to tell me, or is he? Because one of you is gonna tell me what I think I already know.”
I wish the door was unlatched as Sher draws in a deep breath. I’m going to have to barrel right through the aluminum frame, if her mom reacts the way I think she will.
“I’m pregnant,” Sher whispers, dropping her head. “I’m sorry, Mom.”
Sher’s mom takes a step back and instead of fury, a streak of despair skids across her face. She doesn’t swing on Sher. Sher’s mother drags her daughter into her arms, squeezing her daughter’s shoulders in a desperate embrace. Then she turns to me as unlatches the door.
“Come on in then, and help her pack her things,” she says. “I’m Lisa, by the way, and my daughter is your responsibility now.”
***
Sher sinks her head and just walks away, through the living room and down the hall, to one of the rooms. Lisa lights a cigarette. The whole place smells like stale smoke. Four little kids, none of them quite dressed, are bouncing around on the ratty furniture. I try to avoid stepping on the ones that land on the floor, before they can scramble back onto their living room trampolines.
“Who’re you?” One of the little boys asks before I can make it to the hall. He’s only wearing his underwear.
“I’m a friend of Sher’s.”
“More than just a friend, I’d say,” Lisa grunts, flicking ashes carefully into the hole of a cola can.
“What’re you doing here? Are you going to live here now?” Another boy asks. This one is worse off than the first. He’s only wearing a long shirt and socks.
“No, I’m not going to live here.”
“You could, if you wanted,” the little boy says. “You could sleep in our room.”
“No thanks. I’ve already got my own place.”
The underpants kid carefully rolls a wad of his drawers between his fingers. “We could live with you, I guess.”
“Sorry, guys. I don’t have a lot of room.”
“We can sleep on the floor,” the little girl offers. The third and last little boy doesn’t seem interested in talking to me at all. Only bouncing on the last couch cushion until he comes down so hard that it crunches.
“I told you to quit that, Beck.” Lisa points at the floor as she shouts at him, but Beck doesn’t stop bouncing and Lisa just throws up her hand in surrender. I continue down the hall.
Sher’s in the first door on the right. I walk in and all I see is her hourglass curves from the back, hovering over the gym bag on her bed. The room has only one twin bed shoved against the wall, beneath a window covered with slatted aluminum blinds. The blinds are all bent up and let in a little sun that makes the wisps of Sher’s ponytail glow.
A dresser, pressed against the dirty, pink wall, seems to be split right down the center. Half the dresser top is packed with make-up and bottles of hair stuff, a plastic jewelry box and a basket with some of the face and hair tools that girls always use to torture themselves. The other half is piled high with a collection of plastic ponies, some sporting braided tails and manes, some shaved clear off. Some of their faces are scribbled with markers so they look like four-legged Army Seals. The twin bed, with a grimy, cartoon princess face on one pillow and a clean blue-and-white polka dot design on the other, has obviously been sleeping two.
“You need help?” I ask quietly from the doorway, but Sher still jumps at the sound of my voice. It’s funny, because when something slams against the living room wall adjacent to the bedroom, Sher doesn’t even flinch.
“I don’t need help. You can just go.”
“Where are you headed then?”
“To the clinic, first,” she says. “And then…I don’t know. Somewhere.”
“It doesn’t sound like much of a plan.”
Sher drops some make up and a hair brush into her bag. “How many times do I have to say it, Landon? Just leave. This is not your
I wish the door was unlatched as Sher draws in a deep breath. I’m going to have to barrel right through the aluminum frame, if her mom reacts the way I think she will.
“I’m pregnant,” Sher whispers, dropping her head. “I’m sorry, Mom.”
Sher’s mom takes a step back and instead of fury, a streak of despair skids across her face. She doesn’t swing on Sher. Sher’s mother drags her daughter into her arms, squeezing her daughter’s shoulders in a desperate embrace. Then she turns to me as unlatches the door.
“Come on in then, and help her pack her things,” she says. “I’m Lisa, by the way, and my daughter is your responsibility now.”
***
Sher sinks her head and just walks away, through the living room and down the hall, to one of the rooms. Lisa lights a cigarette. The whole place smells like stale smoke. Four little kids, none of them quite dressed, are bouncing around on the ratty furniture. I try to avoid stepping on the ones that land on the floor, before they can scramble back onto their living room trampolines.
“Who’re you?” One of the little boys asks before I can make it to the hall. He’s only wearing his underwear.
“I’m a friend of Sher’s.”
“More than just a friend, I’d say,” Lisa grunts, flicking ashes carefully into the hole of a cola can.
“What’re you doing here? Are you going to live here now?” Another boy asks. This one is worse off than the first. He’s only wearing a long shirt and socks.
“No, I’m not going to live here.”
“You could, if you wanted,” the little boy says. “You could sleep in our room.”
“No thanks. I’ve already got my own place.”
The underpants kid carefully rolls a wad of his drawers between his fingers. “We could live with you, I guess.”
“Sorry, guys. I don’t have a lot of room.”
“We can sleep on the floor,” the little girl offers. The third and last little boy doesn’t seem interested in talking to me at all. Only bouncing on the last couch cushion until he comes down so hard that it crunches.
“I told you to quit that, Beck.” Lisa points at the floor as she shouts at him, but Beck doesn’t stop bouncing and Lisa just throws up her hand in surrender. I continue down the hall.
Sher’s in the first door on the right. I walk in and all I see is her hourglass curves from the back, hovering over the gym bag on her bed. The room has only one twin bed shoved against the wall, beneath a window covered with slatted aluminum blinds. The blinds are all bent up and let in a little sun that makes the wisps of Sher’s ponytail glow.
A dresser, pressed against the dirty, pink wall, seems to be split right down the center. Half the dresser top is packed with make-up and bottles of hair stuff, a plastic jewelry box and a basket with some of the face and hair tools that girls always use to torture themselves. The other half is piled high with a collection of plastic ponies, some sporting braided tails and manes, some shaved clear off. Some of their faces are scribbled with markers so they look like four-legged Army Seals. The twin bed, with a grimy, cartoon princess face on one pillow and a clean blue-and-white polka dot design on the other, has obviously been sleeping two.
“You need help?” I ask quietly from the doorway, but Sher still jumps at the sound of my voice. It’s funny, because when something slams against the living room wall adjacent to the bedroom, Sher doesn’t even flinch.
“I don’t need help. You can just go.”
“Where are you headed then?”
“To the clinic, first,” she says. “And then…I don’t know. Somewhere.”
“It doesn’t sound like much of a plan.”
Sher drops some make up and a hair brush into her bag. “How many times do I have to say it, Landon? Just leave. This is not your
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