I shake my head. “I can’t believe you still don’t know how to use a computer.”
She shrugs. “I’ve got this far. And I know how to text. Raymond showed me.”
I don’t ask who Raymond is. I don’t need to know that he’s the latest Guy. Tricia never bothers bringing them around, or introducing me, unless we happen to bump into each other. Which is just as well. They’ve usually dumped her by the time it takes me to learn a name.
We eat our meals. Tricia doesn’t want one of Sue’s cupcakes because they’re fattening, and I don’t want one either, so Tricia digs around for low-fat Fudgsicles with only moderate amounts of freezer burn.
“What was with the cats?” she asks me.
“Huh?”
“You asked if we could have cats. Are you trying to fill up the gap left by Meg with a pet or something?”
I choke on my Fudgsicle. “No.” And then I almost tell her because I want to tell someone about Meg’s cats, about her whole life there that I knew nothing about. But I’m pretty sure the Garcias didn’t know about it either. And this town is small; if I tell Tricia about the cats, she will invariably tell someone, and it’ll get back to Joe and Sue. “There were a couple of kittens and they needed homes.”
She shakes her head. “You can’t give homes to every stray out there.”
She says this like people are constantly knocking down our door for a nice, dry, warm place to stay, when, in fact, we are the strays.
11
An academic adviser from the community college leaves me a message, saying that they are aware of my “extenuating circumstances” and if I want to come in for a meeting, he will help me find a way to fix my record. Madison, a girl who���d been in most of my classes at school, also calls, leaving another Are you okay? message.
I don’t return either call. I go back to work, picking up a few more cleaning jobs, six a week now, decent money. Meg’s laptop stays on my desk, along with the rest of my schoolbooks, all of them collecting dust. Until one afternoon, the doorbell rings. Scottie is on the porch, with Samson, who’s tied up to a rail. “I’m here to take you up on your offer to kick my butt,” he says.
“Come on in.”
We fire up the computer.
“What are we playing?” I ask.
“I thought we’d start with Soldier of Solitude.”
“What’s that?”
“Here, I’ll show you.” He clicks on the web program. “Hmm.” He fiddles around some more. “I don’t see your network. Maybe we have to reboot the router.”
I shake my head. “There’s no router, Scottie. No Internet.”
He looks at me, then looks like around like he’s remembering who I am, who Tricia is. “Oh, that’s okay. We can play something on your computer.” He pulls the laptop back toward him. “What games do you have?”
“I don’t know. It depends if Meg had any games.” Scottie and I look at each other and almost smile. Meg hated video games. Thought they sucked out valuable brain cells. And sure enough, there’s nothing on the computer except what came preloaded.
“We can play solitaire,” I say.
“You can’t play solitaire with two people,” Scottie says. “That’s why it’s called solitaire.”