Things We Do in the Dark(43)





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At the gas station, Joey waited in the car while the social worker went inside to pay. They were an hour into the two-hour drive up to Maple Sound, and it was going by at warp speed. With every kilometer, her heart grew heavier. It felt like this car ride was the dividing line between the before and the after. Once she arrived at her aunt and uncle’s house, she would cross into the after, and there would be no going back.

Deborah plopped back into the driver’s seat and handed Joey a plastic bag. Inside were several packs of Skittles.

“I know your aunt has three boys, but that candy is yours, Joelle, and you don’t have to share it with anyone.” Deborah’s tone was serious as she started the car. “Whenever you’re feeling lonely, have a couple of Skittles. Think of them as me giving you a hug. By the time you’ve finished the candy, I’ll be back for a visit. And I’ll bring you some more.”

Joey stared at the bag. An adult had just given her a present, and it wasn’t even her birthday. True, it was just Skittles, but it was the best gift she’d ever received. Because it was in exchange for … absolutely nothing.

“Thank you.” She willed herself not to cry.

An hour later, they arrived in Maple Sound. The entire family was outside on the porch when they pulled up. The two-story house was at the top of a hill, and while it had pretty views of Lake Huron, it was much smaller and more isolated than Joey remembered.

“It’s really pretty here.” Deborah sounded surprised as she cut the engine. She rolled down the window. “Smell that? Fresh air. And is that a pond I see over there? It’s so cute. Listen … you can hear the frogs—”

At first Joey didn’t understand why Deborah stopped speaking so abruptly, but then she realized it was because of her. She was crying, dammit, and she didn’t even know she was doing it until she saw the look on Deborah’s face. She swiped at her cheeks, embarrassed to be caught feeling something—and furious at herself for allowing it to show.

Tita Flora appeared near the driver’s-side door with a big smile. She did not look how Joey remembered, either. Her hair was cut short and lightened to an unnatural shade of auburn. Her three boys—Jason, Tyson, and Carson—remained on the porch, wrestling with each other behind Tito Micky, who seemed oblivious to the chaotic energy of his sons. Her uncle had changed, too. He had almost no hair left on his head, and he was skinnier, the sinewy muscles in his arms and legs all but gone from years of inactivity. His belly, in contrast, protruded firmly over his saggy green basketball shorts. An unlit cigarette dangled from his mouth, and he had a lighter in his hand.

Her grandmother was the only one who had not changed. Lola Celia’s hair was dyed the same blue-black as before, and like the last time, she was dressed in sweatpants and a sweatshirt, even though it was summer. She lifted a bony hand in their direction. Joey knew her frail appearance was just an illusion. Within that small, aging body was a woman whose eyes missed nothing and whose tongue was as sharp as a straight razor.

After all, Ruby had gotten it from somewhere.

Introductions were made, and Tita Flora planted a perfunctory kiss on Joey’s forehead before greeting Deborah with a too-wide smile that showed all her teeth. Her lola said hello in English, her beetle eyes crawling up and down her granddaughter’s body as she stretched her hand out, palm facing down. Joey took it and bowed, pressing the back of Lola Celia’s hand lightly to her forehead.

When she’d first met her lola a few years before, Joey had not known what the mano was. Her grandmother had ripped into Ruby in furious Cebuano, presumably for not teaching her young daughter how to greet her elders with respect. The only word Joey had understood from that verbal lashing was puta, which meant “whore.” Lola Celia had screamed it at Ruby, not once, but twice. Later, on the drive back to Toronto, Ruby had been uncharacteristically quiet. You have a bad mother, she said to Joey in a resigned voice before turning on the radio, because I had a bad mother.

Tita Flora nudged her husband. Tito Micky stuck his unsmoked cigarette in his pocket and grabbed the suitcases. They all went inside.

“Mick, show Joey where her room is,” her aunt said. To Joey, she said, “Your lola made adobo for dinner. I know that’s your favorite.”

Favorite sounded like pay-bor-it. Her aunt’s Filipino accent had not softened much over the years. In contrast, Ruby’s accent was nearly gone, because her mother had been determined to lose it. Occasionally it came back when she was talking (yelling) at Joey, but around other people (boyfriends) she almost sounded Canadian (which, for Ruby, meant white).

“Wow, so heavy,” Tito Micky said as he dragged both suitcases toward the staircase. Heavy sounded like hebbee. “What you got in here, a dead body?”

The joke was in poor taste, and Deborah blinked. Tita Flora spoke sharply to her husband in their Filipino dialect, and his shoulders slumped. Joey only caught one word. Buang. It meant “stupid.”

She followed her uncle up the stairs to the bedroom at the end of the hall. Joey looked around in dismay. While the window had a view of the pond, the room was no better than the sleeping situation at the foster home. Bunk beds were pushed up against one wall, and there was a thin twin mattress lying on the floor closest to the door. It was covered in a plain pink cotton sheet so new, it still had creases from the packaging.

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