A Million Ways Home Read online

  I watched her pull weeds for a while, before deciding that anything was better than homework. “So, when do you do homeschool?” I asked.

  She glanced over. “It just depends on what’s going on. Usually afternoon or evening. It only takes about three hours a day.”

  “Wow, I wish regular school only took three hours.”

  “Seems longer when you’re stuck doing it alone, though.”

  I closed my math book. “Need any help pulling weeds?” I asked.

  She gave me a comical look. “You must be bored to death.”

  “I am.”

  She scratched her nose with the back of her wrist. “Why exactly are you here anyway?”

  It wasn’t really what I wanted to talk about, but at least she was talking. “I’m just staying with Marti for a few days.” I set my math book aside and ambled over to sit on the railroad tie of the bed she was working on. “Actually, it’s because I witnessed a crime, and Trey brought me here instead of taking me back to the kids’ center.”

  Lizzie’s eyes flew open. “What crime?”

  “An armed robbery.”

  “No way! Did you see somebody get shot?”

  I saw the face of the cashier, and my stomach tightened. “No, not exactly.” I pulled a weed from the soil and tossed it in Lizzie’s black bucket. “But I heard someone get shot, and then I saw the guy who did it.”

  “No way. Did he see you?”

  I nodded, which wasn’t quite as scary as saying it out loud.

  “Then Trey probably thinks the guy is looking for you.”

  “Maybe.”

  “That guy hates me.”

  I looked up, confused. “Who hates you?”

  “Trey.”

  I decided she was awfully quick to assume people hated her, but then I remembered Trey’s stony expression the day I’d first met her and what Marti had just told me last evening.

  “How long have you known him?”

  “Mom and Marti have been friends for a long time. He’s figured me for a troublemaker from day one. But then that night, when me and Brett and Tanya got hauled in for painting the federal building — who do you think I got the privilege of talking to?”

  “Trey?”

  She rolled her eyes. “Good guess. Now he’s just another on a long list of people who think I’m on the road to self-destruction.”

  I laughed. “You’d make a great dramatic actor.”

  “Yeah, well, sometimes I wish my life was a movie. It’d be rated R, of course. How about yours?”

  “How about my what?”

  She sighed. “You’re a little slow on the uptake, aren’t you? Your life. If it was a movie, what would it be rated?”

  I thought about it. “Uh, well … up till a few days ago I’d probably say G. But now, it’d be more like PG-13.”

  The sliding sound of the screen door made both of us look up. Marti stepped out onto the back porch. She looked at my homework lying at her feet and then smiled out at us. “You know the interesting thing about homework?”

  I shook my head.

  “It doesn’t do itself,” she said.

  “Oh, right.” I gave Lizzie an apologetic look. “Guess I can’t help anymore.”

  “You were helping?”

  “I dropped one weed in the bucket.”

  “Hey,” she whispered as I stood. “You text?”

  “Sure, why?”

  She gave me another one of those slow-on-the-uptake looks, but it wasn’t unfriendly. “We can keep talking and nobody will hear, duh.”

  I smiled. “Oh. What a rebel. You really are on the road to self-destruction.”

  She had a light, airy laugh that was easy to listen to, and I caught Marti’s look of utter amazement before she turned and went back inside.

  I managed to finish my math, even with my phone buzzing every couple of minutes. But then Lizzie left after lunch, and without being able to visit Grandma Beth, the rest of the day stretched out before me, long and empty. The sun had moved to the other side of the house by then, so I took my sketch pad out to Marti’s front steps. Harvey sprawled on the lawn, snoring loudly, his stubby front legs resting perfectly on top of each other like wooden blocks. Then he started to twitch and snort, and I wondered what he was dreaming of.

  I didn’t remember leaning my head against Marti’s iron railing, or closing my eyes. All I remembered was starting to sketch Harvey, but his deep bark suddenly scared me half to death. I jerked up to see Trey’s Pontiac come to a stop against the curb. My pencil lay two steps below on the lawn, and a little string of drool ran from the corner of my mouth. I wiped it away, disgusted, as Trey climbed out of the car.

  “Hey,” he called. “Just the person I wanted to see.”

  That woke me up fast. I’d barely said ten words to him since he’d taken my bike away. “Me?” I echoed dumbly.

  “Yeah, you,” he said. “Come on over to my place for a minute, I’ve got good news.”

  I slowly stood and set my sketch pad on the top step. The drawing of Harvey was only half done. I followed Trey inside his apartment and stopped near his desk. “What?”

  “The drawing you helped Cindy with is turning up all kinds of leads. We think we’ve got the suspect’s name.”

  “Really?”

  “Really. You did it, Tiger. High-five.”

  I reached up and slapped his hand, but I had no idea what to say. “How did you find out?”

  “A custodian from Costco recognized him. Said he’s a regular.”

  “What’s his name?”

  “William Eugene Frank. He’s thirty-seven years old. Wanted on two felony warrants in Oregon.”

  “Felony? Is that the serious stuff or the not-so-serious?”

  Trey looked like he wanted to laugh for a second. “The serious stuff. In this case, robbery and assault.”

  I hugged my arms around me. “So, it’s him for sure?”

  “We’ve got officers scanning the store’s surveillance images right now,” he said. “As soon as they find pictures of him, we’re counting on you to give us a positive ID.”

  “Oh. And then what happens … if I can?”

  “Then our chance of apprehending him gets a lot better.”

  I wanted to force the discussion one step further, to ask the same question again — And then what happens? But I didn’t need to ask. I already knew the answer, and it gave me a sick feeling in the pit of my stomach. Once an arrest was made, I wouldn’t be needed anymore. My job would be done, and I’d get shipped back to the center. My knees turned watery, and I leaned against Trey’s desk.

  His cell phone vibrated and made me jump. I recognized Captain Ross’s voice on the other end. Trey listened for a minute and then patted the chest pocket of his shirt in search of something. He opened a desk drawer and grabbed a pen.

  I glanced into the drawer. The key to the bike chain lay on top, but it was the photo lying next to it that captured my attention. It was a school picture of a young girl, her dark hair in ponytails, her lips shiny with gloss. I took it out for a closer look. Her eyes were brown, and her lips fuller than mine, but other than that it could have been me a year or two ago. It was weird. I turned the picture over. To Trey, Love Virginia. 5th grade.

  I was so intrigued with the picture that it took a minute to realize Trey’s phone call had ended. I glanced up to find him watching me. I giggled and tossed the picture back in the drawer. “Sorry. I was just …”

  “Told you she looked like you.”

  “Yeah, she kind of does.”

  Silence hung in the air. Trey reached over and closed the drawer. I took a step back, feeling like I’d done something wrong.

  “They’ll have the surveillance images ready by morning,” he said. “I’ll be over to get you.”

  “Okay,” I said, grateful for the easy out. “See you then.”

  I lay awake for a long time that night, clutching my flannel blanket, my mind whirling too fast for sleep. William Eugene Frank —
William Eugene Frank, my mind chanted the name over and over, trying to make it fit the man with the fake-looking eyes and the awful breath. But it didn’t fit. It sounded more like the name of a banker, or a lawyer maybe, or a college professor. It wasn’t a criminal-sounding name. But mostly I thought about what would happen once I identified him.

  Getting to stay here with Marti was a completely lucky break that I’d hoped might last until Grandma Beth got to come home. Once she moved to the Huckleberry Home, I expected she’d only have to stay a few days, a week at most. But now I wasn’t so sure. I kept seeing the bluish color of her face and thinking how she couldn’t even stay awake long enough for a visit. And for the first time, I let myself imagine what that might really mean.

  What if she didn’t get better? What if she turned into one of those old, helpless people, like the woman with the bright white running shoes? Or the man with the spindly legs? What would happen to her, and to our apartment?

  What would happen to me?

  The thought of having to live at the center until I was grown up made me feel like someone was sitting on my chest. I’d hated every minute of the ten days I’d been there — Sidney. Lukewarm showers. Crying kids. The heavy cloud of unhappiness that hung over the place — six years would be impossible. I was suddenly too hot for the covers, and I kicked them off. But only a minute later I started to shiver and pulled them back on.

  Living on my own would be better. Anything would be better. I wondered how long I could get away with hiding out at our apartment? If I stayed inside and didn’t turn on the lights or flush the toilet, maybe no one would realize I was there. But as soon as the thought entered my mind I knew it was stupid. Mrs. Gilly had a key. She’d come up to check the plants and discover me. And what about school? What about visiting Grandma Beth?

  A shaft of moonlight glowed through the window blinds, and I crept over and peered out. All I could see at this angle was a narrow strip of sky and a single twinkling star. Something about that one little star all by its lonesome made me want to cry. I wondered if Grandma Beth could see any stars from her window at the Huckleberry Home. Had she ever looked? Would we ever get to look at them together again? My throat was so thick I couldn’t even swallow. I rested my forehead against the cold glass, and the tears came.

  Marti shook me gently awake the next morning at seven. The surveillance images were ready, and Trey was waiting to take me. My eyelids felt gritty, like I’d never slept, and my stomach hurt. Marti insisted I drink some orange juice and eat a hard-boiled egg, and she promised me everything would be fine.

  This time there were no long, boring hours spent waiting at the police station. Trey took me directly to the interview room, where two officers stood around a computer with a camera plugged in. The room smelled like old coffee and stale air. I hoped that Maria might be there, just to see a friendly face, but she wasn’t. The men fanned out of the way as Trey set one of the velvet-padded chairs in front of the computer and motioned me to sit. “Okay, Poppy, tell us if you recognize anybody.”

  Grainy color images of the Costco store filled the monitor. The camera showed four different areas of the warehouse at the same time — sporting goods, automotive, the pharmacy, groceries — and none of the pictures were very big. I studied the people pushing carts down the aisles or waiting in line at the checkout stand, praying I didn’t recognize anyone.

  Nobody spoke, but I could feel Trey and the other officers hovering behind me, holding their breath, hoping. It made my palms sticky, and I wrapped my feet around the legs of the chair. “I can’t really tell,” I said. “Most of the people have their head down.”

  Trey slowly clicked through the images. “No hurry, take your time.”

  After about a half hour, I started to relax just a little. None of the customers looked familiar. Maybe the employee at Costco had made a mistake. But then without warning an image jumped out at me. The frame on the bottom left showed a man looking almost directly at the camera. I studied his eyes and the scraggly mustache, and I knew without a doubt it was William Eugene Frank.

  Sweat trickled between my shoulder blades as I shifted my gaze to the other photos and tried not to react. If I identified him, how long would it be before he got arrested? Hours — a day — a week? How soon would they send me back to the center?

  But how could I not identify him? He’d killed somebody — a little girl’s mom. I knew what it was like to grow up without parents, and how awful it felt to never have anybody specific to blame for the loss. I saw the smiling face of the cashier, the way she’d said, “It’s on me today,” and I hated myself for what I was thinking. My heart thumped in my ears as I wrestled with myself.

  I eased back in my chair. “No. You can … keep going.”

  “Be sure, Tiger. Take as long as you need.”

  Tiger. Why did he have to call me that right then? It made me hate myself even more. I pinned my elbows to my sides and leaned away from Trey. “I’m sure,” I said. “It’s not him.”

  Trey didn’t respond, but I felt his disappointment and heard the slight puff of air as he sighed.

  I looked at the rest of the images, but there weren’t any more of William Eugene Frank. Finally Trey turned the camera off and stepped back. “That’s it for now, guys. Appreciate all your hard work. Go home and get some rest.”

  I stared at my hands and held my stomach muscles tight as the officers filed out. Trey put a hand on the top of my head. “Come on, I’ll take you back to Mom’s.”

  My ankles hurt from being forced up against the legs of the chair, and my cheeks burned. I stood up without looking at Trey. “Sorry.”

  “Hey, you did fine,” he said. “You earned yourself a Twinkie.”

  I forced a quick smile, but what I really felt like doing was throwing up. Because I hadn’t done fine at all. In fact, I could hardly believe what I’d done.

  IT WAS only ten o’clock when we left the police station, but it felt like so much later. A ray of sun broke through the clouds and warmed the side window of Trey’s car. I tipped my head against the glass and tried to endure the awful guilt that stung like a whip.

  “Have you been doing your homework?” Trey asked, pulling me from my thoughts.

  “Some.”

  He started to say something more, but then his phone vibrated. I closed my eyes. Saved by the cell.

  “Hey, Mom,” Trey said. “What’s up? Yeah, I’m bringing her back now…. Oh, shoot! When?”

  I sat up, instantly alert.

  “Okay,” Trey said, “we’ll meet you there.”

  “What’s wrong?” I cried. “Is it Grandma Beth?”

  He nodded. “Afraid so. They’ve moved her back to the hospital.”

  My stomach cramped and made me gasp. “But why? What happened?”

  “I’m not sure, Tiger. Let’s go find out.”

  My heart was in my throat for the ten minutes it took to get to the hospital. Figuring out where Grandma was and riding the elevator to the sixth floor felt even longer. Miss Austin and Marti both waited in the intensive-care family room.

  “What’s going on?” I asked as I ran in. “Where’s Grandma Beth?”

  Marti started toward me, but then held back as Miss Austin reached me first. “Your grandma’s being cared for, Poppy. She had another stroke early this morning. I’m so sorry.”

  I couldn’t believe it. My hands started flapping around like they were separate from me. This whole thing was my fault — God was punishing me for lying to the police. “Where is she? I want to see her.”

  Miss Austin put a hand around my wrist. “Not right yet, honey. She’s still with the doctors.”

  I shook her free. “Leave me alone. I need to see her now.” I whirled for the door, even though I had no idea which way to go.

  Trey reached out and gripped my arm. “Hey, hold on. You heard Miss Austin.”

  I jerked back. “Let go!” I yelled. “I need to see if she’s okay.”

  But he didn’t let go. He pull
ed me up tight against him. “I know you want to be with her. But you’ll be in the doctors’ way if you go barging in there. Let them do their job.”

  My heartbeat thrashed in my ears, and it was hard to breathe. I pressed my face against Trey’s chest and started to bawl. “She’s supposed to be getting better.”

  “I know, Tiger.”

  I’d never been held that tightly before, so hard it hurt my ribs. But there was something that felt safe about it, too, and after a little bit I quit feeling so out of control.

  “You okay now?” Trey asked.

  “Yeah,” I whimpered, even though I’d never felt less okay in my life. He relaxed his grip and walked me across the room to the vinyl couch where Marti sat. I collapsed beside her, and she pulled me against her shoulder. “It’s gonna be okay, Poppy. Try to be brave.”

  “I don’t wanna be brave,” I cried. “I just want things to be like they used to be.”

  Miss Austin brought me over a tissue. Then she perched on the edge of one of the lime-colored chairs across the room. Trey stayed standing near the door. Nobody spoke for a long time. The coffeepot in the corner gurgled and hissed. A call for a Dr. Burris crackled over the intercom.

  Miss Austin opened her purse, took out her cell phone, and began texting. Every few minutes it gently vibrated with a reply. Finally she puffed out a breath and gave Marti an anxious look. “Will you be able to stay here with Poppy for a while longer? I’m afraid I have some things that can’t wait.”

  “Of course,” Marti said. “I’ll stay as long as it takes.”

  “Thank you, I really appreciate it.” She stepped over to me. “I’m so sorry about your grandma, Poppy. I promise to check in soon, okay?”

  I looked up at her but didn’t answer. She had on those stupid dangling earrings again. She flitted with her hair and then tapped her way out of the room. I could tell when she reached the elevator because the tapping stopped. “She always has stuff that can’t wait,” I mumbled.

  Marti patted my hair. “She does have a full plate, Poppy.”