I look over my shoulder at the front door.
Yesterday, I fell down while I was coming in the door. I wasn’t paying attention. That’s what my Mommy at this house said. She sounded angry.
The troll under the bridge in the Billy Goat’s Gruff is angry, too.
I see some lights coming toward the driveway, and I get a whole bunch sadder. I don’t want to cry, but I’m kinda scared I might. When Shelly comes to get me, sometimes I want to cry. I forgotted that I missed her till I saw her.
The car stops in front of me, and I think if maybe I should run away. She’s going to be mad. I’m scared to see her mad face. I never want to see her mad face. Never!
I like her hair. It’s white hair, but she says it is blond. ‘It’s pale blonde’. That’s what she says.
She gets out, and she walks in front of her car. The car’s lights make her look really dark, like a black shadow man that might be evil. I hold my breath. Her arms and legs move fast, like a shadow man for sure. But she doesn’t get me. She drops down and hugs me.
“Do you know how bored I was tonight, you little beast? I was working on a grad school paper and I thought ‘Man, I wish I could see Lucas! And then I got a call telling me to come and get you.’” She picks me up and spins me around, and I giggle in her neck.
“You smell like French fries! Did you eat some French fries?” she asks me.
I smile a little. “Yes. Mommy made them tonight.” I whisper at the end, because I’m leaving now. I’m not supposed to call her Mommy anymore, ’cause that’s the rules.
“French fries are my favorite!” She tosses me over her shoulder and steps toward the car. “Wait—where is your booster seat?”
“Booster seat?” I crane my head around.
“Do you have a booster seat, my man?”
I try to shrug, even though I kinda can’t, ’cause I’m on her shoulder. “I dunno.”
“It’s okay. We’ll figure out tomorrow. For now, how about I buckle you in right beside Larry the bear?”
I hug her neck as she shifts me off her shoulder and lowers me into the back seat. She hands me a big, brown bear.
“Tonight, you and Larry are going to a really nice lady named Amanda’s house. She likes to make cakes, and she sleeps with funny curlers in her hair. She’s kind of like a really nice grandmother.”
She rubs my head, and gets into her seat in front.
I start to gulp down air.
We’re backed out of the driveway before she realizes.
“Lucas, what’s wrong?”
I start to cry. I just can’t stop.
It’s really loud. I can’t stop.
“Hang on, okay? I’ll pull over. Just a second. Okay. Okay.” The lights come on. I cover my face.
Shelly is there. I feel her brush against me, unbuckling my seatbelt, sitting down beside me on the seat. She hugs me close to her. I cry like a dumb baby.
“What’s the matter, honey? Talk to Shelly.”
I cry more.
The words are stuck inside my mouth. There’s no more air around to say them with.
“No one wants me,” I say. “Only you.” I throw my arms around her and glue my body to her chest. “Shelly, will you be my Mommy? I love you, Shelly. Be my Mommy! Please, Mommy! I’ll be the best boy in the world!”
*
Leah
I hold him as silent tears flow down his cheeks. His shoulders and his chest tremble, but he never sobs. Even in this state, he’s holding back.
His ribs are bruising a little darker and look puffy all around the gauze patch. It must hurt to cry.
I whisper to him for a long time, saying, “it’s okay,” even though it isn’t. Even though my throat is so tight I’m afraid I won’t be able to draw my next breath. Even though I want to ask who Shelly is.
I try my best to save my thoughts and feelings for later. I keep on whispering, and stroking his arms, and finally, he seems to fall asleep—or pass out.
I wish I could put him in the tub, because I think there’s no way that wouldn’t feel good, but I don’t think I can get him in there. I can’t even get him to the shower, so I get towels and try to clean the blood off him and take care of a few more small cuts. I don’t take off his pants, just try to take care of his upper body and his face.
He rouses a little, and I get him over to the carpet of his room. I pile blankets on him and he starts to shiver. His breathing is slow and shallow.
“I want to stay,” he moans. “Please, can I stay?”
“Of course you can. Don’t worry. You can stay as long as you want.”
I’m really worried that he’s still not lucid. I might need to call a doctor. I get my phone and call the number Raymond left.