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.
“Great. We normally always eat at the kitchen table, but I’ll bring it up to you if you’d like.”
“Okay,” I say as I start unzipping my bags.
“Elizabeth,” she calls from the hall, right outside the bedroom, “I hope you’ll like it here. Carl, my husband, worked hard painting this room for you. He’s out running a couple errands, but should be home shortly.”
When I don’t respond, she excuses herself and heads downstairs, leaving me alone to unpack. Next to the bed is a small window that looks out over the front of the house. All the houses are the same aside from the various colors of paint. Everything looks decayed here.
I take my time putting my clothes away and eventually eat the peanut butter sandwich that Bobbi brought me. She told me to call her that rather than Mrs. Garrison.
Aside from a small dresser, desk, and bulletin board, the room is pretty bare. When I walk into the bathroom, the sink counter is already occupied with the other kid’s stuff. I wonder if he’s like me, how old he is, and if he’s nice. I feel like I need a friend more than ever right now. I’m so far from home and so alone.
A loud rumbling from outside calls my attention, and I walk over to look out the window. An old, grey, beat-up pickup truck pulls into the driveway. I watch as an older, fat guy gets out of the driver’s seat and starts walking towards the house. Then the boy gets out, but I can’t see what he looks like under his baseball cap.
I stay in my room and listen as they walk in, talk to each other, and then I hear the creaking of the stairs. Bobbi is the first one I see, followed by her husband.
“Elizabeth, how’s the unpacking going?” she asks.
“Good,” I say as I look at the man. He’s got a big belly, stains on his shirt, and long, messy hair.
“That’s good. This is Carl, my husband,” she introduces.
“Elizabeth, is it?” he asks.
Nod.
“You settling in all right?”
Nod.
“You don’t talk much, do you?”
Feeling like I need to say something, I mumble, “I’m just tired.”
“Well, I’ll leave you be then,” he says. “Glad to have you here.”
Bobbi smiles as Carl walks out and after she asks me how I’m doing and if I need anything, I lie and assure her that I’m fine. She closes the door behind her and as soon as she does, I see the light from the other bedroom flick on through the bathroom. I watch, and when I see the boy with the baseball cap, he turns to look at me.
“Hi,” he says as he stands on his end of the bathroom.
“Hi.”
Taking off his cap, he tosses it on his bed and runs his hand through his sweaty, dark brown, nearly black hair. He then walks through the bathroom and into my room, looking around.
“This color is sickening,” he says, giving me my first real smile in a long time.
“I lied,” I tell him. “I told her I like purple, but I don’t.”
“You been in the system long?”
“Three years.”
“Nine for me. I just got here a couple weeks ago.”
“Are they nice?” I ask.
He takes a seat on the bed next to me, and he smells like cigarette smoke and soap. “Bobbi hasn’t been here much. She just got back in town from some crafting show she did.”
“Crafting show?”
“Yeah, she makes wooden duck figurines and crap to sell at fairs, flea markets, and shit, so she’s gone a lot. Carl works at the auto mechanic shop down the road.” He pauses and then adds, “He drinks a lot.”
I don’t say anything, and we sit in silence for a moment before he asks, “How old are you?”
“Eight. You?”
“Eleven. Almost twelve. Name?”
“Elizabeth.”
“You scared, Elizabeth?”
Looking over at him, I pull my knees to my chest, wrap my arms around them, and nod, whispering, “Yeah.”
“It’ll be okay. Promise.”
I watch as a hint of a smile crosses his face and something about it tells me that I can believe him.
“I’m Pike, by the way.”
“WHERE THE FUCK have you been, Elizabeth?”
“I’m sorry,” I say as Pike loosens his hold on me. “I haven’t been able to get away, but I’m here now.”
Pike takes a step back, raking one hand through his thick, choppy, dark hair and releases a rough breath through his nose.
“Pike, come on. Don’t make me regret coming here. I only have tonight before Bennett comes back home.”
“I’m just sick of living in this shithole while you’re living your precious life in that fuckin’ penthouse. It’s been over three years¸” he bites and then falls back onto the couch.
Looking down at him, I try to soothe his irritation, “I know. I’m sorry, but you knew it would be like this. You knew this wouldn’t work if we moved fast.”
“Are you even working at it at all, Elizabeth? Because from where I’m standing, it seems you’ve gotten quite comfortable in your new life.”
“Don’t be a dick, Pike,” I say, raising my voice at him. “You know me better than that. You know I hate that asshole with everything I am.”
He leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees with his head dropped. Walking over to him, I sit down on the couch and start rubbing his hardened shoulder, muscles tense out of frustration.
“I’m sorry,” he quietly says, and sits back, pulling me with him and holding me.
I need the contact, need his touch. I always have, so I linger in it for a moment with my arm slung around his waist. I hate being away from him, but I know he hates it more. I don’t blame him. This is the shittiest place he’s lived, but he’s paying the owner of this trailer under the table to keep himself off the grid. He’s still hustling to get by, and here I am, lying in his arms wearing a goddamn Hermés coat that probably costs more than this crap-hole he lives in.