What I Remember Most (12 page)

I kept my shoulders back. Barely. I knew he wasn’t sure about me because he thought I was being cagey.

“I hear that you’re pretty tough at The Spirited Owl.”

“I don’t take any crap.” Why did I say that? That did not sound elegant or refined.

His mouth tilted slightly, a tiny smile. “I understand.”

“I didn’t mean to sound so snappy.” I drummed my fingers. “The clientele can get . . . challenging.”

“Yes, I’m sure they can.” He studied me, then stood up. “I’ll call you when I decide what to do about Bajal’s job.” We shook hands, my hand lost in the warmth of his. Part of me didn’t want to let go. “Thanks for coming in.”

“I would like the job.” My voice came out soft, sort of desperate, which was humiliating.

He was analyzing me, thinking, speculative. I knew he knew I wasn’t telling him the full truth. He was trying to figure out how much of that mattered versus how I came off in the interview. Would I be good enough anyhow? We were still clasping hands. I let go; he waited a second, then he let go, too.

I thought I saw his face soften up for a minute. His eyes not quite so hard. His body language relenting, maybe there was even a hint of a smile.

Maybe.

Maybe I was delusional. I was still so sick.

“Thank you for your time. It was nice to meet you.”

“You too.”

I turned to leave, and that was that.

I could feel his eyes on my back as I left. I didn’t think I had the job. In fact, I was pretty sure I didn’t. I tried not to cry all the way to my car. I unlocked the door and drove out to the country. I pulled over on a side road and put my head on the steering wheel, the wind blowing in from that blasted broken window, the plastic crackling. I cried and cried until I’m sure my tear ducts were begging for mercy.

I blew my nose, coughed, sneezed twice, and held my head as my whole body started to sweat. My fever was breaking yet again. I chugged more cold medicine.

I hate being sick. I cannot run my life well while sick. I cannot handle what’s coming my way like a pickax to my gut while sick. I cannot fix this car-living problem while sick.

And I had to pee. Bad.

I climbed out of the car, peeked around for people, then quickly dropped my pants. I already missed my bathroom at Talia’s. It was getting colder outside, and my butt was going to freeze if I had to live like this for many more weeks. I washed my hands with my bottled water and soap, drank an entire bottle because my nerves and fever had dehydrated me, then pulled out a can of chili and ate it for lunch. I had been eating too much chili lately.

I brushed my teeth, spitting into the bushes, then drove down the street and out of town in the other direction to apply for a job at a lumber yard. I would prefer working for Hendricks’, but that was the way it was.

The manager was rude. She was tall, thin, and told me she wasn’t hiring. I said thank you, felt stupid, and left. I was almost down to applying at McDonald’s, though I’m sure my arrest would probably eliminate me immediately.

Had to cover my bases. I needed more money than McDonald’s paid, but if minimum wage was all there was, that was the way it was. I could put on a blue shirt and name tag and flip a burger if I had to.

I thought about what the press would do if they saw me in a McDonald’s uniform, and put that thought aside. I had no pride left. Freezing in a car, living in a car, will take it all away. And, at the end of all this, after a jail term, I’d probably move out of state, maybe to Wyoming or Alaska, and disappear. So, who cared? I had one goal: Get an apartment before winter hit harder.

That night, after my shift at The Spirited Owl, I parked in a different neighborhood. I stripped off my work clothes and climbed into my sleeping clothes, then hurried into my sleeping bag and blankets. My clean blankets smelled like powder. The temperature had dropped another ten degrees.

I had made $125 in tips that night, partly thanks to Moose, who left me the usual twenty-five dollars. If I was hired at Hendricks’ I would still have Sundays off to sleep and get my mind together and deal with whatever crap came up with Covey and the attorneys.

I have workaholic tendencies. I know this. I always have.

I assumed Hendricks’ Furniture would pay me, as a receptionist, slightly more than minimum wage, but I was pretty sure he would have health insurance, which would save me hundreds. I did not have health insurance with Covey’s company anymore. I thought of his twelve employees and their families. I felt bad for them. Except for three of the employees—Davitt, Angie, and Victor. Those three were possum scum like Covey.

The cold medicine was wearing off again, which meant that my fever was spiking back up. I shivered, pulled on another sweatshirt, tugged my red knitted hat down, and scrunched farther into my sleeping bag, pulling it over my head. I was wiped out from my cold, my chest ached, my nose was stuffed up, and I was fighting off despair. I could feel it dragging me down, but I had a tiny morsel in me that was still fighting like a raccoon caught in a trap.

I would have a nice house again someday, I told myself. I would. It would be a small home, something I could afford no matter what, something that couldn’t be taken from me ever. It would be yellow on the outside and yellow on the inside.

There would be a gas fireplace that I could switch on at any time so I wouldn’t freeze my butt off like I am now, and it would have a deep tub so when I was sick I could warm my bones. I would have piles of blankets and pillows and quilts, and I would have cupboards stocked with food so Alice, My Anxiety, wouldn’t feel anxious.

I would not live in my car again. This was it. Last time. I would not be a homeless, lost person, even temporarily.

Stupid, stupid, stupid. I had trusted Covey, and this is where it landed me.

I would not be stupid again.

The rain came down like a flash flood. Please, Kade, hire me.

I woke in the middle of the night to silence. I knew I had been dreaming of the red, crocheted shawl because I felt peaceful. Not so alone.

My fever had spiked again; my cough had deepened, thickened; and I wondered if I was dying. I closed my eyes again.

We love you, Grenadine. Be strong.

It was them.

Hang in there, sweet butterfly.

I knew it. I felt them, felt their love.

Every night for the rest of that week, as I slept in my car, the rain and hail pounding down, I did a Personal Financial Calculation and told myself that I was getting closer and closer to a home that I could not drive. I had paid Cherie our usual monthly four-figure agreement, which had set me back, but I was still moving ahead.

For some reason, each night I had visions of a snake wrapped around a knife shrouded in fog, which woke me up, a sense of impending doom hanging over me.

When the plastic fell off the window, I reattached it.

I was getting admirably adept at using duct tape.

Schollton Police

Incident Report

Case No. 83-2285

Reported Date/Time: December 8, 1983/8:30

Location of Occurrence: 6260 S.W. Fisher Ave.

Reporting Officer: Sergeant Trina Orleon

Incident: Found Girl

Shirley Lyn Trumachev, 65, saw a girl walking down her street, Fisher Ave. The girl was wobbling, thin, and pale, according to Mrs. Trumachev. It was snowing, and the girl was dressed in shorts and a T-shirt. Mrs. Trumachev’s home is in the country and she has the only home, she says, for a half a mile and did not recognize the girl.

Mrs. Trumachev ran out of her home to check on her, and the child collapsed in her arms. She called 911.

When we arrived, the girl was unconscious. Breathing shallowly. She was wrapped in Mrs. Trumachev’s coat and on her lap. She was thin and her chest made a rumbling sound from sickness. She was missing hair and had purple and blue bruising on her face. Her arms and legs looked emaciated. I have never
seen a child in such poor shape. Repeat: I have never seen a child that thin.

After we ascertained that the ambulance was on its way, I briefly examined the girl. She had cigarette burns on her chest, stomach, and legs, and she had markings around her neck that might be from a rope. Her heartbeat was weak and slow.

The paramedics arrived, and they determined, as had Lieutenant Ting and I, that the child had to be hospitalized immediately.

Lieutenant Ting held the child in his arms because Mrs. Trumachev was shaking badly, and carried her into the ambulance. He insisted on going with her to the hospital. One of the firefighters rode along in the ambulance, as one of the paramedics seemed to have a hard time getting himself under control.

The girl was so pale and limp and skeletal, I thought she was dying. I have never seen a child in this bad condition.

Mrs. Trumachev was soon hysterical. We called her son when the ambulance left. She started to fall, and Sergeant Pattinser and I caught her. We laid her down and she clutched her heart, and within seconds we called another ambulance as Mrs. Trumachev had a mild heart attack. She kept saying, “That poor dear, that poor dear” repeatedly, as if she were in a trance. She was no longer able to communicate much with us.

Schollton Police

Incident Report

Case No. 83-2285

Reported Date/Time: December 8, 1983/16:30

Location of Occurrence: 27482 N.W. Owl Dr.

Reporting Officer: Sergeant Trina Orleon

Incident: Found Girl

The girl who was found at 6260 S.W. Fisher Ave. this morning is named Grenadine Scotch Wild. She is the foster child of Tom and Adelly Berlinsky, who live at 27482 N.W. Owl Dr. We were not able to immediately talk to the Berlinskys this morning because Grenadine was at St. Clare’s Hospital and unable to tell us her name due to being unconscious and, when later awake, in critical condition.

When Lieutenant Ting, Sergeant Pattinser, and I arrived at the Berlinsky home, Adelly insisted that Grenadine was home. She was impaired from drugs and/or alcohol and unable to find the child. She repeatedly asked us if we wanted a beer but said she didn’t have any. She also kicked the cat and told her son he looked like a leprechaun. She asked if we had stolen her hair dryer and said her husband was in Hungary because he was hungry.

When asked when she had last seen Grenadine, Mrs. Berlinsky could not remember. When Mrs. Berlinsky went outside in the snow to find Grenadine, screaming for her, her sons led us to a large kennel in the basement with a pink blanket.

We assumed the kennel was for the dog, but the children said that was where Grenadine lived. There were bowls for water and food. Upon examination, the bowl for food was filled with dog food. The water bowl was empty. In a corner of the kennel there were feces and urine.

One of the boys, Kevin, age ten, told us that that was where the human dog, Grenadine, lived. The other boy, Tom, Jr. age twelve, told us that their favorite game was to poke the human dog with a stick and whoever poked her most, won.

There was a rope on the walls. Tom Jr. said that sometimes they put Grenadine on a rope and walked her but mostly not because Grenadine was bad and that was why she didn’t get people food and why she had to be locked up.

Grenadine told them that her dad was going to beat them up for hurting her. The boys thought that was funny because they said Grenadine does not have a dad and that he is dead and they told her that, too.

When we asked where Grenadine’s bed was, they said she slept in the kennel, too. When we asked where Grenadine got the bruises, the boys said mostly from their mom, and some from their dad, and the belt and the wooden spoon, but some from them because she wouldn’t bark when they told her to and whenever she was out of the kennel she snuck food so they were allowed to hit her on the head with their model airplanes.

We arrested Adelly Berlinsky. Tom Berlinsky is on a long-haul trucking job, but we have contacted the company and they are cooperating with authorities in locating Tom. A warrant has been issued for his arrest.

On a personal note, I want to admit now that I was angry with Mrs. Berlinsky. I did yell at her, and the children. She resisted arrest and tried to run, then hit me, and we were able to get her on the ground. Her nose did break as she continued to fight with us. Lieutenant Ting did not have to restrain me for more than a minute. Mrs. Berlinsky said that Lieutenant Ting purposefully hit her head when he was putting her into the police car; that claim is untrue. Again, she was struggling, which will account for the bruises on her face.

Lieutenant Ting and Sergeant Pattinser took her to the Justice Center, and Officers Lenton and Cables and I waited until CSD arrived for the boys. The boys asked if we were going to put them in jail. We decided not to answer them at that time.