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  There’s no way to understand what makes a guy like that tick. I’ll never forget how frightened I was yesterday. I was terrified. Last night I was determined to hate him, but just when I decide the man is a flat-out monster, he’ll do something half-way nice, like chasing away D-bag. r the other night when he gave me the last dinner roll – even buttering it for me.

  He finishes his cake and heads back to the dessert table. I watch his easy gait and the way he helps a kid cut the Rice Krispy squares. He thinks he can boss me around? I’ll let him think that. He may be handsome in a rough sort of way, sexy even, but he’s not worth the argument. In May, I’m out of here.

  Chapter Six

  Trig

  Over the next few weeks I watch with amusement as Maggie tries to get along with Wes and Jane and the four boys. I can tell she’s making an effort. Maybe not to be sweet, but, at least, polite. Jane takes her to the high school to register.

  It’s the same school I dropped out of, a little country school. Most of the kids live on ranches around town and I’m sure there aren’t too many girls walking around with their hair dyed jet-black. The kids might give her a bad time. Tough shit though. She’ll figure things out.

  Her first week of school doesn’t get off to the best start. She’s managed to piss off the government teacher and talked her way out of taking his class. She convinced the principal she knows more about Civil Rights than her instructor. He agreed and allowed Maggie to go to the library and take some college-level class online.

  Then she scowled in a threatening way at the bus driver, getting her troublesome ass kicked off the bus. There’s no way Jane can pick her up with all the other driving she does, shuttling the boys here and there, and Wes works an hour away, so he can’t either.

  I offer to take her and pick her up until she’s allowed back on the bus. I tell both Wes and Jane over dinner and Maggie damn near loses it right there. Wes and Jane are pleased I can help. Not Maggs. One minute she’s staring daggers at me. The next she looks like she might cry. Mostly it’s the dagger stuff, though.

  The first day I take her to school, I tell her she can glare at me all she likes. Won’t bother me a bit. When it’s just me and her in my truck she doesn’t give me dirty looks. She’s ready to take on the whole world, but not me.

  Friday, the third week of school, she comes to the truck walking beside a boy.

  My gut twists with a strange emotion. I don’t like the idea of her messing around with some high school kid. I’m not jealous, obviously. It’s something else. Protective, I guess. I like thinking I’m in charge of keeping her out of trouble.

  She gets in, puts her seatbelt on and ignores me which is pretty much par for the course. The boy, a skinny kid with a mop of hair, waves from the sidewalk and Maggie responds with her own little wave.

  Instead of taking off and heading home, I sit there, letting the engine idle, a thousand bad scenarios going through my head. Maggie doesn’t dress provocatively, not like some of the other girls she goes to school with. And yet she’s caught the attention of a guy. I never imagined any of these little motherfuckers would notice her.

  Her black hair’s always in her face. It’s as if she’s deliberately trying to make herself unattractive. But teenaged boys are horny little bastards. I remember how it was and I suppose it’s possible some of them find her pretty enough.

  I scowl at the twerp on the sidewalk and turn my attention to Maggie. “Do you need to be on the Pill?”

  She looks at me with stunned disbelief before remembering her MO is to ignore me when I pick her up. Jerking her head around she gives an imperceptible shake.

  “You better be telling me the truth.”

  She closes her eyes like she’s going to shut me out.

  “Are you having relations with that boy?”

  She opens her eyes and slowly turns to me. “Relations?”

  The word rolls out of her mouth like it’s the dumbest word ever. For some reason I can’t bring myself to ask her if she’s having sex. It seems wrong to use that word around her – she’s just a kid after all, but I have to get my point across.

  “Relations. Yes. That’s what I said.”

  She folds her arms across her chest. “No.”

  I pull out of the parking lot and debate talking to Jane about this. I can’t imagine how unpleasant it would be for Jane to address birth control with an eighteen-year-old. She and my brother hoped desperately for children of their own and the notion that some little brat could go park with some little dickwad one time and get pregnant would probably stir up a lot of pain for the two of them.

  We drive in silence like we always do, but a few minutes from the house, I find I have to tell her what’s on my mind. Getting pregnant would wreck a lot of things for her. For some reason, I want Maggie to have not just a normal life, but a really good life.

  “You’ve been dealt a shitty hand. I know that,” I tell her.

  She holds up her hand to try to keep me from saying anymore. I’m not big on heart-to-heart conversations, but I need to tell her one thing. She’s part of my brother’s family and we might not like each other but we’ll be spending time together. I’m over there at least twice a week for dinner. She’s going to live there till she graduates in May and I might as well tell her why I give a shit.

  A school bus stops ahead of us, lights flashing, and I slow to a stop. This is probably the bus Maggie got herself kicked off.

  “I’m trying to keep you from fucking up your life, Maggie.”

  She doesn’t reply.

  Little kids with backpacks jump down from the bus, skipping and laughing. Some pair off to walk with their friends, a few of the older ones walk by themselves checking their phones. It’s hard to think that the prickly, permanently pissed-off girl in my passenger seat was ever some light-hearted little kid like the ones getting off the school bus.

  “You’ll never have it better than you’ll have it with Wes and Jane, so you might as well straighten up and fly right for the next year.”

  She jerks around to face me. “I am! I have hundreds on every single assignment. I haven’t gotten in a fight all week. And for your information, Kyle is gay. So we’re not fucking and I don’t need to be on the Pill.”

  A blast of exhaust billows from the bus tailpipe as it pulls away from the curb. We continue our drive home. Rage practically pours off her but I’m pleased that, one, the guy isn’t going to derail her life by trying to get into her pants, and two, she actually has a friend. That’s progress.

  The guy must be desperate, but that’s beside the point. Maggie has a friend. I don’t usually get invested in any of Wes or Jane’s little projects but for some reason I want to help Maggie.

  A throb at the back of my neck makes me draw a sharp breath. The old injury from the car accident. The drunk driver didn’t take me, but there are times in the middle of the night when the pain in my head makes me sick and I wonder if I wouldn’t have been better off. After the accident, I spent two weeks in the hospital with a punctured lung and recovering from surgery to remove my spleen.

  The neuro-surgeons wanted to operate on my head injury. Everything he said suggested exploratory stuff. When they told me about risks like blindness and partial paralysis, I told them I wasn’t interested. Where would that leave me? An invalid? How would I take care of myself and father’s business if I were blind or in a wheelchair? No, I told them from the hospital bed. Pain I could handle. All I wanted was to go home and put my life back together.

  The pain comes and goes. Nights are, by far, the worst. If it got too bad, I’d pull over, but it’s dissipating and I know I can make it to the house. Usually the pain lingers for an hour or so. A trickle of sweat rolls down my forehead. When I wipe it away she turns to watch me. I give her a dark look, curling my lip to warn her off.

  Her expression is softer, the hard, angry mask gone and I can’t help noticing that the girl has a pretty face. She wears black makeup around her eyes but when she’s not fro
wning she looks different. Young. Innocent. Even with that black goth shit on her face.

  “Can I tell you something, Trig?”

  I wipe my brow and groan. The agony fades a little. Maybe listening to her talk will distract me.

  “Yes, please, tell me something. Anything.”

  I can’t imagine what she’d want to share with me. She thinks I’m a monster and she can keep thinking that until she walks her skinny ass across the stage in May.

  “I’m gay, too.”

  I draw a sharp breath and glance over at her. Her lips curve into a triumphant smile. Grey eyes sparkle with victory. I’ve never seen her look anything but sullen or livid but the way she looks now, you’d think it was the night before Christmas.

  Is she bullshitting me? I’m pretty sure she is but the happy look on her face makes me smile. I don’t care what team she plays for, just that she behaves reasonably well for the next year.

  “Good, I’m glad, Maggie.”

  “You’re… glad?” Her smile fades.

  I can hear the disappointment in her voice. She wanted me to lose my shit and sit back and watch and then what? Tell me she was kidding. Tell me she was sincere. Either way, she’s let down that I’m not responding more strongly.

  “Sure I’m glad. Now I don’t need to worry about you getting into trouble.”

  “Into trouble?”

  “Knocked up.”

  “Oh.”

  We pull onto her street. “So you don’t need any pills or shots?”

  “No,” she replies coldly. “I don’t need anything.”

  I stop the truck in front of the house. Jane opens the door and waves and I nod.

  “Have a great weekend, Maggie. I’ll see you for Sunday dinner.”

  “Ugh, don’t remind me,” she grumbles, heaving her backpack to her shoulder and getting out.

  She stomps up the walkway and inside the house, slamming the door behind her. The little ray of sunshine’s reverted to being a dark thundercloud in the blink of an eye. I chuckle, pull away from the house and it dawns on me that the pain in my head and neck is gone. Vanished.

  Chapter Seven

  Maggie

  The weeks pass quickly and before I know it, I’ve gotten my first report card. Not only is it all A’s, but it’s all hundreds. That doesn’t show on the report, but I know I have perfect scores in every subject.

  Most of my teachers love me. My counselor’s cool too. Mr. Hendricks wants me to go apply for early admission to college. He says with my grades I could try to get a waiver on my last semester and start college in January. How I’ll pay for classes he brushes off with a dismissive wave of his hand. If my SAT scores are good, I can get scholarships.

  Life at home is decent. Not great. The boys get on my last nerve. Jane’s relentlessly cheerful and in her goofy way makes living here worth the aggravation. It’s just till May I tell myself when the oldest of the monkeys, Michael, bangs on my door for the third time in an hour.

  I’ve lived with all sorts of foster parents. Hippies, born-again Christians, old people, young people. None were really normal. Wes and Jane are dull. Complete sticks in the mud, but they’re actually normal.

  Jane never loses her temper. Not with me. Not even with the monkeys. Wes doesn’t either but I’m not giving him points for that since he spends his day in an office where I assume it’s nice and quiet.

  Jane’s running from the moment she wakes up until late in the evening. Even with the boys in school, she’s got a thousand things to do, so after a month of watching her run like a gerbil on a wheel, I offer to help her with dinner.

  She’s so grateful, it makes me feel bad I didn’t offer sooner. In fact, it feels good to be helpful. It feels so good that I decide to help her every evening.

  As November nears, she makes heartier stuff, like meatloaf and stews. Dinner menus and recipes ideas are listed on the whiteboard. I have my homework done by five and start prepping stuff for dinner. I like the quiet of the kitchen.

  I get little flashes of my mom, making something special for dinner. She loved French cookbooks and made dinners that were several courses for the two of us on Sunday nights. I can barely remember, but I recall soups as a first course. Roasts and special vegetable dishes… my mother telling me to keep my elbows off the table. Something about working in the kitchen relaxes me and makes me feel like I’m actually contributing. Such a drag to always be the charity case.

  A few times one of the boys wanders in, trying to start up a conversation, but I give them my best “go away” look and they scuttle back to cartoons and wrestling in the game room. Mostly they give me a wide berth, but every so often they forget I’m a bitch. Especially Michael, the oldest. He thinks the two of us are buddies for some reason I can’t understand.

  Tonight, is Sunday and Jane’s written chicken tetrazzini on the menu. I start with a salad, something she insists the family eats each evening. Next, I shred the left-over chicken from last night’s meal. I don’t want to be just useful. I want to show Jane I can handle a job. Something part-time that will bring in a little money. I’m about to age out of the system and I don’t want to live here getting handouts.

  All day I’ve planned on how I would bring up the subject. I have good grades, I don’t party, much. Last week I went to see a movie with Kyle and we sipped out of a flask he snuck in but I hardly ever do anything like that. No fights at school. I’m allowed back on the bus, even though I haven’t told Trig. I let him think I need a ride to and from school because who needs to get up an hour earlier to catch a freezing cold bus?

  Jane’s busy sewing outfits for someone’s Thanksgiving pageant or some fucking thing, so I make dinner by myself. When we sit down at the table, Wes says a prayer and Jane starts bragging on my cooking. I give Trig a narrow look but he ignores me. I don’t know why I want him to compliment my cooking or efforts. Naturally he says nothing and Wes isn’t much better, just saying a few oh’s and ah’s.

  Whatever. I don’t care. That’s not what’s on my mind. As the meal winds down, I wait for a chance to bring up the subject. There’s a break in the near-constant noise and Michael starts with something that happened at recess.

  “Hey, guess what happened on the slide this afternoon?” he says, a huge lump of pasta tucked in his cheek.

  I kick his shin and purse my lips. The kick isn’t hard but he gets the message.

  He blinks a few times and chews slowly. “Actually, never mind, I forgot.”

  Trig turns to look at me, one eyebrow raised. It’s like he’s psychic, I swear.

  Clearing my throat, I ignore him and start on the small speech I prepared. “With Christmas coming up, I’ve been thinking of getting job. I have some presents I want to get the boys and could use the extra money so I could get them something extra-special.”

  Jane’s hand flies to her chest, she gasps and with her other hand she clutches Wes’s forearm. “That is so darn sweet of you, Margaret.”

  Wes nods, smiling. I can feel Trig’s stare boring holes into me and I can’t bring myself to look at him. I know he’s got a tracking app on my phone, but it’s like he’s tapped into my brain too and knows exactly when I’m bullshitting. I have no intention of buying even so much as a candy cane for the monkeys, but if nothing else sways them, that will. I don’t need to convince Trig, just Wes and Jane.

  “Also,” I say, my voice faltering as I bring up the real reason I want a job. “I turn nineteen on the first of December.”

  “I know,” Jane says, tilting her head the way she always does when she finds something poignant or meaningful, which happens to be all the time. “Such a big, big moment in your life.” She sighs and her eyes get misty. “I remember when I was nineteen, my first semester in college, trying to pick a major.”

  I suppress the urge to roll my eyes. Jane is pretty dense.

  “My situation is a little different,” I say, trying like hell not to use a cutting tone. “The Bridge Program won’t give you any more money w
hen I turn nineteen. Funds stop.”

  No one says a word. The boys stare wide-eyed. The littlest one, Thomas, is in kindergarten and still isn’t talking more than about ten words, but he manages to break the silence with a soft, uh-oh. His favorite phrase. There’s a kid with issues. He gets so mad sometimes he passes out from pure, flat-out rage. Also, he bites. He’s even bared his teeth at me a few times.

  “I don’t know what you get for room and board for me.” A lie. I know down to the penny. “But I’d like to pay you back for my expenses, as much as I can.”

  Wes takes Jane’s hand in his. “It doesn’t matter if the program pays us or not. Jane and I are committed to you graduating from high school.”

  Sure you are, I want to say. I’d love to believe that but I never allow myself to put faith in things like that. The harder you hold on, the worse it hurts when it’s ripped away.

  “Why does someone pay for you to live here?” Michael blurts, his eyes round as plums.

  I shake my head and he lowers his gaze to his plate.

  Wes goes on. “If you want to get a job for the holiday season, that’s fine, but no more than a day on the weekend. You have the rest of your life to work. High school is a time to be a kid. We might want to go to church a time or two over the holidays and that’s more important than work.”

  I paste a smile on my lips. They’ve been talking about going to church for a long time. Apparently, they’re Catholic and Christmas is the bare minimum for church attendance. I do not want to go to services with them, especially if it means spending time in a pew with the monkeys. Jesus, I thought the born-again Christian family’s two hour services were bad, but at least I wasn’t trapped with four hyper-active children.

  Jane nods her head. “Exactly. We’d like you to come along to Mass with us. And you don’t need to worry about the money.” She waves a dismissive hand. “Shoot, we don’t even spend the money we get for you.”

  I wonder If I heard them correctly. Each family I’ve been with has obsessed over every penny they got for their kids. They’d scrimp and save and lose their shit if someone didn’t finish the food on their plate or spent more than thirty seconds in the shower.