Stealing Heaven (3 page)

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now we know where to go when it's time for that."

We bring the rest of our stuff in--the important stuff--when it's
dark, and then celebrate by going to a nearby casino. Well, Mom celebrates by
doing that. She says I should come, but I can tell from her face she needs to
blow off some steam and I've seen her making out with guys she's just met
plenty of times. I drive her out there, tell her to be careful.

"Baby, I always am," she says, and kisses my cheek
before sliding out of the car.

I drive back and unpack everything, then realize there's nothing
to eat. Figures. Mom never thinks about stuff like that. We've each got ten
pairs of new shoes from our earlier trip to the mall (we'll have to ditch them
at some point, but for now they're all ours) but no food, no laundry detergent,
and--after a check of the pink bathroom--no toilet paper.

I drive around looking for a supermarket but don't find one, just
a bunch of bars. So I head back into West Hill and go to the one supermarket,
which is just past a weird traffic circle thing that marks the middle of town.

It doesn't take long to get everything. Mom eats nothing but
frozen food for whatever diet is currently

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popular, never mind that it's full of chemicals that will preserve
her from the inside out, so getting her stuff is easy. I grab some real food
for myself and then stop at the seafood case and look at the shrimp. I like
shrimp but they really look gross. I didn't realize they were gray before you
cooked them.

Plus; now that I think about it, I don't have a pot to cook them
in. I look over at the lobsters. They're just sort of lying in a big display
case of murky water, their claws bound with bright blue rubber bands.

"They'll steam one for you if you want."

I look over and see a guy standing next to me, motioning at the
woman who's working behind the counter. "You got any mussels back
there?" he asks when she looks at him. She rolls her eyes but turns around
and heads into the back.

"Seriously," he says after she goes, glancing over at
me. "It doesn't even take that long. And I know the guy who catches them,
so I promise they're good."

"Uh huh," I say. A local. A local with bad hair, what
was once a buzz cut grown out enough to be at the stage where it can't be
combed into any sort of style. It's just sort of everywhere. He probably spends
his free time sitting around drinking beer and

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plotting ways to date his cousins. I look back at the lobsters.

"Okay, so I don't really know who brings them in. I just feel
bad for the guys. I mean, look at the water they're stuck in. Who'd want to
swim around in that all day?"

I look over at him again. Nice green eyes. And I was just thinking
the same thing about the lobsters myself. But still. "So why don't you get
one?"

"I spent a summer working on a lobster boat once. Worst three
months of my life. Haven't touched one since."

"So you want me to eat one because you feel sorry for them?
Or you want me to eat one because it'll be payback for the worst three months
of your life?"

He grins at me. Nice smile too. "Both."

"Well, the next time I feel like wasting"--I look at the
sign above them--"a whole lot of money, I'll keep it in mind. Or
not." I turn my cart around, head toward the checkout.

I hear him laugh, which surprises me, but I don't bother to look
back. Nice eyes, nice smile, but that hair? No way. Besides, guys just aren't
worth the trouble.

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5

Mom doesn't come home that night but she's back in the morning,
lying on the sofa with her eyes closed when I come downstairs. There's a hickey
on her neck. I pretend I don't see it.

"Hey, baby," she says. "Taxis around here suck.
Also, I really need some coffee. Why didn't you buy any?" "Because we
don't have a coffeemaker."

"Oh." She's silent for a moment, then opens her eyes and
gives me a big smile. "There's a fifty in my bag upstairs. Take it and go
get yourself some breakfast, okay?"

"And coffee."

"And coffee," she says, still smiling. Even after being
up all night she looks great. Makeup, perfect. Hair, perfect, I don't even want
to think about what

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I look like right now. I go get the money, then grab the car keys
and head for the door.

There's a donut place down the road, and I buy Mom a jelly and a
plain plus a large coffee. I buy a cream-filled donut for myself.

"Another coffee?" the woman working the counter asks.

I've never been able to drink coffee. It smells great but that's
all it's got going for it.

"Can I get a soda?"

The woman laughs until she realizes I'm serious. After that I'm
sent to a display case by the wall, and have to grab a soda while everyone
watches me. Great job fitting in. I'm glad Mom isn't here to see this. Next
time I'll order orange juice or something.

When I get back, Mom is still lying down, but she sits up as soon
as I come in, coughing a little and eyeing the coffee like it's made of gold. I
think the hickey has gotten even bigger while I've been gone.

"Here," I say, and pass her the coffee and donuts.

"What's going on with you?"

"Nothing."

She sighs. "It's just a hickey, baby. You shouldn't

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be so uptight. You're young, have some fun once in a while."

"Mom."

"Oh, right," she says, and rolls her eyes at me. "I
forgot how you are.";

"Drink your coffee," I tell her, and nudge the donut bag
with a finger. "I got you something to eat too."

"My favorites!" she says, and grins at me. We eat on the
sofa and I listen while Mom talks about what she did last night. She liked the
casino, tells me it was new-looking and very large. "So many people!"
she says. "I had a great time."

"So how much money did you lose?" I ask, and she laughs,
rolls her eyes at me.

"Oh, everything we had, of course."

Mom would never do that. She isn't Dad's biggest fan--he's the one
person who ever really hurt her--but she will admit he taught her one useful
thing: Don't waste money on things you can't win at/don't need. A lot of people
like us do drugs or take expensive vacations or buy luxury cars. Conspicuous
things.

We don't do that. We buy sensible cars, neutral-colored midsize
sedans that blend in. We don't go

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anywhere expensive unless it's for a job--the rest of the time
it's crappy apartments, hotels, or houses. And while Mom hasn't ever told me
not to do drugs-- she's just not like that--she's never had anything nice to
say about people who do what we do and use. She says drugs make you sloppy,
that they ruin what's best about what we do, the moment we're inside a place we
shouldn't be and are holding things that aren't ours. She says there's no rush
like it.

I've never felt it. I've never told her that. I don't want her to
be disappointed in me.

"So ..." I say, and point at her neck. "What did
happen?"

It turns out she met an architect, a local guy who renovates
houses. "And not just any houses," she says. "Our kind of
houses. I spent a lot of time with him. He said the people around here, the
rich ones down in Heaven, are pains in the asses."

I finish my donut and drink some soda. "What's his
name?"

Mom looks blank for a second. "Richard? No, no. Robert. Nice
guy. Very sweet. Good kisser." She laughs when I blush. "He told me a
bunch of stories--gossip, mostly--but a few of them ..."

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"A few of them what?" I say, just like I'm supposed to,
and Mom grins.

"Okay, get this. He said at the job he just finished, the
people were so insistent on having a certain kind of molding put in that even
though ripping the old molding out screwed up the security system, they didn't
care. Plus, he has a brother--no, wait, a cousin--who does most of the alarm
systems around here. The big companies use him as a contractor because it costs
too much to have an entire office here. I saw his card ..."

She leans over and fishes around in her purse, pulls out a wallet
that isn't hers, and starts looking through it. "Here it is. It's a
definite--"

"Is that his wallet?" I shouldn't be surprised but I am,
a little. She does stuff like this all the time and I don't get it. She just
said the guy was nice. Sweet, even. But she took his wallet. She didn't have
to, didn't need to--but she did anyway.

"What?" she says, still distracted by the business card.
"Oh baby, it was nothing. I flushed the credit cards before I left so he
won't have to worry about some jerk getting them. All I got was stuff we need.
People we might have to contact. Plus--" She shows

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me a fistful of bills. "Not too bad, right? And now we can go
shopping, get a coffeemaker so you don't have to go out every morning. After
all, I gotta look out for you, don't I?"

"Sure," I say, and watch Mom fold the bills away. The
guy probably has a ton of money and, just like Mom said, it's not like we're
going to use his credit cards. Plus I really don't want to have to go out and
get coffee every morning. So it's really not that bad, all things considered.
Right?

I never really even thought about stuff like this until I was
thirteen and we robbed a rich old lady who lived in a huge house in upstate New
York. We cleaned out all the silver she had, made enough to go to Manhattan and
shop for two weeks. The day before we left the city, I was reading the paper
and ran across an article about the robbery. The old lady wasn't as rich as
we'd thought, had sold her house to pay back taxes her husband owed and gotten
rid of her insurance policy on the silver because she couldn't afford it and
was planning on selling the silver anyway.

I take a sip of soda. It's warm now, and leaves a bitter
aftertaste in my mouth.

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6

Mom tells me she's going out a little later, that she needs to
find someone who knows more about Heaven. "There's a bar across the street
from the town yacht club. I figure I'll go there, meet the bartender and maybe,
if he's cute-well, if he is, he'd be a great source of information. And you,
baby, should go to the beach. Not the public one. There's a little one in
Heaven, remember? Go and get some sun, meet a few people, and find out what you
can."

I nod, even though it's the last thing I feel like doing. Mom must
know that because she doesn't leave till I'm in a cab and headed for the beach.

I'm not good with people like Mom is. She can start a conversation
with anyone and--well, I can too, if I have to, but I don't like it. Whenever I
talk

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to someone it's always the same; I'm nice, they talk, I remember
anything important and then tell Mom, Jobs are the only time I talk to anyone
besides her. If we live somewhere where we have neighbors, like in an
apartment, we have to keep a low profile, be forgettable, and that means
keeping to ourselves.

When I was younger I used to talk to kids I met in the library
when I was doing research, but as I got older they were always there in groups
and only talked to each other, discussing homework and complaining about curfews,
things I knew nothing about.

When I get to the beach I decide I'll go in, lie out in the sun
for a few hours, and then leave. Chances are good I'll hear something--people
do love to talk-- and that'll be enough to keep Mom happy.

Getting in isn't a problem. I've been to private beaches before
and usually there's a towel flunky or someone who's on the lookout for people
who don't belong. Luckily, they're almost always bribable, but there's no one
like that here. There's just a beach and a bunch of people lying on the sand or
splashing around in the water. No towel flunkies. Not even a lifeguard.

I pick a spot that's far enough out so I can see everyone

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but still leave in a hurry if I need to, and spread out my towel.
After a few minutes of pretending to look around to see if there's anyone I
know (really to see if there are any conversations going that I should wander
by and listen to) I get up and head toward the water.

I'm not a big fan of the ocean. Everyone says it's blue, but it's
not. It just looks like a lot of dirty dishwater. And this particular stretch
of beach seems to be mostly rocks and large dead jellyfish. Fun. I wade into
the surf a little, look around again. I can't get over how easy it was to get
in here. Mom would love it. She says rich people--the really rich--are so
stupid it's funny.

It is funny, I guess, but as I leave the water and lie back down
on my towel, closing my eyes, I can't help but wish I were somewhere a little
different. Somewhere ... I don't know. Somewhere where I could just be at the
beach and not have to be thinking about--

"Do I know you?" Guy's voice.