Flyaway (17 page)

I have to bite my lip to keep from laughing out loud. One thing you can say about Alan, at least he's never boring. When he turns off the water, I hurry to the backyard so he won't know I was listening.

As soon as I get near to the aviaries, the birds inside start to chirp and caw. "Feegaro, feegaro," I sing back at them. I spend a few minutes at the first aviary, checking out some new sparrows and a baby jay.

Then I draw close to the wire mesh of the second aviary and peer inside. A robin perches on a branch near the roof. Its feathers are gray and its chest is covered with dark spots. It gives a shrill chirp, then swoops toward the food dish on the ground. It's Tweety Bird. I watch as she lifts her yellow beak to ease an earthworm down her throat. I used to hate it that she didn't need me anymore; now I feel proud.

"Hi, Tweety."

"Still calling it by a cute little name, I see."

I whip around, and there's Alan, standing behind me with a feeding tray. Sunglasses hide his eyes, and his wet hair lies slick against his head. I imagine him shampooing it and singing away. I have to choke back a laugh.

"Where'd you come from?" I say, trying to look surprised. "You scared the heck out of me."

It's true; my heart is pounding, but not because I'm scared. His T-shirt hugs his chest, and his face looks so smooth and clean it's all I can do not to reach out and touch it.

He sets the tray on the ground. "I wasn't exactly expecting you to show up, either."

Tweety Bird flits from the food dish back to her branch.

"We're going to release that robin soon," he says. "Couple of weeks, probably. Give it a chance to find a flock before the weather starts getting cold."

"Want me to help feed?" I ask.

He grabs the water pitcher and hands me the container of dry food. We let ourselves into the first aviary and refill the dishes. For a minute it's quiet except for the sound of birds swooping down to eat.

"There is no other guy, is there ?" he finally asks.

"What are you talking about?"

"That day in the car. You said you took off because of some other guy, but I think you lied. I think you took off because I'm a complete loser, and because of how I treated you."

I kneel and pretend to watch the birds peck at the food. Something tells me I'll be better off not saying anything.

"I can't help it sometimes. I just get out of control and end up saying stupid stuff, even when I don't mean it."

I think about some of the lousy things I've said to Aunt Mindy. "Hey, you're not the only one."

"No, I'm serious. Whenever things start going halfway decent, I screw them up. Since they're going to dump me anyway, I figure I might as well give them a reason."

I stand and brush off my jeans. "Wait a second; you lost me. Who's 'they'?"

He gives a sarcastic laugh. "My loving foster families. I've been in eight homes since I was six, and kicked out of every one."

I remember the adoption lady saying he'd moved around a lot, but I can't even imagine living with eight different families. "What happened to your mom and dad?"

"Apparently Mom had a drinking problem. Not that I remember or anything. I never met my dad. The only one who's still around is my caseworker, and I'm surprised she hasn't given up on me. Everybody else does."

I put down the food container and look him in the eye. "Not Valerie. She told me about adopting you."

"Yeah, I don't get it. I'm seventeen; I don't need anyone to take care of me."

"Maybe you're just scared Valerie's going to give up on you, too."

He shrugs and turns away. "Maybe."

"I bet you a million bucks she won't." I touch his shoulder and say in a real serious voice, "And by the way, I'm not about to give up on you either." Then I grin and give him a swat. "Even though you're like the world's lamest opera singer."

"You...!" he shouts.

I dash away. He chases after me and swats me back. We're both laughing and breathing hard.

Then we stop and face each other, and I grin and start to give him a pretend shove in the chest, but he grabs my hand. He pushes his sunglasses to the top of his head. I find myself staring into his eyes.

"If I kissed you, would you run away again?"

My heart is pounding so hard I can't answer. He lets go of my hand and puts his big old arms around me. My cheek squashes against his chest, and we stand there like that for a minute. I breathe in his clean shower smell as he walks me backward until I press against the aviary fence; the wire mesh digs into my back. Then I slowly lift my chin while his lips come toward mine.

A car honks and we force ourselves apart. It's Valerie, pulling her little silver Honda into the driveway.

"Hey!" she calls out her window. "I could use some strong arms!"

I look into Alan's eyes and squeeze his hand.

"Got it!" he shouts back. We both go out to help her.

She has at least five bags of stuff in the trunk.

"I stocked up on supplies. Ferret chow was on sale, so I snagged twenty pounds. Got a good deal on mealworms, too."

The three of us lug the stuff into the cage room. Valerie crouches and opens a cupboard underneath the counter. "Let's stick them in here."

It takes a few minutes to figure out how to get everything into the already jammed cupboard. Finally Valerie straightens up, brushes her beige knit pants, and says, "There. We should be fine as long as we don't ever have to open it again." She laughs and puts her hands on her hips and smiles at me. "We don't see you for weeks, then you show up just when I need you most. Where have you been keeping yourself ?"

I tell her about Mom coming back and about us staying at Tina's. "I really missed you guys," I say. "And Tweety Bird. And I've been wondering how that crow's doing."

She and Alan exchange a look, and he heads for the other part of the house.

"Oh, sweetheart," she says once he's gone, "I'm sorry to tell you this, but the crow didn't make it."

"It died?"

"I had to euthanize it."

"You killed it ?"

"It's a very humane process." She puts her hand on my arm. "I'm sure it didn't feel a thing."

I jerk away. "You could have at least given it another week."

"A week wouldn't have made any difference. I knew the day you brought it in, that crow never had a chance."

I can't believe what I'm hearing. I always thought you were supposed to keep trying, keep hoping, no matter what. Anger surges through me. "How could you just give up?"

"I did what I could."

"You help all the other birds. Why didn't you save that one ?"

"Honey, I wish you'd understand. Some birds can't be saved."

Her words rip into the very center of me. "No!" I flap and flail, sending trays and syringes clattering to the floor. "No! No!"

Then her arms surround me. I jerk and twist, but she doesn't let go. I'm surprised how strong she is. "It's okay," she whispers. "You're safe."

I struggle again, but she's holding me tight.

"Shhhh."

One last flutter and I give in. I put my arms around her and lay my head on her chest. It feels good to stop trying so hard. It feels good to finally let go.

At first it's little things. Mom starts sleeping late; I tell myself she's tired. Every once in a while she sniffles and swipes at her nose; I figure she must be catching a cold. When she gets up in the afternoon all cranky and mean, I decide it's because she's still adjusting to being home.

Aunt Mindy keeps leaving me messages about registering for Ballard High, but I delete them all. I can't think about school right now. In fact, the only thing I really want to think about is Alan.

We've been spending a lot of time together the last couple of weeks, and not just feeding birds. One afternoon when we were done at On the Wing, we grabbed some burgers at Dick's and had a picnic at the Overlook. Another night he took me to this all-ages club to see his friend's band. We've kissed a few times too, but never like that one time in the aviaries. I always get the feeling he's holding something back.

One Friday night in the middle of August, Valerie invites me over for dinner, and afterward the three of us watch a movie. Alan sits close to me on the couch, and I'm so zeroed in on the spot where our legs touch that I can hardly keep track of the plot. Valerie's car is in the shop, so when the movie's over, Alan walks me to the bus stop. It's starting to rain, and it's around ten when I get off the bus at Northgate Way and head down Aurora toward Tina's. I've gone a couple of blocks when I notice a faded red pickup going in the opposite direction. When it stops at the light a few feet ahead of me, I freeze. I'd know that truck anywhere.

I shouldn't look inside, but I do. Sitting in the driver's seat, one hand on the wheel, the other running across his buzzcut, is Drake. And sitting beside him, talking and waving a cigarette, is Mom.

I try to look away, but I can't. Before I can decide what to do, the light changes. He guns the engine, and they're gone.

I run the rest of the way to Tina's, my heart fluttering in my chest like a bird's wings, and burst through the front door. I dash down to Mom's room and pull my heart-shaped box from under her bed.

The money Aunt Mindy gave me is still there.

I sink onto the bed, shaking. What's wrong with me ? I promised I was going to trust her.

But how can I trust her when she's hanging out with Drake? I slam the box onto the floor and kick it under the bed. I'm the one who begged her to come home, who dragged her out of rehab. If she's back on meth, I've got no one but myself to blame.

But maybe there's a perfectly good reason she was in that truck. Maybe Tina's car broke down and she needed a ride to work and he was the only one she could call. The more I think about it, the more I'm sure that's what happened and she'll tell me all about it when she gets home.

I decide to wait up for her. To kill time, I clean the kitchen. Rain taps against the windows as I wash every dish, including Dave's greasy black wok. I take out the stinky garbage and scrape at the globs of hardened spaghetti sauce on the stovetop. I even get down on my hands and knees, grit my teeth, and scrub the grime off the floor. It takes hours, but at least it keeps me awake.

Not that that's a problem. The later it gets, the more wired I feel. At two in the morning I move on to the living room, where I use Tina's straggly broom to whack cobwebs off the ceiling.

I'm about to start in on the bathroom when I hear a car pull up outside. Car door slamming, laughter, key in the lock.

Mom.

She's wearing her work clothes: backless top, tight skirt, six-inch heels. Droplets of rain glitter in her hair. "Hey, baby," she says. "You still up?"

I let the broom clatter to the floor and throw my arms around her. I bury my face against her neck and breathe in her jasmine-and-cigarette smell.

She unwinds my arms, looks at me through bloodshot eyes, her pupils huge and dark, and laughs that big, husky laugh. "Well, hello to you too."

"I cleaned the place up." I take her hand. "Come see the kitchen."

"Look, sweetie, I don't have time right now. I'm going out."

"What? With who?"

She heads for the basement stairs. I follow.

"With who ?" I ask again.

"Hang on a minute, okay?" She goes into her room and shuts the door.

"You needed a ride to work, right? That's why you called him."

There's a muffled sound of movement from behind the door.

"Mom?"

No answer.

"Mom! That's why you called him, right?"

The door opens. She's wearing the outfit Aunt Mindy bought me; her red bra strap peeks through the cut-out triangle. The way she fills out the top, it looks even better on her than it does on me.

"Huh?" she says.

"Drake. I saw you in his truck."

She brushes past me and hurries up the stairs.

I'm right behind her. "What were you doing in Drake's truck?"

"I wasn't in his damn truck, okay?"

"I just want to know, that's all."

"Would you give it a rest ?"

"But I saw you. Stopped at a red light."

"I thought you were going to trust me." She swipes at her nose with the back of her hand and heads for the front door.

For a second I feel bad for letting her down; then I shake it off. I block her way. "You're going out with him right now, aren't you?"

She moves toward me, puts her hand on my arm. "Oh, Stevie, you got yourself worked up over nothing. Now why don't you get ready for bed, and we'll talk in the morning? I promise. We'll go out for breakfast and order French toast." She smiles and pats my cheek. "I know you love French toast, don't you, honey pie ?"

Honey pie.
I feel myself starting to crumble under the weight of her promises. It takes all my strength to pull away. "I don't want any French toast."

"Then what the hell
do
you want ?"

Her question and the look on her face stop me in my tracks. What do I want ? I want her to ask me if I've had dinner and whether I've done my homework and how was my day at school. I want her to hassle me about the future and am I going to go to college and what do I want to be when I grow up. I even want her to get on my case and tell me I better not drink or do drugs, or else. But most of all I want her to want to be with me.

"I want you to start acting like a real mom."

She stares at me and opens her mouth, then shuts it. A horn honks outside. She opens the front door a crack. "Hang on!" she calls.

She turns to me with tears in her eyes, and for a second I see the Mom from my dream.

"I wish I could do that, baby," she whispers. "I really wish I could." She opens the door wider.

"If you leave, I won't be here when you get back."

But she's already gone.

I hurtle down the front steps. "Mom!"

Drake's truck is idling at the curb, wipers sweeping the windshield. He pushes open the passenger door.

I grab at Mom's arm as she clambers in. "It's him or me!" I yell through my tears.

"Quit it, Stevie. Go," she tells him, and slams the door.