Before We Were Yours(44)

Briny’s coming to see us soon.

But that worries me too. Last week, a man showed up to visit his little boy, and Mrs. Murphy told him the boy wasn’t here. He’s been placed for adoption. I’m very sorry. That was what she said.

He’s gotta be here, the man argued. Lonnie Kemp. He’s mine. I didn’t sign him over for adopting. The children’s home is just boardin’ him till I git back on my feet.

Mrs. Murphy didn’t seem worried, even when the man broke down and cried. Nonetheless, he is gone. The family court deemed it best. He has been taken in by parents who can provide very well for him.

But he’s my son.

You mustn’t be selfish, Mr. Kemp. What’s done is done. Think of the child. He will be given what you could never provide for him.

He’s my son….

The man fell down on his knees and sobbed right there on the porch.

Mrs. Murphy just went back inside and shut the door. After a while, Mr. Riggs hauled the man up and walked him to the street and put him in his truck. He sat there all day watching toward the yard, looking for his boy.

I’m worried that Briny might come here and have the same problem. Only, Briny won’t stand there and cry. He’ll bust his way in, and something terrible will happen. Mr. Riggs is a big man. Miss Tann knows the police.

“Take the utmost care of the little one in the sickroom,” Mrs. Murphy says now. “Give him a nice hot bath and some ice cream. Maybe a gingersnap. Pep him up a bit. I’ll ask Miss Tann if she might delay the order a day or two. I want him well enough to travel. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Mrs. Murphy.” Mrs. Pulnik’s words hiss through clenched teeth, which tells me I sure don’t want to get caught here under the azalea bushes today. When she’s in that mood, you better run fast and hide good, because she’s looking for somebody to take it out on.

The last thing I hear is Mrs. Murphy crossing the room and yelling into the hall, “And don’t forget about poisoning those rabbits!”

I grab up a broken branch and quietly start stirring the leaves over my knee prints, so Mr. Riggs won’t be able to see that I’ve been here. I wouldn’t want him to tell Mrs. Pulnik.

But that’s not what scares me most. What scares me most is Mr. Riggs knowing someone’s been going up under here at all. To make it to the azalea bushes, you’ve got to slip past the cellar doors. Riggs keeps them open, and if he can, he’ll get kids in there with him one way or another. Nobody talks about what goes on down there, even the big boys. If you talk about it, they say, Riggs’ll get you and snap your neck and say you fell out of a tree or tripped on the porch steps. Then they’ll cart your body off to the swamps and feed it to the gators, and nobody’ll ever hear about you again.

James, the big redheaded boy, has been here long enough, he’s seen it happen. We give him peppermints, and he tells us what we need to know to get by here at Mrs. Murphy’s place. We’re not friends, but candies will buy you a lot around here. Every morning when we wake up, there’s a little wad of peppermints shoved under the door of our room. At night, I hear Mr. Riggs come around. He tries the knob, but it’s locked, and the workers always take the keys when they put us in bed. I’m glad. Sometimes, after Mr. Riggs comes by our room, I hear him walking up the stairs to the house. I don’t know where he goes, but I’m glad we’re down in the cellar. It’s cold, and the army cots are scratchy and smelly, and we have to use a slop pot at night, but at least nobody can get at us when we’re in there.

I hope Briny comes before enough beds empty out to move us upstairs.

Riggs is just headed in the cellar door when I get to the end of the azalea hedge. I almost don’t see him quick enough to let the branches fall back and hide me.

He looks right at me before he walks down the steps, but he can’t see me. I’m like the Invisible Man again. The Invisible Girl. That’s who I am.

I wait until I’m sure he’s gone, and then I creep out of my spot, quiet as a little bobcat. The thing about bobcats is, they can be two foot from you and you’ll never know it. One big breath, and I run past the cellar door and around the fig tree. After you’re past it, you’re safe. Riggs knows the workers look out the kitchen windows a lot. He won’t do things where anybody else can see.

Camellia’s waiting for me on the hill behind the church house playground. Lark and Fern are riding a teeter-totter with Gabion in the middle. Stevie’s sitting in the dirt beside Camellia. He climbs over into my lap soon as I sit down.

“Good,” Camellia says. “Get him offa me. He stinks like pee.”

“He can’t help it.” Stevie wraps his arms around my neck and lays against my chest. He’s sticky, and he does smell bad. I rub a hand over his head, and he whimpers and pulls away. There’s a goose egg under his hair. The helpers here like to thump kids on the head where it won’t show.

“Yes he can help it. He could talk too, if he wanted to. He’s just gettin’ hisself in trouble with the workers. I told him he better stop it or else.” Camellia’s a fine one to talk. If any of us does get the closet while we’re here, it’ll be her. I still don’t know for sure what happens in the closet, but it must be bad. Just a couple days ago, Mrs. Murphy stood over the breakfast table and said, When the food thief is caught, it’ll be the closet, and not just for one day.