“Yes!” Fist pump. High five.
She hasn’t raised her hand for it. I end up putting mine down while she stares. Then I reach for her. Hold up her hand. Smack it gently with mine. She doesn’t tense this time. She does hold her hand up to her face, looking at it curiously. This time, when she settles herself on the couch without moving, I leave her alone. I’ve figured out what my mom had always meant by “I can do it faster by myself.” And really, does it matter? The only place I have to be is Opal’s school at 3:30, and I still have a couple of hours before I have to leave in time to get there.
I work until it’s time for me to leave. My mom stares at nothing for a long time before she gets up and stands in one place for a while. I keep an eye on her, but all she does is shuffle from one spot to another.
For lunch I pull out the bologna sandwiches I packed from the last remnants in the fridge in the apartment and some canned soup from the pantry. We’ll have the same for dinner, unless I can pick up something else from the convenience store on the way home from getting Opal. Real groceries will have to wait for the assistance check—and somehow, a ride.
Then I remember.
“My bike!”
Mom is picking up and putting down pillows from the love seat we shoved back into its place in the corner. I’m not sure what, exactly, she means to do with them. Pick up, put down. Then again. She’s not rearranging them or anything, just picking them up and putting them down. She looks up at my shout, though.
“Oh, man, that would be excellent.” I jump up, more excited by this than I’ve been about anything else. “Stay here, Mom. I’ll be right back.”
My dad kept all our bikes in the shed, which he also kept locked. The key is still in the kitchen, hanging from the wooden plaque shaped like an owl. I grab it, head out through the front door, since the sliding glass door in the back is unusable. I don’t even peek through the windows first. I don’t think I’ll be able to handle the disappointment if they’re gone.
Nobody’s done anything to the shed. And there they are. Four bikes, and—oh, wow, this is great! Opal’s old baby cart that attaches to the back of a bike. She’ll be too big to sit in it, but it’s big enough for groceries.
For a second I want to fall down on my knees right there. Pass right out from relief. This will make a huge difference to us.
What I find next is even better.
Because we live in the woods, and the wires are all aboveground, we always had a lot of power outages. It got so bad one winter that my dad went out and bought a generator. He even had an electrician hook it up to the house so when the power went out, all we had to do was fire it up and flip a switch. We could run a few lights, the fridge, the stove. We’d have heat from the fireplace. No washer, dryer, computer, hot water, but it was better than being stuck in the dark until the power company came.
I don’t know how to use it, but I can learn. All I need is gas, and I can get that from the station, put it right there in the can beside the generator. Suddenly, everything looks a whole lot brighter. This was the right choice, coming back here. I know it.
Before I can even get back to the house, I hear the sound of footsteps in the crunchy, frosted grass. I round the corner, heading for the front door, and find my mom, arms flung out, mouth open, eyes darting wildly. She’s stepping forward, then back, then turning. Panicked.
“Mom?”
She whirls at the sound of my voice, and her expression goes blank. I study her for a moment before taking her arm and leading her back inside. She’s shivering, and it could be from the cold or maybe from something I can’t begin to understand. I sit her in front of the fire to warm up, and I sit with her to make sure she doesn’t burn herself.
I tell her the good news about the bikes and the generator. I search her face for a smile, for anything, but maybe the crying or the cleaning took too much out of her, because she’s passive and blank. No longer silent, though. She’s humming something tuneless, low and under her breath. I don’t recognize it as a song, but at least it’s not a scary noise. It’s a happy sound.
“Mom?” I take her hands. “Mama? Are you happy?”
She doesn’t say yes, but I think she is.
I am, too.
SIXTEEN
IT TAKES ME LONGER TO LEAVE THE HOUSE than I expected. I can’t leave my mom alone without restraints, but I can’t keep her tied up, either. There’s no safe place to put her except the guest bedroom, which has a bed and a desk but not much else in it.
“Mom. Stay in here, okay? I’ll be back.”
I wish I could lock the door or find a way to keep it shut, but closing it will have to be good enough. As it is, I’m already late picking up Opal, even with how much faster the trip is on the bike. The buses have all left when I get there, out of breath and panting. Steam’s practically rising off me from the heat I generated pedaling.
Opal’s looking scared and sad, sitting in the office with her feet dangling and her book bag next to her. The principal, Mr. Benedict, is waiting with her. I can see them through the window, and my stomach sinks as I push the intercom button so they know to let me inside.
“Velvet,” he says sternly. “You’re late.”
“I know. I’m sorry. It… I had to ride my bike. It took longer than I thought.” To Opal, I say, “I’m sorry.”
She shrugs. “It’s okay. I did my homework while I waited.”
I’m pretty sure this was Mr. Benedict’s idea, not hers. “Good.”
He smiles at me then. “Just don’t make a habit of it, okay?”
“No. I won’t,” I promise, then figure I might as well tell him. “Actually, we’ve moved. Can Opal get off at a different stop from now on?”
“Moved?” He frowns. “Where did you move to? I thought you were living in the assisted housing over by the mall.”
“We were. We… uh… well, we decided it was time to move back home. To our house.”
His frown deepens. “Which is where?”
“Spring Lake Commons.” I really need a drink and think longingly of the fountain I can see just outside the office. “Can she get the bus out there? We used to always ride the bus.”
“Yes, well… unfortunately, Velvet, the buses don’t run out that far anymore. We don’t have any students out there, or if we do, their parents drive them.” He pauses, looking grim. “I thought that neighborhood was… closed.”
“It’s open now. She’ll need a ride to school. I don’t have a car. And it’s not safe for her to ride her bike all that way.” I throw this in as a trigger. Teachers are always crazy for safety.
“No. No, it’s not.” Mr. Benedict’s frown looks like it hurts, that’s how deep it creases his cheeks. “But I just don’t know about the bus situation, Velvet. I’m sorry. How is it that you moved all the way out there…?”
“My mom’s come home to live with us.” I say this firmly, no hesitation to give him reason to resist the news. “But of course she can’t drive.”
“Of course,” he says too quickly, his gaze shooting to Opal, who’s busy coloring the back of her notebook. “But you’re certainly right about the bike ride. It’s too long.”
“And along the highway.”
He sighs and rubs the bridge of his nose, where his glasses have left a red dent. “The problem, Velvet, is that the bus can’t get back into that neighborhood safely. There are trees down, and if it snows…”
He trails off.
Nobody plows, right. We’re far enough out of town that nobody cares. They opened the neighborhood gate but will do nothing for anyone who lives behind it. Still, I’m not going to give up.