Bang(12)

“Well, listen, I couldn’t find a home to place you in around here, so you’re gonna be in a different town. You’re not gonna be seeing me anymore since I don’t live there. I’m still going to handle your case, but Lucia will be your contact. She should be doing a visit with you later this week. But a piece of advice—stop causing issues or the next stop will be a group home.”

“So I won’t see you again?”

She looks over at me, saying, “Probably not, kid.”

We’ve been in the car for almost two hours when we finally exit the highway.

“Welcome to Posen,” Barbara says, and it isn’t but a couple minutes later when she pulls into a rundown neighborhood.

Chain-link fences run alongside the cracked sidewalks. The homes are old and small, unlike the large brick house I lived in with my dad. Most of these homes have cars parked on their unkempt lawns, chipped paint, and everything about what I’m seeing brings on a well of tears. My stomach knots, and I turn to Barbara, saying, “I don’t think I want to live here, Barb.”

“Shoulda thought about that when I told you to stop sneaking out at night.”

“I promise. I won’t do it again. I’ll say sorry to Molly,” I beg, and when she pulls into the drive of a dirty, old, two-story house that looks like it’s barely standing, I start crying. “Please. I don’t wanna live here. I wanna go home.”

She turns the car off and looks over at me. I feel like I’d do just about anything to convince her to turn the car around and take me back to Northbrook.

“I’m in a bind. You’re eight years old with an unstable home history. Now this family has been fostering for years. They are currently fostering a boy a few years older than you,” she tells me. “I talked to them just the other day. You’ll have your very own room and will go to the same school as their other foster kid.”

I keep my mouth shut and listen. I don’t want to be here. I wanna run, just open this car door and run as fast as I can. I wonder if she’d be able to catch me.

“You listening?” she asks and refocuses my attention back to her.

I nod my head.

“Come on. I’ve got a long drive back,” she says as she gets out of the car and opens the back door to grab my bags.

With a shaking hand, I open the door and follow her along the weathered driveway to the steps leading up to the front door. The rusted screen door squeaks loudly as she opens it and knocks a few times. I stand there, picking at my nails, praying to God that no one opens the door. That this is all a big mistake and we’re at the wrong house.

But it isn’t a mistake, and someone does answer the door. A woman, dressed in a homely, long, denim skirt and a light purple sweater, opens the door. I stare at her as Barbara starts to talk. The woman doesn’t look scary, but I still feel like bolting. She looks down at me and gives me a soft smile. Her ratty ponytail is attempting to tame her long, brown, frizzy hair.

Stepping aside, she invites us in, and the place smells like stale cigarette smoke. While she leads us through the small living room and back to the kitchen, the two of them continue to talk as I take everything in. Wood-paneled walls, brown carpet, mismatched furniture, and ducks everywhere. Everywhere. Ducks on pillows, wooden ducks, ceramic ducks, glass ducks. They line the book shelves, cover the tables, and when I look up, they are even on top of the kitchen cabinets.

“Elizabeth.”

It takes me a second to realize that Barbara is saying my name, and when I look over at her, she gives me one of her fake smiles and says, “Mrs. Garrison says that your bedroom is upstairs.”

“I hope you like purple,” the woman says to me as I look at her purple top and then back up to her face when she says, “You’re the first girl we’ve gotten, so I got a little carried away.”

Barbara gives me an annoyed look, nodding her head to encourage me to talk.

“Yeah,” I finally say. “Purple is nice.”

She smiles and lays her hand over mine. I want to snatch it away, but I don’t. I don’t do anything that my mind is screaming I should. I just sit.

“Well then, why don’t I help you up with your bags before I go?” Barbara says.

The three of us walk up the stairs as they creak beneath our feet and into the purple room. The walls match Mrs. Garrison’s sweater, and I watch as she shows me the closet and then the Jack-and-Jill bathroom that adjoins to the other bedroom.

“This seems like a great room, huh?” Barbara says when she plops my bags down on top of the purple twin bed.

“Mmm hmm.”

“Well, I have to get back on the road,” she tells me, and when she does, I feel the tears hit my cheeks.

Suddenly, I’ve never felt more alone. Empty.

“There’s no need to cry. You’re gonna be fine. I know that change can be hard, but you’ll be okay. Like I said, Lucia will be out to meet you in a few days, okay?”

“Okay.” It’s an auto-response because I’m far from okay.

With a light pat on my shoulder, Barbara leaves me behind, standing in the purple room with duck lady.

“Would you like me to help you unpack, dear?” she asks.

“I’ll do it.”

“Are you hungry? I could fix you a sandwich.”

I look up at her through the remaining tears in my eyes and nod my head.