Mud Girl (29 page)

“Abi?” There's a little voice from the doorway. Abi can see the lesser-black of the doorway, distinguished from the black-black of the basement. Dyl must be standing there. How'd he know where to find her?

“I'm here, Dyl. I'll be right down,” she says softly. It's a bit easier, finding the doorway with his little shape in it.

“Horse gone away?” he asks.

He makes her laugh. “Yes, Dyl. Horse – Horace – has gone away. Let's go back and sit on the porch.”

“Okay,” he says agreeably.

Abi makes a mental note to teach him that he's supposed to say no, as well as ask a lot of questions. Then he comes to a complete stop in front of her and she almost topples over him.

“Bike?” he asks.

In her mind, the plan had been forming that they'd spend the night on the porch furniture and see how everything looked in the light of morning, but Dyl's question makes her reconsider.

“All right.” And she finds herself wrapping him up again in the basket.

The rain has stopped at last, and they ride to a corner store. She is glad to see that the corner store has lights on, and farther down the block, more lights. She stops at the phone booth outside the store, leans the bike – Dyl still in the basket – against the brick wall, and digs for a quarter in her pocket.
Always keep a quarter in your pocket.
Yet another bit of wisdom in her mother's survival book. Abi phones Amanda's home, and Amanda answers.

“I've been worried. I phoned you at home, and there was no answer,” she says.

“The phone was out. I'm at the corner of Trunk and Tenth.”

“I'll be right there.”

“I have the bike with me.”

“It'll fit in the van.”

Abi remembers thinking that you could – if you wanted – just drive off in that van, the house on wheels, and live forever somewhere, anywhere.

She hangs up the phone, and then adjusts Dyl's blanket. She pulls out Colm's card and reads it in the light from the store window. She dials. There's only an answering service, but she knows that as soon as he gets the message he'll take care of Dad.

She turns over the card to where he'd written
Mrs.Taylor foster-parent Wellburn Drive – house with lots of bicycles and tree house in front yard – close to corner of Birch Place.
There's a phone number too. But Abi had only the two quarters.

When Abi turns away from the phone, she finds that the store clerk is standing in the doorway, staring at her and Dyl. “Late and stormy to have a tyke up and out, no?”

Abi pushes Dyl and the bike towards the sidewalk. Horrible woman – it's none of her business.
But it would be like that, wouldn't it?
If she just ran and kept running? It would always be like that: looking over her shoulder, feeling defensive every time anyone spoke to her. And money. What would she do about that? No, you can't run away with a kid. She should phone Jude too, she's decides. But not until Dyl is safe.

I
t feels like an hour, but it's only about ten minutes and Amanda's van pulls up, and she jumps out to help Abi with the bike. Then she sees Dyl and stops short. “Thought that was a knapsack in your arms.” She sounds breathless. “Does Jude…” she starts.

“No!” Abi says sharply. And she leaves the bike to her friend, and climbs into the front seat, with Dyl on her lap. He feels heavy. She pulls the blanket away enough to realize he's fallen asleep.

Amanda climbs into the driver's seat, but she doesn't start the van. “What do you want to do?”

“I
want
to have a little warm house where I can take care of Dyl – where he has a place in the world – a house that's not going to float away some day. And I want a big kitchen table, and on the table there's a bowl of fruit that's never empty, and I want to see kids' hands reaching into the bowl. And I want a big jug of flowers on the counter, and bright walls, and a fireplace for winter, and…” Her voice is getting all choked.

“Right now, Abi. What do you want right now?”

She sits and thinks.

“Do you know where Wellburn Drive is?”

Mother-Ears

A
bi's starting to think that Amanda's not going to answer.

“What's on Wellburn Drive?”

“A neighbour of Colm's. A foster mother.”

“You don't want to come to my house, and call the police?”

Abi shakes her head, and after another moment, Amanda starts up the engine.

“Colm must not know the exact house number. He just wrote that it's the one with a tree house in the front yard.”

Amanda laughs. “Sounds like my kind of mother.” They drive slowly, watching for the corner of Birch Place.

Even though the house is dark, they can still see the
half-block-away streetlight on the pile of bicycles at the base of the giant elm in the front yard. The old Dodge rattle fades after Amanda pulls the key, and they sit at the curb. Abi sucks in her breath. She wonders how far away Colm lives – he'd said they were neighbours – and what are the chances of seeing Fiona tomorrow or the next day, and what might that mean.

Nothing
, she decides. It's going to mean absolutely nothing. She sets her hand on the door handle of the van.

There's a basketball hoop in the driveway, and a plywood jump at the edge of the driveway.

“Someone with mother-ears heard us pull up,” says Amanda, as a hall light flickers on and a shadowy figure crosses the frosted window beside the front door. The door opens and the figure comes into view. It is a woman, they can see now, heading across the yard, calling out “Who's there?” in a not-so-sure voice.

Abi pulls on the door handle and steps out with Dyl in her arms.

Amanda is already halfway across the yard with her hand out, and Abi can hear a few low words of greeting as she nears. “Colm gave me your address,” she says.

The woman has a flashlight in her hand, and she doesn't point it at Abi until after she's shined it at herself. “I'm Mrs. Taylor. Please, come in.” Then she shines the light somewhere near Abi's knees, so that she can see Abi and her bundle in a
soft glow of light. “Come,” she repeats, and with the light, leads the way to the house.

“Careful!” Amanda grabs Abi's elbow and steers her around the pile of footwear in the hall – sandals and sneaks, beach shoes and rubber garden shoes.

“This way.” Mrs. Taylor leads into the kitchen.

“Mums?” There's a sleepy Stu Stevenson in the doorway. “Hey,” she says. “Put the kettle on, Stu-boy.”

He does, seemingly still asleep, then he turns around, leans against the counter – the counter can't be seen for the pots and dishes on it, boxes of cereal and empty milk containers.

He looks at Abi and recognizes her. “You,” is all he says, and scratches under his loose cut-off
T
-shirt. He has on bright plaid pajama bottoms.

“Hey,” says Amanda.

He nods at her.

“I need to talk with these young women,” says Mrs. Taylor. “I'll bring you down a cup of tea, though.”

He nods, to say “okay” to her and “good night” to Abi and Amanda. Grabs a cookie out of a jar on the way out.

“Take two,” says Mrs. Taylor. “So you don't wake up hungry again.”

At the door he stops and turns back to Abi. “It's okay here, you know,” he says, as if he knows her fears, knows why she's come.

“Thanks,” she says, aware that these are probably the first words he's ever said to her other than that earlier “You.” But she remembers the shy smiles he's always had for her in English class, and he seems like a friend. She wonders why she didn't see this before.

There's a deep window seat in the kitchen, and Mrs. Taylor motions to Abi to put Dyl there. Without him in her arms, though, Abi suddenly feels very alone. She pulls the blanket up and over Dyl, and then returns to her chair to find Mrs. Taylor's eyes on hers.

“You're in trouble,” says the woman, and Amanda starts to explain, but Abi takes over. Mrs. Taylor doesn't say anything as she speaks; she only asks brief questions now and then to clarify something. At the end, she says she has to call her social worker.

“Social worker?”
Of course. I knew that. There has to be someone official.

Amanda squeezes her hand. “It is going to be all right, Abi.”

Mrs. Taylor looks hard at Abi. She says, “I don't know what you consider ‘all right.' But we will do whatever needs to be done.” She gets up and prepares tea, and Abi looks at her back – her robe is a deep blue – and wishes that she could give just a little more of a clue. Some motion, some word, that it
will
be all right. Even as she thinks this, she knows there is
a whole lot of truth to what the woman just said, and she herself doesn't know exactly what ‘all right' is.

The woman pours a big mug of tea and takes it downstairs – she's not forgotten her promise to Stu. What had she called him? Stu-boy? He'd called her “Mums.” She doesn't seem a “Mums” sort. She does seem more like…well, as she'd put it herself: someone who does what needs to be done. But still – she did remember the tea.

When she comes back up the stairs, she pours three more mugs, lots of sugar and milk, and hands them around, and they sit, sipping in silence.

“I'll make up a bed, and find you a nightshirt,” she says. “I'm sure Ms. Harvey will want to meet with us first thing in the morning. I'll be calling her now.” Then she disappears with her mug, and Abi can hear a murmur of voices as she calls.

Amanda tries to cover a yawn.

“You go,” says Abi.

“Sure?”

Not at all. But go.
Abi nods.

Amanda kisses the top of her head. “Call me right away.”

Abi knows she means “right after the social worker.” She wonders if the police will be involved. “Can you call Jude when you get home and tell him Dyl is safe? And I'll tell him more tomorrow.”

Amanda says yes, and gives her a good night hug, and then is gone.

Abi goes over to the window seat and snuggles next to Dyl, feels herself drifting off to sleep. It's raining again, a summer-night rain, raining it all out so it can be sunny again for the day. She's glad she thought to phone Colm; she can go to sleep now.

Mrs. Taylor finishes her phone call, and finds Abi and Dyl like that. She goes to get a pillow and another blanket, and tucks Abi in too.

W
hen Abi opens her eyes in the dawn, it's the silence that awakens her. What is it?

There's no river – that's what it is.

Hadn't there been a storm?

Now there's only gentle breathing: Dyl.

Abi raises her head and looks around. They're in a kitchen. It looks different from the night before, though, Abi thinks as it comes back to her. Last night the woman – Mrs. Taylor? – had had to clear spaces on the table just for the mugs of tea. Now the counters are clear – when
did
she do that? – and the table has a pot of flowers on it.

There's a fragrance to the room: coffee. There's a coffee machine on the counter. Looks like some kind of a timer on it. It smells so good.

She is pulling herself up to a sitting position when Mrs. Taylor comes into the room, swaddled in her robe, pushing the skin of her face into place after a too-short night of restless sleep. She smiles, though, when she sees that Abi is awake, a quick smile.

“Coffee?” she asks.

“Please,” says Abi in a whisper, though Dyl shows no sign of waking. Abi wonders if he usually sleeps like this.

“Does he always sleep like that?” Mrs. Taylor asks.

“I don't know. I hope so.”

She looks into Mrs. Taylor's face. There are some good things there: a light warmth, a curious interest. But there's something more Abi would like to see, and she can't. Doesn't mean it's not there; maybe the woman hides it.

“Ms. Harvey will be coming in an hour. She's the social worker. I spoke with her last night.”

Abi has another memory, this one of murmuring voices that went on and on as she fell asleep. Mrs. Taylor must have cleaned the kitchen after that. Which meant that she, Abi, must have been sleeping much as Dyl is now.

Mrs. Taylor points out the two piles of sweatpants and shirts and towels at the foot of the windowseat. “Clean duds for you and the little one. You can go have a shower if you like. I'll watch him.”

Abi finishes her coffee and takes the “duds” with her. Mrs. Taylor seems prepared for every possible emergency. The
bathroom is stocked with plain soap and three types of toothpaste. The toothbrush holder on the wall has five brushes in it, and there are four brand new, still wrapped in crinkly cellophane. There's a towel holder, and each arm has a towel on it. Before Abi closes the door, she sees a schedule written out on a Wipe-it! board. The special felt pen hangs on a string beside it. She sees that she's taking Stu's shower time, but he's not complaining. Maybe he's glad to sleep in.