fortunate person could grow up and eventually fill the role of unhired and unpaid help?My mother should consider herself lucky I was a girl. Imagine if Brayden had been her natural child. He’d have been no help whatsoever. She’d never have been able to take in so many kids. She’d have had to fulfill her dream with beings less demanding than human children. Guinea pigs, maybe. Or Sea Monkeys.
There’s a knock on my door. At least someone in this house still honors rules. I tell whoever it is to come on in. It’s Cici and Sam, dressed in runners, shorts, baggy T-shirts and sneakers.
“She’s making me jog,” Cici whines, pointing her thumb at Sam. “Wanna come make fun of her?”
Sam slaps her thighs. “I want to have a tighter butt by next spring. This jiggle is unacceptable. I look like J. Lo.”
Cici starts laughing. “J. Lo would die of insult.”
“You’re not fat or jiggly, Sam,” I say.
“I am. It’s okay, I can take it.” She tugs at her shorts and sucks in her belly. “But by April, watch out!”
“Maybe if you ate one less bag of Doritos each day, I wouldn’t have to go through the torture of running.” Cici looks at me. “Please come, Andrea. It’ll be so terrible.”
I grin. “As tempting as that sounds, I’m pretty sure Mom would interpret the horribleness as fun and insist I return to jail.”
They leave.
Once they’re gone, I figure it can’t hurt to earn a few brownie points with Mom. I cross over to Michaela’s side of the room and straighten her pillow and covers. I set the stuffed dog under the sheets as if he’s waiting for her. Then I take her pajamas into the bathroom and ask Mom if she’d like any help.
Mom looks tired. She’s on her knees, bent over the tub, where Michaela sits staring at the wall while her neck gets washed. The girl doesn’t acknowledge me as I enter, nor does she acknowledge that anyone is scrubbing her neck. It’s as if she’s blind and deaf. Mute, too. She reminds me of Helen Keller, closed. In her own private world, not allowing anyone else in.
Not that I blame her.
“Did the flowered pants lady say if Michaela was always like this? Quiet, I mean,” I ask.
Mom looks up. “Who’s the flowered pants lady?”
“You know, the one from Child Services.”
“Huh. I never noticed her pants.”
“They’re kinda hard to miss.”
“Anyway, no one at CS knows anything about her life before … you know.”
“How are her parents?”
Mom shakes her head as if to say “Not in front of Michaela.”
I hold out Michaela’s folded pajamas, hoping to soften Mom’s edge. “Do you want me to dress her?”
“I think we should disrupt her routine as little as possible. Just leave the pajamas on the counter and I’ll get her ready.”
I do as she says but stay in the room to help with brushing her teeth—I’m in charge of the young ones’ teeth. Always have been, always will be.
Mom gets Michaela to stand up, then wraps her toothpick body in a towel. As she pats the child down, she turns to face me. “Is there something else?”
“What? No, I was just waiting to do her teeth …”
Michaela starts to drop back into the water, threatening to soak the end of the towel. Mom grabs for the end and scoops Michaela back to standing, sloshing water all over the floor. I drop down with another towel to sop up the mess but Mom shoos me away. “All right. This bathroom is too small for three of us. Please go get Michaela’s bed ready for her.”
“I did,” I mumble as I leave the room. “I did get her bed ready.”
The phone rings from the hall table. I rush to pick it up before the ringing wakes the twins. “Hello?”
“Andrea?” It’s a male voice. Dare I hope? “It’s Will.”
I press the phone against my chest and try to breathe. Will. Calling me again. It’s weird how different his voice sounds—if anything he seems closer than if we were standing side by side. The intimacy of it makes it hard to breathe. I
There’s a knock on my door. At least someone in this house still honors rules. I tell whoever it is to come on in. It’s Cici and Sam, dressed in runners, shorts, baggy T-shirts and sneakers.
“She’s making me jog,” Cici whines, pointing her thumb at Sam. “Wanna come make fun of her?”
Sam slaps her thighs. “I want to have a tighter butt by next spring. This jiggle is unacceptable. I look like J. Lo.”
Cici starts laughing. “J. Lo would die of insult.”
“You’re not fat or jiggly, Sam,” I say.
“I am. It’s okay, I can take it.” She tugs at her shorts and sucks in her belly. “But by April, watch out!”
“Maybe if you ate one less bag of Doritos each day, I wouldn’t have to go through the torture of running.” Cici looks at me. “Please come, Andrea. It’ll be so terrible.”
I grin. “As tempting as that sounds, I’m pretty sure Mom would interpret the horribleness as fun and insist I return to jail.”
They leave.
Once they’re gone, I figure it can’t hurt to earn a few brownie points with Mom. I cross over to Michaela’s side of the room and straighten her pillow and covers. I set the stuffed dog under the sheets as if he’s waiting for her. Then I take her pajamas into the bathroom and ask Mom if she’d like any help.
Mom looks tired. She’s on her knees, bent over the tub, where Michaela sits staring at the wall while her neck gets washed. The girl doesn’t acknowledge me as I enter, nor does she acknowledge that anyone is scrubbing her neck. It’s as if she’s blind and deaf. Mute, too. She reminds me of Helen Keller, closed. In her own private world, not allowing anyone else in.
Not that I blame her.
“Did the flowered pants lady say if Michaela was always like this? Quiet, I mean,” I ask.
Mom looks up. “Who’s the flowered pants lady?”
“You know, the one from Child Services.”
“Huh. I never noticed her pants.”
“They’re kinda hard to miss.”
“Anyway, no one at CS knows anything about her life before … you know.”
“How are her parents?”
Mom shakes her head as if to say “Not in front of Michaela.”
I hold out Michaela’s folded pajamas, hoping to soften Mom’s edge. “Do you want me to dress her?”
“I think we should disrupt her routine as little as possible. Just leave the pajamas on the counter and I’ll get her ready.”
I do as she says but stay in the room to help with brushing her teeth—I’m in charge of the young ones’ teeth. Always have been, always will be.
Mom gets Michaela to stand up, then wraps her toothpick body in a towel. As she pats the child down, she turns to face me. “Is there something else?”
“What? No, I was just waiting to do her teeth …”
Michaela starts to drop back into the water, threatening to soak the end of the towel. Mom grabs for the end and scoops Michaela back to standing, sloshing water all over the floor. I drop down with another towel to sop up the mess but Mom shoos me away. “All right. This bathroom is too small for three of us. Please go get Michaela’s bed ready for her.”
“I did,” I mumble as I leave the room. “I did get her bed ready.”
The phone rings from the hall table. I rush to pick it up before the ringing wakes the twins. “Hello?”
“Andrea?” It’s a male voice. Dare I hope? “It’s Will.”
I press the phone against my chest and try to breathe. Will. Calling me again. It’s weird how different his voice sounds—if anything he seems closer than if we were standing side by side. The intimacy of it makes it hard to breathe. I
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