . yeah.”

“Very good.” She tapped a couple of things on her scanner. “All done.”

That was it?

“I’ll just go inside, then,” I said.

Honey Lady held out her arm, blocking me against the car. I could have pushed past her, but I noticed a big man with gorilla muscles walking from the limo toward us. His small, dark eyes stared me into submission.

“What do you want me to do?” I asked.

“You are required to meet the obligations of FDO 169-D,” said Honey Lady.

Thanks. That explains a whole lot.

“Once you understand all that entails, I think you will enjoy it,” said Honey Lady. “I work for the FDRA. Our facility is very comfortable. It’s practically brand-new and located only a couple of hours from here.”

Well, hip-hip hooray for you.

“We’ll be leaving now,” Honey Lady said to Mom.

“Wait. Please. My husband will be here any second.”

“There is nothing he can do or say that will change anything,” said Honey Lady. “I’m sorry, but I do have a schedule. Come along, Matthew.”

Come along? Was she nuts? Mom made a sound that was half scream, half sob. The girls, who still sat in the backseat of the car watching us through the window, started howling. I didn’t care how pretty Honey Lady looked or how nice she sounded, I wasn’t going anywhere with her. Even Gorilla Man couldn’t force me.

I pushed through Honey Lady’s outstretched arm like a grade-school kid playing Red Rover and sprinted toward the house. The next thing I knew, a couple of gorilla hands took hold of my shirt and held my shoulders in place, even though my legs fought for a few more steps. I kicked and punched and almost twisted out of my shirt, but Gorilla Man grabbed me tight around the chest, pinning my arms to my sides, and lifted me into the air.

In the background I heard Lauren and Abbie crying louder. They must have gotten out of the car. I’d told them to stay in there. Why hadn’t they listened? Mom’s voice became hysterical.

“Put him down. You’re going to hurt him!”

“Resistance is to be expected,” the honey voice said. “Don’t worry. We’re very experienced at dealing with it in a safe manner.”

Gorilla Man dragged me to the open back door of the limo. With one of his massive arms he kept my upper body immobile; with the other he pressed down on my head, like cops do to criminals. A final shove sent me into the car. I landed, spread-eagled, halfway on the seat and halfway on the floor. Before I could twist around and sit up, he slammed the door behind me. The thump of the doors locking exploded in my ears. I lunged for the door, but it wouldn’t open.

Lauren and Abbie screamed louder than ever; I could tell even though the car muffled the sound. Mom had fallen to her knees on the lawn. Honey Lady and Gorilla Man opened the doors to the front seats. I pounded on the window buttons, but they must have been disabled.

Dad’s car pulled into the driveway, and I could breathe again. He’d gotten here on time. He could fix everything. His car had barely come to a stop when he jumped out and ran to Mom. She half stood, pointing at
the limo. Dad sprinted over. Good. He’d talk some sense into Honey Lady. He’d make her let me go.

I stared at Dad, my hands plastered against the window. He couldn’t see me, since the glass was so dark. He was close enough I could see a small twig snagged in his sweater-vest near his shoulder. I almost laughed. He must have spent some time in the brush at the golf course today. I sat back on the soft leather seat. This was almost over. My dad would save me.

He reached the sidewalk, almost close enough to touch me if the window had been down. The car moved beneath me.

Wait a minute!

I screamed out, “Dad!”

“Matt!” I could barely hear his voice. I tried the door handle again as I felt the limo drive away.