Three Little Words (14 page)

The rituals I had learned in the prim Seventh-day Adventist service were completely different from the way people worshipped at Mass at the Resurrection Catholic Church, which had a red neon sign and crucifix out front. As soon as we entered the church, we dipped our fingers in holy water and made the sign of the cross. I kept mixing up which shoulder to touch first. When we got to the pew, Madeline reminded me: “Forehead, heart, left shoulder, right shoulder, hands together.”

There was a lot of standing, then kneeling on the padded rail. I soon learned the Hail Mary. Mostly, I was bored and my mind wandered. I focused on the Virgin Mary statue’s stone-eyed stare and wondered what secret message she might be trying to send me. Both my mother and the Holy Virgin had been teen mothers, so that meant my mother was not all bad. Mary was also the name of my Guardian ad Litem. Maybe Mary Miller
was
an angel and God did have a plan for me, like Mrs. Merritt had said.

I asked Madeline’s friend Kyle why some people prayed on Saturday and others on Sunday. “They’re both celebrating the Sabbath, they just interpret which day it is differently,” he responded.

“Wouldn’t people like each other better if everyone went to the same church?”

Kyle laughed. “You’re going to grow up to become either the president or a bomb-maker.”

Mercedes came home for Christmas, and other relatives gathered at the Chavez house. My pile of presents was the largest it had been since being with Adele and Grandpa, although there was nothing from my mother. I received the Polly Pocket pizzeria I had wanted, but I could not enjoy the commotion. The family often spoke in Spanish—sometimes purposefully when they didn’t want me to know what was going on. They referred to various saint’s days that had significance to members of the family, but none related to me. They didn’t seem concerned about spending hours lying in the sun, because their olive skin only burnished and became more radiant, while mine either freckled or fried. They hugged one another at each hello or good-bye, but since they knew I didn’t like to be touched, they avoided me. I was an outsider by race, religion, culture—and blood.

Even so, Madeline often went out of her way to be kind. She knew I hated after-school day care. If her community-college classes were finished early, she would pick me up before her mother got home from the nail salon in Tampa. During strawberry season Madeline would stop at a farm stand and buy me my own pint of juicy berries.

I was sitting on the kitchen stool eating some fresh berries when the phone rang. “Oh, hello,” Mrs. Chavez said in the higher-octave voice she reserved for her nail clients. She turned to me. “Ashley, one of your foster mothers wants you to spend the weekend. Would you like to go?”

I thought it was Mrs. Merritt. “I guess,” I said, because I had not seen Luke since Christmas vacation.

“She’d love to come, Mrs. Moss,” Violet Chavez replied. I shook my head vehemently and mouthed
No!
but she ignored me. “Okay, I’ll have her ready for Miles in the morning.”

“That’s the horrible lady who was mean to us!”

“She sounds very nice, and she said her daughter is anxious to see you again.”

“I won’t go!”

“I think your brother is there.”

“Luke is with the Merritts.”

“He left their home right after Christmas.”

“Mary Miller would never have allowed him to go back to the Mosses!”

Madeline came in the kitchen. “What’s up, Mom?”

“Ashley has been invited to visit one of her old foster families.” Mrs. Chavez smiled slyly. “Maybe we’ll go to Disney for the weekend while she’s gone.”

I ran to my room and slammed the door. So, this was their way of getting rid of me! I did not mind leaving—what else was new?—but how could they send me back to that witch, who, in my nightmares, baked her for-show cookies out of foster children.

In the morning Mrs. Chavez handed me Mario’s gym duffel. “This should be all you need for one night.”

One night! I felt reprieved. I tossed my oldest clothes in the bag, just in case the Mosses decided to keep any of my outfits.

Mr. Ferris tried to be friendly, but I scowled the whole way there. I had one bright thought: I might be able to get back my dolls, radio, and Easy-Bake oven. As I started spotting recognizable landmarks, I felt as though I were watching an all-too-familiar horror movie, but the creepy scenes still made me jump. The Mosses’ mailbox was overgrown with an even heavier layer of bottle green lichen than before. The trees draped in Spanish moss were even spookier, the brambly bushes thicker, the hairy vines more twisted. The trailer was seedier than I remembered, and the babies’ play area was a mucky mess. The smell of wet cow and pig manure permeated my pores. I had returned to hell.

“See you Sunday,” Mr. Ferris said heartily. As soon as I shut the car door, he sped off. If I had not kept my bag on my lap for the ride, he would have left with it.

I took a deep breath, walked up the cement steps, and knocked on the off-kilter screen door. Mrs. Moss peered over my head. “Did Miles leave already?” she asked in the silvery tone she used to charm caseworkers.

“Yes, ma’am,” I responded with a quavering voice.

“Too bad. I baked a treat for him.” She stepped outside. “Ashley, I want to ask you one question.” She was still talking in the phony cadence, but her gaze was steely. “Remember all those nasty things you said about us? They weren’t true,
right?”

I squirmed and tried to find a point to steady my gaze, but my eyes blurred. My pulse pounded. I had not been so fearful since the last time I had been there. Was an investigator in the house waiting for me to change my story again? Even if one was not, Mrs. Moss could do whatever she wanted to me for the next two days. I would not give her the satisfaction of falsely apologizing aloud, so I stared at the doorsill and shook my head.

“Good, I didn’t think so. Come on in and get settled. It’ll be just like old times.”

Nothing much had changed in more than a year, although the rooms seemed smaller and more cluttered. The air still smelled of wet cigarettes and ammonia. As if they were a part of the dÉcor, punished children faced each corner. Mr. Moss was planted in his recliner, smoking and staring at the television screen.

Mandy came around the corner shyly. “Hi,” she said. Her face was thinner and her hair was wispy.

“Would you girls like some milk and cookies?” Mrs. Moss asked.

I was caught off guard. Maybe she was going to treat me like a guest so I would report that everything was fine. Mandy, who was even more skittish than I remembered, was reluctant to sit at the table, but in a few minutes we were enjoying the snack.

I looked around. Mandy’s brother, Toby, was still there, as were Lucy and Clare, who occupied two of the corners.

“Where’s Luke?” I asked.

“Oh, that
guardian
of yours didn’t like him staying here, so they took him to some
shelter”
Mrs. Moss’s raspy tone had returned in full force.

“Lake Mag?” I worried that Luke would get picked on in that rough-and-tumble place.

“They don’t tell me those things.” Mrs. Moss went to watch television.

I passed Mandy my last cookie, and she smiled in gratitude. “We don’t have time-outs where I live now,” I boasted.

“You’re lucky,” Mandy murmured.

Mrs. Moss jumped out of her seat as if she had sat on a hot coil. She grabbed Mandy’s arm and pinched it hard. “Remember, Mandy, you’re mine now, and I can beat the shit out of you anytime I want.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Mandy said. Panic creased her face, and she looked more like a frightened old lady than a girl of ten.

“Take Ashley to the new girls’ room,” Mrs. Moss ordered. “I need to keep my eyes on these bad children.” She flicked her multi-ringed fingers on the shoulder of the kid in the closest corner. He twitched, then resumed his position.

Trembling slightly, I slung Mario’s gym bag over my shoulder and started down the hall to the girls’ room. Mandy indicated the other direction. We walked out the sliding glass door and into the shed where we used to pick out clothes. It had been converted into another bedroom. The Little Mermaid sheets were the same, and I wondered when they had last been washed. Mandy said that I could have the top bunk next to hers. “They took the safety rails off,” she pointed out. “The rules are different because we’re adopted now.”

“I hope they don’t want to adopt me!” I blurted.

After a better-than-average meal of spaghetti and fruit salad, I changed into my pajamas. I thought I had put my toothbrush in one of the gym bag’s side pockets. When I fumbled for it, I pulled out a small foil square that had a transparent back. Inside was a hard rubber ring with a slippery center. “Look what I found.” I showed it to Mandy.

“Open it,” she prodded with a giggle.

I ripped the package. “Ick! Why is it so gooey?”

“It’s for boys!” Mandy said. “You shouldn’t have opened it.”

“You told me to!”

“You’d better hide it,” Mandy warned.

“You never get in trouble for telling the truth,” I said, parroting Mrs. Merritt.

Mandy lurked in the shadows as I approached the house. “Ma’am,” I said to Mrs. Moss as I interrupted the television show. “I found something that didn’t belong to me and opened it by mistake.” I handed her the flaccid tube.

Mrs. Moss’s eyes almost exploded. “Where did you get a condom?”

So, this was a condom! The Lake Mag girls had mentioned them, yet I had never seen one. I made sure to stare directly in her eye so she would believe me. “I found it in my bag and wanted to see what it was.”

“If it wasn’t yours, why did you open it?” She saw Mandy slinking in the doorway. “Mandy, did you have anything to do with this?”

“Ashley just showed it to me,” Mandy’s voice wavered.

“You haven’t changed a bit, Ashley Rhodes.” Mrs. Moss shook her head as if writing me off. “Throw that in the trash and go to bed. If I hear another word, I’m separating you two.”

I was happy to comply. The sooner I fell asleep, the sooner Sunday would come and I could leave. I was not really even angry with Mandy, who had urged me to open it and then lied to save her skin. She had to do what was necessary to survive.

When Mr. Ferris arrived the next day, the condom was in a plastic bag. Mrs. Moss waved it at him as evidence. “She brought it on purpose!” Mrs. Moss said with disgust. “She showed everyone how it’s used—even the little ones!” Her tone changed to phony concern. “That child needs help. You know the first thing she told me when she arrived? She said, ‘I’m sorry I caused you so much trouble by telling those lies about you.’ Then she comes into my home and throws this in my face!”

Mr. Ferris was gruff with me. “Get your stuff and get in the car.”

I ducked under Mr. Ferris’s arm and into his musty-smelling car. As he started the motor, I looked at the shed where I knew my toys were stored, but I did not dare ask about them.

Neither of us spoke until we were almost at Mrs. Chavez’s. “Ashley,” Mr. Ferris said sternly, “the most important part of someone’s character is being honest. Nobody likes a liar. You keep getting in trouble with these behaviors.”

“Where’s Luke?” I asked.

“He’s at Joshua House.”

“Is that a foster home?”

“No, a shelter.”

“When can I see him?”

“I’ll try to arrange a visit with him next week.”

Poor Lukie
, I thought. But this time, at least, he had Mary Miller watching out for him.

When I returned from my overnight at the Mosses’, I asked Madeline if she brought me anything from Disney World.

“We never went,” Madeline said. “We were only teasing you.”

That spring Vivian, a foster child who was slightly younger than me, moved in and slept on a cot in Mrs. Chavez’s room. Mrs. Chavez mentioned that Vivian was “free for adoption,” which sounded like she was a kitten being given away at the flea market. Mary Miller had said something about me being adopted, yet adoption had trapped Mandy in the Moss family, where she could be punished as much as they wanted without anyone checking. I did not want that to happen to me. Still, when I overheard Mrs. Chavez say that Vivian would fit in with their family, I was jealous. Vivian was African American, and I was the only white person in the house. Even if I wanted to stay, they would not keep me. No matter how hard I tried, I would never be chosen by them—or anyone.