What's Mine and Yours(96)

“I’m sorry,” Lacey May said. “I can’t be a part of it.”

“We’re getting organized before the next school board elections. We’re going to run our own candidates, petition the ones who are against us.”

“You’re going to leave the students alone?”

Mrs. York and Mrs. Gray nodded at Lacey May.

“That’s how we’ll get what we want in the long run,” Mrs. Gray said.

Lacey May stood, considering. Finally, she shook her head. As much as they might have needed her, her daughters needed her more.

“Good luck,” she said, and left in a hurry. She didn’t look back.

She was relieved when she surfaced on Beard Street. It was quiet, midday, the winter sun white, and the air cold. Not far from here, the garage where Robbie used to work was still open. Lacey May scanned across the street for it, and there it was, the large doors lifted. Just to see it flooded Lacey May with memories: the sight of Robbie in a work shirt and overalls, the smell of paint thinner on his skin. The street had changed over the years, slowly sprouting a half-dozen new businesses. Besides the restaurant, there was a brewery, a lunch window, a nightclub, and a sandwich shop. It had flowerboxes in the window, a neon COFFEE sign overhead.

There, beneath the blinking sign, she saw Robbie. He was shaking a paper cup at a passerby, a man in a suit who ignored him. Robbie strode away from the shop, following the man, murmuring something at him, then he stopped in front of the nightclub, its windows shuttered. He leaned against the building, sucked on a cigarette, and their eyes met from across the street.

Lacey May went to him, and he slipped the paper cup into his back pocket. As she neared him, she could see he looked beat-up, his hair standing up on his head, his button-up shirt too large. He was missing his gold chain. When he hugged her, he smelled of sweat, and something sickly sweet, maybe whiskey, although it wasn’t his drink. The stench of smoke lingered on his hands.

“Oh, Robbie,” she said. “What are you doing down here?”

Robbie shrugged. “I come here sometimes,” he said, and then, “Would you believe that someone stole my car?”

“Really?” Lacey Macy paused, caught herself. “That’s terrible.”

Robbie nodded, looking off in the distance. “I reported it and everything. Called the police. They couldn’t do nothing. Now I’m just waiting for my ride.”

Lacey May didn’t bother asking who was coming to get him. It was nobody, or it was someone she didn’t want to know.

Robbie pointed across the street. “I left it in that lot, and when I came back, it was gone.”

“How long did you leave it there?”

“Not long.”

“Maybe it was towed.”

“Somebody stole it,” Robbie said firmly.

“That’s terrible,” Lacey May repeated. They stood silently, letting Robbie’s story settle between them. He asked about the girls.

“Oh, they’re fine.” Lacey May decided against telling him any more. What would be the point? What could he do? He had enough troubles of his own.

“Noelle is in this play,” she said. “You should come.”

“Yeah, great idea. I should come,” he said.

Lacey May watched him smoke, his fingers trembling as he drew from the cigarette. Lacey May realized that if she didn’t know him, she would have assumed he was homeless. His palms were stained orange, his neck scruffy and unshaven. He still managed to clean up, most of the time, before she saw him, before he saw the girls. They weren’t too far from Central right now. There was Cedar’s, that place the kids liked to go, a few streets away.

“Let me drive you home,” she said.

“Sure, if you’ve got nothing better to do.”

They were crossing the street, Robbie shuffling behind her, when Lacey May told him about Jenkins. Robbie stopped dead in his tracks.

“You checked the pound?”

“I’ve been calling every day, and nothing. You know they don’t keep dogs for very long.”

“Maybe somebody picked him up and adopted him right away?”

“He’s so old,” Lacey May said. She saw Robbie’s face and went on. “But maybe.”

Robbie stood still in the street, his brow furrowed, his mouth hanging open.

“He was such a good dog,” he said. Lacey May took him by the arm and pulled him out of the street.

In the car, his odor was even stronger. Lacey May rolled down the window.

“My poor girls,” he said. “What are they going to do without their dog?”

Lacey May started the engine. “They’ll get over it.”

“No, Lacey.”

His voice was urgent, and Lacey May saw his eyes were burning, bulging, as he stared at her.

“How could you say that? How could you say—?”

Robbie slammed his hands against the dashboard. He bunched his fists and punched. Goddamn it, he screamed. The car rattled with the force of his blows.

When he was done, he was panting, seething, his cheeks red. He put his head in his hands and slumped over.

“It isn’t fair,” he said, and Lacey May rubbed him between the shoulders. There were things she had done, things she hadn’t done, to spare him. What had she spared him at all?