Page 22

“Sorry.” Helen reached out to touch Annie’s shoulder. “I didn’t mean to scare you. I was just trying to wake you up. I shook you. I said your name. You were dead asleep.”

“My dad,” Annie said, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. “He used to use our full names to let us know we were in trouble.”

Not exactly true. He was a man with a temper, yes, but her father had been soft with her. He never yelled and rarely even snapped at her. Just turned away with a slow, simmering disappointment. She’d rather he had yelled. Her full name being barked out like that truthfully reminded her of Frank Clifton, but that was something she could not and would not be sharing with Helen.

“Sorry,” Helen said, “but not only do you now have hot water, but apparently the only thing wrong with the shower is the showerhead.”

“Good news?”

“It is. We can stop by the hardware store while we’re out, but we need to get moving. I’m supposed to get Zach by five, and I could use some lunch. Are you hungry?”

“Starved,” Annie said.

Helen’s Jeep wasn’t that old, but it was well used. Annie had to fish a crayon and a toy plastic dinosaur out of the crack of the front seat before she got in. The back was half taken up with a car seat. Helen said they could push the other half of the back seat down to make room for whatever they bought.

“Now, I’ve been thinking about your budget.” Helen pulled out onto the road.

“Mine? Don’t worry about that. Even I can afford a used dresser.”

“Didn’t say you couldn’t,” Helen said. “But I thought I might at least chip in if we find something we both love. You aren’t going to be in school forever. I’ll have an easier time renting it out to someone new if it’s furnished.”

Of course. Annie had promised only a quarter, maybe two if she was lucky. And that was for the best, she told herself again.The more time she spent with Helen, the more she liked her, and that was a complication to her already complicated life that she did not need.

“Let’s just see if we can even find anything,” Annie said dismissively. “Do you think they’ll have batteries for this thing at a hardware store?” She reached into her bag and pulled out the pager that, as if on cue, let out a weak beep.

“What is it?”

“One of those pager thingies,” Annie said. “Someone calls the number attached to it, and the number shows up on the screen so I know to call them back.” They hadn’t given her any replacement batteries. Maybe that was deliberate. If she let the battery die and didn’t respond, there would be consequences. If she figured out a way to keep it on, they had her where they wanted her.

“Like doctors use?”

“Right,” Annie said.

“What kind of batteries does it take?”

“I’m not sure. I mean, I can’t remember what size they are.”

She wondered if there would ever be a time in her life when the lies didn’t flow out of her so easily.

“Is that where you went last night?” Helen asked. “Heart surgery?”

“I’m a brain surgeon, actually.”

Helen laughed. “How about Radio Shack?”

“Yeah,” Annie agreed. “Hardware store, Radio Shack, then furniture.”

“Don’t forget lunch.” Helen looked at her over the top of her glasses. “Is Mexican okay? You liked the enchiladas I made, right?”

“Right.”

Helen took her to a tiny restaurant in a strip mall that Annie’s mom would never set foot in if it were the last place on earth.It was strange for Annie too—the fact she couldn’t understand anyone in the kitchen, the loud talking over the sound of sizzling meat and radio music, the brightly colored pop in glass bottles, the tiny television broadcasting a barely visible soccer game mounted up in a corner. It was more foreign to her than many of the foreign countries she’d visited.

Helen ordered for them both, and they sat at a tiny wooden table to wait for their food, a basket of tortilla chips between them. Annie knew she must’ve looked apprehensive and made an effort to neutralize her expression. “The Mexican food here is more authentic than what we have back home,” she said. Her dad thought Taco Bell was exotic. She dipped the corner of a chip into the salsa and took a tentative bite.

“How old are you anyway, Annie Weaver?” Helen asked, biting hungrily into a salsa-laden chip.

“How old are you?” Annie shot back.