Going Down Swinging Part 15

DECEMBER 1974.

YOU ARE IN your new apartment, trying to make it look cheerful, clean, at least, as you're waiting for the fruit of your womb. You've made a chocolate birthday cake; it's kind of low-slung in the middle, filled in with extra icing because Grace loves the icing more than the cake. Or is that you? Can't remember. Does she like pickles? and what kind of chip dip? and you've been saying things like, it doesn't matter, just so long as we're together, while wrapping her presents and wondering will she even like Silly Putty or is that too young?-but it's OK because you've compensated with a black-velvet-strapped Timex that looks grownup as h.e.l.l and s.h.i.t, how does one wrap a watch box so it doesn't look as c.r.a.ppily slapped together as the rest of the loot? But she'll just tear it all off anyway; rip it like she's fighting her way out of a wet paper bag because that's half the fun. That much you remember.

She's due any minute and so you go back in the bathroom and check again. Do you look motherly? Is this what mothers look like? You blot off some lipstick. No, now you look sickly, you're not a woman who shines without lipstick. And you pace back in the kitchen, it's a huge kitchen, she'll like that. It's a bas.e.m.e.nt, but at least it's in someone's house: safer, not so anonymous. Right now you're of a mind to have people know who you are, at least the you you are now. To hear h.e.l.lo followed by your name makes your backbone straighter, helps you feel here.

If you didn't have to sleep in that bedroom, it'd be better. The five days you've been here, you've waited till the very last second to get into bed because there's something about that bed in that room with nothing else but a dresser; it becomes apparent that your life is one empty Cracker Jack box and you really have nothing, not even a phone number to the only thing that you love. f.u.c.king Baker, you let him have it for that, telling your flesh and blood that she may not give her whereabouts to her own mother. You'd hate him if there was enough there to hate, American weasel. Draft-dodging little t.u.r.d. Wonder if he gets a nice gold star on his report card for this particular absconding. He barely addressed your demands, said he hardly thought it was an issue with which to concern yourself at this point in time and furthermore it was against the rules. The rules. What do the rules say about kidnapping? What do they say about dragging a kid out of her school, uprooting her, placing her with religious freaks?

There's a soft knock at the door. Then a snappier one and you breathe deep twice, too deep, and your first step's a dizzy one.

You open the door, fast and sweeping a la Harriet Nelson, and there she is. And him standing behind her. You say nothing to him and grab her, throw your arms in great octopus swings and suction her to your shoulder, lift her up just a little till your back shifts and maybe picking her up's not such a good idea. Baker says he'll be back at nine. That's three and a half hours. How to pack a birthday and four weeks and a million apologies and sobriety and a clean house and fresh breath and love and love and no crying and lightness and mirth into three and a half hours. You swallow and hold her at arm's length, even though it hurts to let her go that far, and think, Let's join the circus, the Marines, lets run like h.e.l.l and never come back again, but instead you touch her new hair like a sheared lamb and say, Whose idea was this? Not hers, she says, they did it. Call them jerks and tell her she'll look good as new in a couple weeks. That's the good thing about mops, they grow back. You squeeze her again because she's rag-doll limp and you're trying to squeeze out her scares, squeeze back the miles and miles and years and years since you've hugged another living soul. Then, slide off her coat, some little burlap sack of a thing she says they bought her with Child Protection vouchers. It's all right, she says. I'm not that crazy about it.

You pat her shoulder and bring her into the living room, show her the pullout couch you got for twenty-five bucks and the TV-well, that was there before-but here, look at the bedroom; no, maybe not, it's kind of depressing. She stands stock-still in this bedroom, then walks to the bed, kneels on one pillow to look out the window into the laneway and says, It's good how it's on the ground like this-you could escape, you could get out lots of ways-like if there was a fire or something. Don't remember her being so concerned with fire safety.

You tell her that you thought you'd make pork chops for dinner and she could have raw carrots and radishes and a baked potato. You like baked potato, right? and you're embarra.s.sed that you had to ask that. The brain cell with that information seems to be on the fritz just now and she says Yes politely, which somehow is more humiliating than regular Yeah-of-course-what-kinda-dope-are-you kid tone. Or we could have snacky finger food stuff like cheese and crackers and pickles and raw veggies with french onion chip dip and I got salt-and-vinegar chips too and peaner b.u.t.ter. For a nice peaner b.u.t.ter and jammitch sammitch? She says it's o.k., porkchops are good. But she seems funny, her voice does, her soul is lagging behind. And you want to cry because you feel exactly the same way.

While frying and slicing, you ask if she's still taking baton lessons. She says it's over, with a sullen stare into the table. We had this recital thing that parents and people came to where we got judged and marked and stuff. Sadie got first place, she says. Sadie's beginning to p.i.s.s you off too, but you brush it aside and say, Well, how'd you do? was it fun? and she says, It was OK, I lost points because my mouth moved while I was counting and then I dropped my baton, except for it bounced on the tip and I caught it and the judges didn't see. And she smirks, looks pleased with herself-putting one over on the judges: a proud family history. She got Honourable Mention in the end and you expound on how fabulous that is. She's not offering a whole lot of information, so you ask about Explorers and she says that they had a party at Halloween, and we were all supposed to bring a dessert thing and I brought digestive cookies because I, well, first I went to the bakery and it was kind of expensive for just twelve cookies except if you buy twelve you get thirteen and it's called a bakers dozen, so I bought that so I could get the extra one and then I kind of ate some of them and then there weren't enough, so I bought digestive ones because I like them, but then at the party the other girl's mothers all baked stuff for them and two of the girls looked at me and said, "Nice baby cookies-Smooth move Ex-Lax." And they all started laughing at me, about bringing stuff out of a package and ... I don't know, I went a couple more times and then I quit. Alas more evidence of your not-up-to-snuff mothering, but who do those brats think they are anyway, so you say Well, who needs a bunch of crummy little creeps like that around? I don't blame you, I'd've quit too.

When the pork chops are ready and the potatoes are soft and the margarine's on a dish beside a bowl of raw vegetables and cheese is cut up waiting to sit down on a comfy cracker, you say, So would you like to eat at the table or in the living room and watch TV? and she says maybe we should eat at the table as if that might be the wisest because what if the dinner cops pull up, we'll be screwed.

It's quarter to eight before she seems remotely like herself. It happens in mid-bite of chocolate cake and comes out in the shape of a squiggly giggle and before you can stop yourself it's out your mouth: Did you tell Todd Baker about a dream you had with a man chasing you down an alley?

Chocolate gooed yeah.

Oh, Grace, why?

What d'you mean? Why not?

Bee-Sweety! Don't you get what-don't you see how he took that? He reported it, you know, he said, "I'm sorry, Eilleen, but I don't feel that I had a choice." And he was insinuating that you could've been molested by "one of my men," as he put it-not to mention the fact that he thinks that my drinking may have caused you irreparable damage. I don't know-maybe he was right. But honey, things are different now-I'm better and I'm scared that if we're not careful, they won't give you back to me. Please be careful, if they-just-I couldn't stand to lose you for any longer.

She looks p.i.s.sed off, stares at her icing, sc.r.a.pes off a forkful and sloughs it on the side of her plate before taking another bite of cake. But I dreamed it! And it was kind of a weird dream and it was like a story and I felt like telling it and I never-and anyway, you weren't even in it. I didn't say anything about you!

Why have you done this; she's nine years old; how the h.e.l.l is she supposed to know? I know, Angel. I'm sorry. I'm sorry things have been so bad that you would have nightmares like that, but I'll make it up to you. I feel like he tricked us into this whole thing, anyway. Neither of us thought you'd be away this long and look what they did, that ... snotrag's got you there for three months-and suddenly she chokes on her cake, laughing and coughing and laughing and laughing. What's so funny?

Snotrag! You said snotrag, and she coughs and says, I think I got chocolate cake up my nose.

By quarter to nine, she's sitting in a pile of ripped-up wrapping paper and a pencil crayon set and felt pens that smell like fruit and a novel called The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe and The Game of Life while the face of a Timex glints off her wrist. And as if on cue, as if suddenly someone had yanked blinders off this part of her brain, her head jolts up and her mouth says, Henry! Where's Henry? She looks embarra.s.sed and ashamed like a bad mother and you know the feeling because that name has just made you feel like the worst one on the planet. She stands up, then sits back down. Where's Henry, why didn't he come? Is somebody else looking after him?

Yeah, that's it, someone who had to move to Texas and needed a cat. Think. s.h.i.t, it's almost ten to. Baker'll be here. Not now. I don't know. He's a cat. He's around. And you suddenly wish your child had narcolepsy, just for now. But there's nothing to do but stutter and ask her if she'd like a cup of tea with you and she says, Mum! and you crack, turn off the faucet and say, d.a.m.n. Oh angel, I'm sorry, I lied. I just-Henry fell. At least we think that's what happened. After you went to stay with the Hoods-and that's a fitting name for them if I haven't said so already-h-huh, ah, well, I went into the hospital and George was in town, so I got hold of him and asked him if he'd go over and feed the cat. And, uh, you know how Henry used to get outside from the window by climbing the stucco up and down the building? Anyway, George said he found the cat lying out on the gra.s.s below the living-room window and his back was broken. And George didn't want me to see him, he thought I should let him handle it and he thought it'd be better if we didn't tell you, or I thought, if we just made something up for a while. Until things settled down. He was dying, sweety-so George took him and had him put to sleep. I'm sorry. Oh G.o.d-you're a liar and an a.s.shole: your children get broken and your children's children. Even if you'd sent him to the SPCA he might've had a better chance. And your voice cracks when you say, I didn't know what to do, I didn't want to tell you. If I could go back and change things I would. I promise. I'm sorry.

Her face is dewy, a river is flowing underneath. It's five to nine. s.h.i.t-s.h.i.t-s.h.i.t. There's no time to be who you were trying to prove you were. She nods and folds her arms and nods until her whole body is nodding and she looks like someone in a nuthouse. Please, baby, honey, it'll be all right-Henry knew you loved him and it was-we'll get a new cat, we'll get a kitten together. You've got her on your lap now, rocking her yourself; if she's going to rock like this, you want to at least pretend it's you who's rocking her. Then she starts to shake and sob and the tears come in a torrent. They pop from every pore on her face, her arms limp so you have to pick them up and tie them around your neck. Oh, honey. Shhhh, it's OK, I promise everything'll be OK. I promise-promise-promise. Please, Lamby, Todd Baker'll be here any minute, and if he sees you so upset, he might not bring you back, he might think seeing me is too upsetting for you. Please don't cry, please. Shhh, it's OK. There, honey, there, it's OK, but this is four weeks' worth, or four months or years, or it's all the tears of all the stolen babies in the world. And there's a rap on the door. On time, of course-why the h.e.l.l do these f.u.c.kers always have to be on time? Doesn't anybody dawdle any more? Listen, lovey, we'll get a little fluffy kitten and we'll-and in a couple weeks it'll be Christmas-and you toss Just a minute over your shoulder-and we'll have lots of time, just the two of us. We can do anything we want, please, angel, please don't do this. I know you're sad-me too, but they might not bring you back. And the knocking starts up again, so you ease out from under her, sit her back in the chair before you go to the door.

Todd Baker's standing there, uncomfortable and sheepish, smile plastered on. He looks down as if he's about to kick at the dirt with his toe, then ambles into the kitchen. You t.i.tter and tap fingers on your breast plate, say, Grace is a little upset, I just told her about Henry, her cat, and-you shrug at the room to say the rest is obvious. Grab a Kleenex off the table and kneel in front of her to dab, run your fingers back through her hair, and her arms come forward and she flops face first into your neck. And you say, Oof, sweety, and hug her and thump your palm slow against the rhythm of her panting tears. Sorry, we just need a second, you say to him, carefully reading the I-Feel-Like-A-Dolt printed in block letters across his forehead.

He rubs the corduroy patches on the elbows of his blazer, jams hands in his pockets and pulls them back out. Yeah, oh course, take all the time you need. Grace, did you tell your mom about the bird you got for your birthday? She snorts and chokes a yes. Oh, he says, pulls the left hand out of his pocket and stuffs it back in again.

Hoffman, Anne Eilleen.

13.12.74 (T. Baker) Grace went to visit her mother today and stayed for the evening. Things went fairly well. I have spoken at length to Mrs. Hoffman, asking for her help in insuring that Grace does not run from Mrs. Hood's and she has been cooperative in this matter.

Grace Twelve.

DECEMBER 1974.

I COULDN'T STOP FEELING like I was going to cry after being at Mum's. Seemed like I should've been able to stay; she was sober now and she had a new place and she was going to AA again. I thought that was supposed to be the reason I had to go to the Hoods' in the first place. And you could tell she was better cuz of how much she got done by herself, got everything moved, got the phone hooked up, got us a pullout couch, and got me birthday presents on top of it. She was still kind of shaky, but she was her again. And still I wasn't allowed to stay. At night, I lied awake and made up dreams about racing down the street with nothing but a bag of clothes and Lyle. That's what I called Todd Baker's budgie, Lyle. He lived beside my bed in his cage hanging from the stand Todd brought me.

The night after, I decided I had to work harder at training Lyle. I was doing it by sticking my hand in his cage every once in a while like The Handbook of Budgies and Budgerigars said to do to get him sitting on my finger like the bird in the picture. I wasn't doing it that good, though-I was supposed to use a pencil or a stick to bring him along slowly, but I wanted him to like me now. I wanted him to sit on my shoulder and go with me everywhere. Anyway, I kept sticking my hand in and Lyle kept screeching and flapping until I gave up and read some of The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe. But I went back to the cage because I figured if I did it super slow, if I moved really slowly to the cage, put my hand in, really slowly-then Mrs. Hood yelled up the stairs for lights out and I yanked my hand and sent Lyle squawking his head off.

I flicked the light out and went to look out my window. Maybe Mum was doing the same in her room, kneeling on her bed, staring out at the laneway. She wasn't anything like Mrs. Hood, the way she told me about G.o.d. Mum's G.o.d was nice and gave presents and stuff-"Every unselfish good deed you do will be rewarded threefold." She never said anything about the end of the world or lions and lambs. I stood there and tried to yell a prayer in my head and get G.o.d to give me a sign, like whisper in my ear or make Lyle talk. But Wendy made it sound as if G.o.d didn't even like me. He was getting rid of me and all the stuff I wanted: there was going to be a new heaven and a new earth because this earth would pa.s.s away and there would be no sea. Didn't even make sense; didn't He like the beach? And fish and seagulls-why didn't He like seagulls? And if there was no more death, where would He put everybody? They were always talking on TV about the population explosion and how there was too many of us already. Except for, first, He was going to kill everybody, though, so maybe that's just what He does, lets it get really crowded and then kills everybody.

I let go of the windowsill and backed up to do this thing that I did every night where I ran and jumped on my bed with the lights out so that it was like being blind and flying through the dark until my bed caught me. Except tonight I leaped wrong and went crashing down on the floor. My shins hurt so bad I could feel it in my ears and Mrs. Hood hollered up the stairs. I curled up and held myself, saying "Nothing" as loud as I could, but I could hardly make my lungs move. Then I pulled myself onto my bed and laid there trying to breathe pain-b.u.t.terflies out of my chest. G.o.d seemed creepy all the sudden. Snickery. Like a drooly lizard-thing sitting on me, waiting.

The next morning Mrs. Hood said that if I was going to be crashing around upstairs all hours of the night, then maybe I'd like to go to bed a couple hours early and get it out of my system. I tried to explain but I couldn't get my words right lately, and she cut me off. "That's fine, Grace. From now on, bedtime's at seven." Lilly smiled with her lips sucked in and Wendy looked like I got what I deserved. Eight days left till Christmas vacation, till going to Mum's.

The next Sunday, when there were five left, I sat on my bed and copied cartoons out of the newspaper onto Silly Putty. I had sheets and blankets over my window and mirror, and Lyle was flying free. I hoped he was going to love me more every time I gave him freedom, and eventually he'd fly on my finger the way Wendy said was going to only happen after Armageddon. We just came back from Kingdom Hall a couple hours before and Mrs. Hood was in the kitchen baking; the smell of banana bread fumed under my door and Lyle walked across my dresser, pecking pencils and one of my socks.

Then the doorbell bonged because Wendy and Lilly's sister, Julia, was coming today. I met her once before. She was around the same age as Charlie and she wasn't a Jehovah Witness. In a way I kind of wanted to see her again because she was more like normal, but I didn't want to come out of my room. Todd Baker's voice was in my head, saying, "I'm sure it's your imagination, Grace, of course the Hoods like you. You're just feeling insecure because you're a little homesick."

I listened to them kissing and h.e.l.lo-'ing and I imagined the hugs. It was making me be homesick for Charlie. I couldn't even write her a letter if I wanted to cuz we didn't have her address. And now she wouldn't have ours either, so I started thinking about all the ways she could find me again-she could call directory a.s.sistance and find Mum's new phone number or she could write a letter to Welfare and ask them to give it to me or she could hire a private detective who would go from school to school asking if Grace Hoffman was there. I left my Silly Putty, opened The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe and reread the same sentence over and over until I gave up. Plates clacked downstairs, then a kettle whistle and laughs here and there, mumbling and Lilly's voice going loud and high and Julia's over top. More mumbles, some clear words. Julia sounded mad all the sudden. "Oh Christ! For G.o.d's sake-every G.o.dd.a.m.n time I call or come into this house, all I hear is Grace this and Grace that! You torture the h.e.l.l outta that kid!" and Lilly's voice, "No way! It's her. She's the one who starts it. And plus-she farted! Right at the dinner! And one time in Kingdom Hall!"

My face went p.r.i.c.kly and I held my stomach. Then Julia said, "Well, big friggin' deal. I'd like to go fart in Kingdom Hall myself. That poor little b.u.g.g.e.r, G.o.d knows what living in this house does to her digestion. Try leaving her alone, for G.o.d's sake! And if she's so bad, she's got an a.s.s, smack it and be done with it!"

Then Mrs. Hood went, "I don't believe in hitting children."

"No? but you believe in torturing them. I don't know how the kid survives-it's a psychological h.e.l.lhole ... what!? Well, so what, she's not a Witness, so where do you get off trying to-" and her voice quieted off.

Then more mumbling and Lilly squealing, "Huh! Alls I know is I'll be glad when it's February," and Wendy saying something about testing patience until Julia hollered over top, "Listen to them! Obnoxious little brats-the Grim Reaper and her little dog too-and You! You're the foster mother! So foster!" and Mrs. Hood made hissing noises and the shush voice, and mumbles again and more of Julia's sighs and snorts.

I was on my hands and knees listening at my door by then, wishing it wasn't squeaky so I could open it. Then suddenly there was running thumps on the stairs and I ran back on my bed till the feet pa.s.sed and Lilly's door slammed. I opened my book and stared at a page, all weird cuz of feeling like, Huh-I-was-right and then Oh-no-I-was-right. It was still only December fifteen.

I wanted to hear my mum's voice so bad, but the only time I could talk to her was over at Sadie and Eddy's. Even Josh's place didn't feel safe any more, Sheryl Sugarman looked funny or sounded funny at me about my mum now. Sadie and Eddy's mother, Alice, liked Mum, though, and always had messages to tell me when I came over. It was getting to be the only place I didn't feel scared, but it took two buses to get there and Mrs. Hood wouldn't always let me. She said it was too much to ask of their mother, for me to be there all the time; it was hard enough dealing with two kids never mind a third.

The day after Julia was at the house, I called my mum after school from a phone booth and listened to her voice and the television in the background. I kept a finger in my other ear so traffic wouldn't drown her out. I started asking her about Charlie and if she wrote us a letter yet. Mum said no but not to worry, that it'd only been a month and she was probably really busy getting settled and taking care of the baby. Then she started talking about Christmas and how she already had two Christmas presents for me. I told her about Lilly being mad because a kid in her cla.s.s gave her a Christmas card. Mum said that was ridiculous, that my Great Aunt Judith was a Jehovah's Witness and she sent cards to family at Christmas. Then she asked how it was going over there anyway. I told her, fine. I didn't want to upset her and part of me was worried maybe Mum was unpredictable, maybe it'd make her explode so big, Armageddon'd be nothing compared. Plus she had all this getting-better stuff to do; the whole point was not to have to worry about me while she was getting better. She said, "You sound a little blue, angel. Sure everything's all right?"

"Yup. I'm just counting days till I get off school. This school where I'm at now's boring. And I miss you and I want time to hurry up so we can have Christmas time together. Did you get a tree yet?"

"Well, actually, I was wondering what you'd think about an artificial tree this year? Alice was saying that Ray could get us a pretty nice cheap one."

I got all scrunchy inside again. "No. We have to get a real one. Cuz it smells good and it'll feel like a fakey Christmas if the tree's all fakey."

"Okey-dokey, far be it from me to have a fakey Christmas." Then she said that she loved me to pieces and was marking off the days too. She asked what else I wanted for Christmas.

I called her the next day and the next day that week and she still never got a tree. The thing was, what if when it came down to it she didn't get one, or what if she got us one of those skinny-boned old Charlie Brown trees? And maybe she'd hurt her back if she had to carry it all by herself.

Two days before school got out I took the bus up Main Street, got my thirteen bucks out of my bank account and went to a Christmas-tree place. It was like a secret mission, creeping between Christmas trees, scared Mrs. Hood would drive by or Wendy would see what I was doing and tell her mother or tell me I was pagan and that Armageddon was coming before Christmas anyway. I wrapped my scarf higher, for a mask, and looked over the trees until this skinny guy with sungla.s.ses and a leather jacket came out of the trailer, folding his arms from the cold. He walked over with a goony kind of grin and went, "What can I do you for?" I told him I needed a tree, that I was getting it for my mum cuz of her being sick. He nodded and lowered his sungla.s.ses to look at me. His eyes were red and like he just got woken up, and he said, "Huh. So you're the family tree-shopper, huh?-what were you lookin to spend?"

"Um, around five dollars." He nodded and showed me the five-dollar trees.

I looked at him and at them. "They're kind of ugly, these ones."

He chuckled and looked down, kicking the dirt. "Yeah, they ain't so hot."

"I'll just have a look around, if you don't mind," I told him and he snorted and nodded, rubbing his arms and said, "Hey, be my guest."

It took some looking until I found one that wasn't that huge or too beautiful, and I reached in and tried to pull it up. The stick-guy came over and stuffed his hand in to the middle of the tree, lifted it up and stamped it down a couple feet back. He brushed its branches and gave it another stamp. "Yeah, this old girl's not bad. Nice shape to her."

"How tall is it?"

"Huh, well, around six foot. You picked a good-lookin' tree. Not too glamorous, just good-lookin'."

"Well, is it way more money than the other ones from over there?"

"Well, yeah, it's-well I'll tell ya, you're kind of a funny kid, how 'bout I mark her down on special since your mum's sick and all that. Today only, five bucks."

"Oh."

We stared at each other a second. "Well? what d'ya say, kid?"

"OK. Thank you," and I gave him the two twos and a one out of my coat pocket. I had the rest hid in my boot so he wouldn't think I was rich or anything.

He scrunched the bills up and stuffed them in the hip pocket of his jeans, then said, "So what's the deal here, you carryin'?"

"Um, can I use your phone? And if I arrange for a guy to come get it, would you hold it for me till he comes?"

"Sure thing. Y' gotta like a kid with connections."

I called Sadie and Eddy's dad, and told him I just got a good deal on a tree and could one of his furniture guys come get it and bring it over to Mum's. Ray laughed in my ear and I thought I heard him slap the table. "You're Danny's kid all right. Okey-dokey, just gimme the address or the intersection or whatever the heck you got goin' there."

The next day I came home after school, planning to make a list of all the stuff I wanted to bring to my mum's. I'd called her from school and she made a big deal over me for getting the tree and I was super-excited about Christmas. One more sleep left. I wasn't going to be able to take Lyle, but I didn't know if I could trust them to feed him while I was gone, to change his water. I ran upstairs, thinking about how Lyle probably got more freedom than any other bird he knew. I opened the door and closed it behind me so he wouldn't get out and get us both yelled at. I called his name. Then looked in my closet. Then went over to see under my bed, when some blue caught my eye and Lyle was lying under my window. My unsheeted window. My unsheeted mirror. I kneeled and picked him up; he was still limp and soft. Tears started coming in my nose and I told him how sorry I was for letting him fly against gla.s.s he couldn't see, and stroked his wobbly neck.

My face was burning wet when I came down to show Mrs. Hood. "And it's my fault cuz I didn't cover stuff up," I told her.

She was sitting at the kitchen table drinking tea. "Aww. I'm sorry, Grace, that's too bad. You should get rid of him, though; there's all kinds of mites and parasites on birds, so you better throw him out." I looked at her then him and kissed his head before I put on my coat and went out back to bury him. Then I stayed in my room until the next morning.

In the morning, they sat across from me over breakfast. Lilly had baggy red eyes, and she stabbed her pancakes then slammed them on her plate and Wendy took deep breaths and chewed slow. I was tired too, from crying most of the night, and I stared into s.p.a.ce.

"Shake your head, your eyes are stuck!" Lilly spat at me, pancake flying out her mouth. My brain snapped back to the room and I looked down on my plate. "A-duhh!" she said and clanged her fork down.

"I'm-I wasn't looking at you, didn't see you, I mean."

Lilly rolled her eyes. "Well, maybe if you weren't bawling all night over a dumb bird-stupid gomer, you didn't even have it long enough to cry-and did you have to cry so friggin' loud?"

"Lilly!" Mrs. Hood gave the warning voice. "I don't want to hear that kind of talk."

"What! I said friggin'!"

"We all heard what you said."

Lilly looked at me and did yowly imitations.

Wendy breathed out hard. "Lilly, shut up, I had to listen to the real thing all night," and reached across her for the b.u.t.ter.

Lilly smacked her arm. "Wouldja don't, that's rude!"

Wendy stared at her arm and then at Lilly, put the b.u.t.ter down and, really calm, said, "Don't ever do that again, Lilly." Lilly got one of those stunned shudders in her face and neck that only Wendy could make her have and told Wendy to get lost. Wendy cleared her throat. "You know, Grace, you're not supposed to advertise your grief. Jesus said you're not supposed to show it because if you make a sad face, you're just like the hypocrites and your face gets ugly and then everybody knows. You should act natural when you're sad, so only G.o.d knows, and then you'll get rewarded."

Lilly chewed and looked at me. "She's got the same ugly face all the time, how're you s'posed to tell the difference."

"Lilly!" Mrs. Hood turned off the stove and brought the last of the pancakes to the table. "I told you I don't want to hear that kind of talk. At the rate you're going, Judgment Day will be a pretty scary one for you, won't it? Grace's pet died. How would either of you feel if one of the cats died?" and she stomped back to the stove and plopped the pan down.

"Uh! You always take her side." Lilly slammed herself back in her chair.

Wendy joined in. "Yeah, you kinda do. Grace is just trying to get attention. She only had the thing a couple weeks and it always sounded like she was torturing it. And anyway, she killed it herself letting it fly around her room like that."

A wiggle went up my throat in my mouth. "Can I go get ready for school-I don't want to eat-this-I'm, um-" and I crunched my jaws together.

Mrs. Hood was sitting back at the table now with tea. Her voice was calm. "Oh, no? Well, you're going to. I don't get up at seven a.m. for you to turn your nose up at the breakfast I make. I'm sure you're having a hard time right now, but honestly, this is ongoing and it's getting ridiculous. I don't know how your poor mother ever tolerated your pickiness."

Wendy looked up at the ceiling, chewing. I said, "It's not cuz it's bad. I'm just-" and clenched my teeth again.

Mrs. Hood stared at me, waiting. Then she said, "It's my responsibility as your guardian to make sure you're fed, and you're skinnier every time I look at you. And I don't want to hear about what your mother fed you and how you're not allowed to eat white bread or Kraft Dinner-I'd like to know just how a woman on Welfare managed to feed you steak every day and whole milk and fresh juice and fresh vegetables. And she should be ashamed of herself for not forcing you to eat like a normal person-dumping vitamins down your throat. Not to mention your table manners. Half the time you're eating with your hands, and when you do use utensils, it's like you never held one before in your life." Lilly sucked in her lips and got dimples in her cheeks.

Christmas vacation started and Todd Baker drove me to my mum's. He was trying to make peppy happy conversation on the way and I wasn't in the mood. It seemed like he thought it was some big present, bringing me to my mum's place, like I should be grateful or something. But it was mine and I deserved it and I didn't want him thinking he was supposed to get thanked.

He was talking about Christmas in Oregon, his mother and his cousins and their dogs and cats dressed in Santa hats for Christmas pictures. He wished he remembered to bring the one his uncle sent. And then Christmas in New York: the lights and music everywhere; his brother and the wife and how they were Jewish there and they had Hanukkah; did I know what Hanukkah was? Josh never said anything about it. I stared out the window and said, "Uh huh."

He was quiet a second, then, "I haven't been home in more than four years." I wondered if he meant I should feel lucky again. Then he said, "Next year for sure-I think, anyway-I'll be able to make it down; last year my mother came up here."

"What's a draft dodger?" I asked and didn't look at him.

Quiet again. "Where did you hear that?"

"Mm, I don't know. I heard someone say it. Just wondered."

He patted pockets until he found cigarettes, flipped the lid with one hand, looked, then chucked the empty package on the floor. He shifted gears hard and switched lanes. "It's someone who believes so much in the strength of their convictions that they leave their homeland in order to avoid compromising them."