His Frozen Heart (2 page)

Luckily the rest of the ceremony moved
faster. The superintendent stood in front of the lectern handing
diplomas to each student. Beads of sweat formed on my brow as I
accepted mine, and decided he looked even more intimidating in a
suit than he did in his bathrobe at two in the morning. SUPRINT on
the red SUV did not stand for “super instructor,” as Libby had
surmised. I was already back in my seat holding my diploma when
Libby’s name was called, and I was anxious to see her reaction to
the superintendent up close. A slurred voice shouted from the
risers, “That’s my girl.”

I saw her stop to look where the shout
had come from. Her dad was here. She placed one hand on her square
hat, holding it in place, while her other hand waved like crazy to
the voice above. Libby had ridden with me to the ceremony. When I’d
asked her if her dad was coming to graduation, her answer sounded
defeated, “He doesn’t like crowds.”

Libby had grown up with only her dad.
He had a tough time holding a job, and for the same reason had a
tough time keeping a decent place to live. She moved a lot. Growing
up, Libby had spent almost every weekend at my house. When I was
younger, I never understood why I couldn’t go to her house to spend
the night. Mom always manufactured a good reason for why I couldn’t
go over, but welcomed Libby to stay with us. It wasn’t until I was
a teenager and could drive that I saw where she lived first hand
and was grateful Mom had never given in to my pleading.

After the ceremony was over, we found
each other. I asked, “Is your dad giving you a ride
home?”

“
No. I’m going back to your
house with you.” Libby had stayed with me the last two weeks. She
said it was because she didn’t want me to have to drive across town
and pick her up, but I was guessing her dad had drunk their rent
money again, so they were locked out of the apartment. There was a
month when we were in eighth grade where both of them lived in his
truck. A few of the nights were so cold that they had to stay in a
homeless shelter.

Not wanting to pry about her dad’s
abrupt departure, I said, “Great. I got you a present.”

A huge smile formed on her lips, “Oh,
me, too!” She reached into her pocket and took out a handmade red
and white friendship bracelet. I’d seen her make these before. It
was made of knotted embroidery floss, but she had made it with my
name in it: Candy. I’d watched her make simple ones that took all
weekend: one with my name in it must have taken her several
weeks.

I looked at the wrapped box in the
back seat of my car. After seeing the bracelet she had made for me,
I felt like I had cheated her. She tore through the wrapping paper
and stared at the two little eyes peering out through the box’s
lid. Libby had collected turtles for as long as I could remember –
she had hundreds in all shapes and sizes.

I watched in horror as tears welled up
in her eyes. I stammered, “What’s wrong? If you don’t like it, I
can take it back. I thought you liked turtles.”

She shook her head. She reached across
the bench seat of my car and grabbed my neck in a tight embrace. I
froze. Libby let me go, then wiped her eyes trying to keep her
eyeliner from running. “Until I met you, I was a turtle. That’s how
I saw myself. Anytime someone got too close to me, I would hide in
my shell. You were the first person I could be out of my shell
around.”

So the valedictorian’s speech hadn’t
been that monumental. I was sort of excited for Libby that her dad
had sobered up long enough to watch her get her diploma. But it was
Libby’s response to the little stuffed turtle that yanked on my
heart.

She smiled, “Let’s go see if Mom needs
help getting ready for the party.” Libby never knew her mom: they
had met a few times, but it was Libby’s dad who raised her. One day
she just started calling my mom, “Mom.”

When we pulled up to my house, a huge
banner hung down from the roof of the front porch. “Congratulations
Candy and Libby.” We may not have been sisters by blood, but in
every other sense of the word we were. It was a typical graduation
party: relatives I hadn’t seen since my older sister’s high school
graduation, neighbors, my parent’s friends – snore. After the last
of the guests departed, Libby and I went upstairs to my room to
change so we could go to a couple fun parties. Mom knocked on my
door, peeked through the opening and asked, “Got a
minute?”

“
Sure. C’mon
in.”

Mom was beaming when she said, “We’re
so proud of both of you girls.” She sat on the edge of my bed,
“Libby, have you picked a college?”

“
No. I’m going to work for
a year or so to figure out what I want to do.”

“
Good. Maybe you can help
Candy with rent.”

I couldn’t believe my ears. “Rent?
You’re going to charge me to live here?”

Mom smiled. “That’s up to you. Dad got
a job in New Mexico. He needs to start there in two
weeks.”

Did I hear her right? “You’re moving
to New Mexico? But why?”

“
Dad’s company has wanted
to transfer him for years, but he wouldn’t move while you and your
sisters were still at home. His boss offered him a promotion if he
transferred – Dad accepted.”

I had heard my parents talk about a
transfer a few times, but each time I started to get seriously
nervous about it, Dad told me he wouldn’t uproot me or my sisters.
Now I was officially an adult: I had turned eighteen last month,
and, as of four hours ago, I was a high school graduate. It was
supposed to be the kids who grew up and moved away, not the
parents.

Awkwardly, I asked, “So how much rent
are we talking?”

Mom smiled warmly. “We think $500 is
fair.”

Five hundred dollars was a bargain.
Libby and I could easily swing $250 each. “So how soon are you
going? You said a couple weeks?”

“
Dad starts his new job in
two weeks. We’re planning to drive down this weekend. We have to
find a house and get situated. No more Midwest winters! I can’t
wait.”

“
Why didn’t you say
something before now? You’re just leaving?”

Mom answered apologetically, “Dad
wasn’t sure the promotion was going to happen. He wouldn’t have
accepted the transfer without it. He found out last night. The
timing was right, and it was too good of an offer to turn
down.”

Libby piped in as if to convince me
that this wasn’t the strangest event ever. “I’ll be working
full-time. I could pay half, maybe even more than half since you’re
going to school. It’ll be great. Just you and me.”

It was sort of great, at least in the
beginning it was great. My parents moved away the Saturday after I
graduated. What few possessions Libby had were moved in Saturday
night. So began my adventures with Libby.

Chapter 2

(21 months later)

I had been standing in front of the
massive metal cabinet that doubled as a pantry in our back hallway.
I shoved the empty orange and yellow Ramen Noodle packaging aside,
only to find an empty macaroni and cheese packaging wadded up
behind it. My angry stomach growled in frustration.

My eyes roved to the next shelf,
hoping to find another delicacy. The only semi-meal I could see was
rice and soy sauce . . . maybe. My stomach complained as my hands
slid the rice aside. Something, there had to be something in here
to eat. A lonely can of stewed tomatoes invited me to pick it up.
What were we thinking to have bought that?

Onto the third shelf: two cans of
generic Dr. Pepper – I’d rather drink water. Backing away from the
pantry to get a better look, my hunger tried to take control of my
legs, imploring me to find something. Where was all the food? The
Ramen and mac and cheese should have lasted us another couple
days.

It hit me – Doritos! I’d given Melinda
a ride to school. She was notorious for leaving half-eaten bags of
chips in the back seat of my car. Her bag still had to be
there.

Not even bothering to grab a coat, I
launched myself off of our front porch, bounded down the steps in
front of our house, and sprinted thirty feet up the street to where
my car was parked. I had just parked it a couple hours before when
I got home from work at the restaurant, and it was already like a
deep freeze inside. The door complained as I swung it all the way
open. Tipping the seat forward, I found McDonald’s bags, Burger
King bags, empty pop cans, a couple empty cigarette packs – then I
saw it, the bright red corner of the Doritos bag peeked at me from
beneath all the crap on top of it.

I freed the bag from the pile of
garbage. My fingers greedily dug into the bottom of the bag to find
nothing but crumbs. Telling myself there was no shame when hunger
was involved, I tipped the bag upside down, so I could free the few
slivers of chips. It was just enough to make my stomach complain
for more. The watchful eyes of Mrs. Bavcock stared at me through
the front window of her house.

It was seriously cold; I hoped she
wouldn’t take the time to get her coat on to come outside. I tossed
the now completely empty bag back onto the floor of my car,
plastered an over-sized smile on my face, and waved at
her.

Her congenial expression didn’t change
as her hand excitedly waved back at me through the frosty glass of
her front window. When the weather was decent and she saw me
anywhere near the street, she nearly tripped over herself to talk
to me. Conversations were always the same: she would tell me about
her cats. . . her grandchildren, her cats. . . her ailments, her
cats. Growing up, I’d always believed Mrs. Bavcock to be wealthy,
but as she grew older, she didn’t migrate south for the winter with
all the other old people. Maybe she was as broke as the rest of
us.

I liked my street. It was an old
neighborhood. All the other houses were occupied by empty nesters
whose grown kids would occasionally show up on the weekends. When
my sisters and I were little, I remember watching all the visiting
cars, hoping for grandkids of my neighbors to stop by to visit so I
could play with someone other than Kim and Carly.

That was the way it was supposed to
work – the natural order of things. Kids grew up, moved away, came
back and visited their parents on the weekends, maybe for Sunday
dinner, birthdays, or anniversaries. Too bad my family didn’t fit
the mold: it had been almost a year since I had seen my
parents.

Growing up here, my sisters and I had
been the only kids on the whole street. Kim was twenty-four and
Carly was twenty-two: both moved away after high school. Now Kim
was all business. She was a receptionist for some law firm and was
too wrapped up in her own life ever to be bothered with mine. It
had been months since she had even returned a text.

Carly was different. She was the
middle child. Carly was the social butterfly of the three of us.
She was on a full-ride academic scholarship and had been since she
graduated. Carly was always too busy studying to see me other than
winter and summer break when she was thrown out of the dorms. That
left me, here, surviving.

Libby’s voice called from the house,
“Damn, Candy, too hot for you in here or what?!”

When I had sprinted down to the car on
a quest for stale Doritos, I hadn’t bothered to pull the front door
shut behind me. I called up, “Naw, just scavenging for food. Did
you throw a party last night or what?”

Ignoring my question she yelled,
“You’re going to go into hypothermia. Get in here!”

Standing in seven inches of snow in a
pair of sweat pants, flops and a t-shirt in the dead of winter was
not the brightest thing I’d done today. Sadly, it wasn’t the
dumbest thing, either. I wasn’t supposed to work at the restaurant
during the week, but I had been so hungry I went in hoping to pick
up a shift. The manager said he didn’t need me as a waitress, but
the janitor had called in sick. I ended up having to scrub the
bathrooms; I had gotten three hours of work on the clock, but no
tips and no food. I chalked my poor wardrobe choice up to being
close to passing out from starvation. When she pointed out that
hypothermia was a possibility, I shoved my car’s heavy metal door
and sprinted back up to the house.

Our entryway was warm and welcoming
after the arctic temperatures. My eyes darted around looking for
her when I zeroed in on Libby standing in the kitchen. “Where’s all
the food?” I accused. “I don’t get paid for another three
days.”

Her dismissive answer frustrated me,
“Oh, stop it. You get paid every day.”

“
Yeah, tips today were a
big fat goose egg. I couldn’t even score six bucks to cover lunch.
I don’t have hours at the restaurant again until
Saturday.”

Libby stalked over to the cabinet and
started shoving boxes around the same way I had right before I
decided to scavenge for food in my car. She didn’t find anything
either. Still concentrating on the metal cabinet, she asked,
“Where’d the peanut butter go?”

Further frustration ebbed into my
voice, “Gone last weekend. You were supposed to pick more
up.”

“
What about the tuna
fish?”

My nose crinkled, “Ewww . . . gone and
no need to get any more.”

“
We had some Ramen noodles
in here last night.”