Calli (10 page)

I scan the room. What took weeks to discuss, buy, and arrange has been neatly packed away in a short amount of time. This feels so final. Cherish is gone, and now her belongings are leaving us too.

I make a fist around the necklace and take another deep breath before asking what will happen to Cherish’s things.

Liz’s voice is hoarse when she answers. “Michelle said she’ll take the boxes and store them for us.”

“Can you make sure Michelle gets this too? It’s what Cherish was looking for before the . . . incident.” I hold out my hand, revealing the necklace. I expect a gasp or a shout or something much more dramatic, but neither Liz nor Mom reacts.

Liz carefully takes the jewelry from me. Just as I’m
about to explain how I came to have it in my possession, she dismisses me. “I’ll put it in a safe spot, Calli. Thanks. Why don’t you head back to bed?”

I stand there unsure of what to do—I came prepared to confess. Mom must sense my unease because she dismisses me too. “Liz and I need some time to talk, baby girl. Alone.”

I sigh. This must make Mom feel guilty because she tells me I can miss another day of school, plus she gives me permission to return Dub’s phone calls I had no idea I’d missed. This news is the only comfort I receive.

My body feels heavy as I walk back to my room. I make sure to close my door to block out the arguing. I didn’t tell Mom or Liz any of the things I needed to say, but at least the necklace is back where it belongs. Sort of.

My moms are nearby, but still I feel incredibly lonely. I can’t even imagine what Cherish must feel like. Is the juvenile justice center anything like the prisons I’ve seen on TV? Bars? Locks? Chains? Commands? Scary rooms? Scary people? Cherish has lived in a lot of different places in her life, but this has to be the worst.

Mom said I could call Dub later, but I need to talk to him now. I sit at my desk and dial his number. It’s not like he hasn’t called me this early before.

A deep, sleepy voice answers. “Calli? Is that you?”

“Yeah.”

“I’ve been waiting to hear from you. Thanks for your note. I miss you.”

This is all it takes for me to start bawling.

“Are you crying about what happened between me and Cherish? Something else? Talk to me, Calli.”

I grab a tissue and wipe my face and the phone since my tears have made it damp. Then I blow my stuffy nose before pulling it together enough to talk.

“Hold on. What was that? Can you say that again?” Dub interrupts a few times as I tell him everything. About how he literally made me sick when he kissed Cherish. How I took action. How things are weird between me and Delia now. How Cherish flipped out. How she’s in deep
merde,
and how I’ll probably never see her again. How Mom and Liz are having problems.

Dub is silent for a moment and the quietness fills me with anxiousness. Have I said too much? Does he hate me? Should I have kept this to myself?

“I had no idea, Calli. I thought you were out sick yesterday. What’re you going to do?”

“I don’t know.” I know I have to do something though. I put him on hold to redab my face and the phone with a tissue. “I’m back.”

“Thank God.” From the way his voice softens, it seems as though he’s smiling. “I never want to hurt you again. I want to be here for you. Be with you.”

“You might want to think that through. I’m a horrible person, Dub.”

“You’re human, not horrible. If anyone is horrible, I win the grand prize. Did you forget what started it all? Yeah, blame me if you want to blame anyone.”

Somehow Dub’s managed to make me laugh. He has this way about him.

His laugh turns into a yawn. “We better get ready for school. I can’t wait to give you a hug when I see you.”

As much as I want that hug, I’m not ready for school.
For stares. Rumors. Questions. Quizzes. “I’m staying home another day. I look about as bad on the outside as I feel on the inside.”

“Doubt it.”

Our good-byes linger, and when I hang up the phone, I feel less lonely and a fraction better.

LATER IN THE DAY Mom’s monkey droops from the doorknob. She’s finally crashed after all the packing and fighting. I fell asleep after talking to Dub and didn’t wake up until close to noon when Liz came home. She took work off today, though she didn’t say where she was earlier. Liz isn’t in much of a talking mood—she might’ve taken time off from the casino, but she’s busy working around the house. So far she’s doused the bathroom and the kitchen in vinegar and shuffled the boxes containing Cherish’s things to the front door to make them easier to move out. Has it even been forty-eight hours?

Sassy nervously follows her around now as Liz moves on to the den.

“Can I help you?” I ask her.

She shakes her head no. “Why don’t you kick your feet up and watch TV?”

It’s not exactly an order, but I obey to get out of her
way. The living room feels eerie without Cherish taking over the TV and the recliner.

Some soap opera is on, but the show is too melodramatic and annoying and I can barely pay attention. It doesn’t help that Dub’s question pounds in my head—
What’re you going to do? What’re you going to do? What’re you going to do?

What
am
I going to do?

From the living room I can see that Liz is packing some more. She may not want my help, but I want to be there for her like she’s been there for me. The only thing I can think of is to make peppermint tea.

It takes me a few minutes to prepare us each a cup. The water isn’t as dark as the tea Liz prepares, but the aroma is minty enough.

I manage not to spill any of the hot liquid as I carry the cups to the den. “I brought you some tea.”

“That’s thoughtful of you. Thanks.” Liz pushes a box aside and reaches for a cup. She sits on the futon with a grunt and then takes a slow sip. The bruise around her eye has faded a bit.

“To be honest, I haven’t been the most thoughtful person lately. Not at all.” I sit down next to her with the warm cup in my hand.

“What do you mean?”

“I’ve done a lot of things I’m not proud of.” My voice feels shaky as I start to explain exactly what I mean, but my throat doesn’t clamp up and my lungs don’t feel constricted. Talking to Dub must’ve released some stress.

“Remember that day I walked home from school?”

Liz nods and then brings the tea to her lips for another long, slow sip.

“That’s when I started falling apart. Cherish kissed Dub. She threw herself at him and then wrote mean things all over my locker. I . . . I wanted to get back at her, so I messed with some of her stuff and took the necklace to teach her a lesson. You know how well that went.”

“Why didn’t you talk to me or your mom before this?” She gets up to set the cup of tea on the table and then runs her fingers through her hair. Liz’s spiky hairdo springs right back into place.

“I wanted to, but it hasn’t exactly been easy.”

Liz’s eyes fill with tears. “Brandi and I’ve tried to do our best . . .”

I wrap my arms around her. She squeezes me so tight that it makes me feel safe, loved. Guilty.

I pull away. “The truth is that I haven’t been one of the best things to happen to you.”

“Don’t say that, Calli. Children aren’t perfect. Lord knows I wasn’t, especially as a teen. I got kicked out of a home for stealing cash from my foster parents. They could’ve pressed charges, but they didn’t because they knew I’d learned my lesson. I know you’ve learned yours.”

I let out the breath I’ve been holding. Liz is so responsible that it’s hard for me to think she resorted to stealing, though she probably had much more reason than I did. “Are you moving Lemond’s stuff into Cherish’s room?”

Liz hesitates. “No. This bedroom will go back to being a den.”

The chest heaviness returns. “What do you mean? Have we been banned from fostering after what happened?”

Liz reaches for her cup and downs the rest of the tea before speaking. “Your mom and I have decided not to pursue fostering or adopting anymore. Not after what happened to you.”

“What? After all that you’ve been through? This is what you and Mom wanted. Me too.”

“We’ve already told Michelle.” Liz turns away from me and starts to fold the futon frame into a couch.

I grab the other end of the futon. Liz pulls up on the back side and I push down on the middle. She seems to be as lost in thought as I am.

I think about a Mardi Gras party my moms and I went to a couple of years ago—the real Mardi Gras, not the buffet. Mom’s piece of king cake contained the plastic baby, which is some medieval tradition. She scraped away the cake and set the figurine on the table. The baby sat upright with its plastic arms reaching out.

At parties I used to study the cake to find where the dough was twisted together. Usually the baby would be hiding there. I’d watch to see who got the slice with the surprise.

There had been no clue my mother was picking the figurine. “You’re the queen,” I said and told her she now needed to host the next party. She didn’t say anything back, but her eyes flooded with tears. At first I thought it had something to do with feeling guilty about eating cake, but from how Mom looked at the figurine, it was clear that wasn’t the reason.

Liz picked up the plastic figurine and held it in her palm. “Would you consider fostering?” she asked Mom. At first I thought she’d said “frosting.” That’s when I found out she’d been a foster child herself. She explained how she wanted to give back to kids who had problems with their parents like she’d experienced.

“I can get it from here,” Liz says once the futon looks like a couch. I get that she wants to be alone. I want some space too.

My family is falling apart. I can’t believe Mom and Liz told Michelle they’re done without discussing things with me first.

I want to tell Michelle that they’re making a mistake. What about Lemond? Where will he go when his great-aunt can’t take care of him any longer?

The list of Cherish’s contacts—her dentist, court appointed special advocate, etc.—might still be in the kitchen. There’s only one number I’m concerned about finding. Michelle’s.

I grab the tea cups, and before I leave the bedroom/ den, Liz turns her attention back to me. “I won’t say anything to your mother. You know, about the stuff you mentioned. I’ll leave it up to you to tell her. Keep in mind she hasn’t been feeling too well.”

“Okay,” I say, even though it doesn’t feel okay that she’s implying I shouldn’t tell Mom.

After I ditch the cups in the kitchen sink, I search for the contact list. It hasn’t been packed or filed away yet. I commit Michelle’s number to memory and return to my room so I can call her in privacy.

The phone rings once. Twice. Six times before a message comes on: “Hi, you’ve reached Michelle Boyce. I’m not available, but please leave your name, number, and a brief message.” Beep.

“Uh, hi, Michelle. This is Calli. Calli Gilbeaux, Brandi and Liz’s daughter. Can you please call me back?”

I’m sort of relieved she didn’t pick up. I hadn’t really thought the call through.

I SMEAR ON FOUNDATION and it helps cover some of the bruising above my lips. I slather on some dark, sparkly lip gloss in a poor attempt to make my lip look less jacked. I hurry getting ready so I don’t miss the bus. Mom’s still sleeping and Liz went to work early to make up hours.

“Don’t feel like you have to rush back to school,” Mom told me last night, which isn’t like her. She’s always been super strict about attendance and studying. While I’m not ready for the school BS, I’m ready to see Dub again. Plus I worry that if I stay home with Mom alone all day, I might be tempted to talk. To tell her how I’ve ruined her dream of having more kids.