When her mother kept pushing to accompany her daughter, Elaine sat down and said she wasn’t going to go. It was the closest she’d ever come to throwing a temper tantrum.
Finally, her mother relented. Elaine put the dress she’d made into a long garment bag, her shoes at the bottom, and rode away on her bike.
When she reached Cheryl’s house, she hesitated. The whole road was full of small houses in need of repair. Next door, empty cans littered the front porch and weeds grew through the old sidewalk. She’d heard people say this area was a “shame” and she could see what they meant.
Cheryl had slipped her a note earlier saying to come to the side door. Elaine hid her bike under a window, near a propane tank, then stared in shock at the backyard. It had rusty machinery in it and a big hole toward the back fence.
“Horrible, isn’t it?” Cheryl had opened the screen door and was standing there.
She had on jeans but she looked as perfect as she did at school.
Elaine thought it was better not to lie. “It is awful. Somebody should clean it up.”
“Mom and I agree but the landlord wants too much to do it. Come in.”
Elaine was afraid the inside would be as bad as the outside, but it was nice. The house was clean and felt warm and friendly. The furniture in the living room was plain but it had been decorated with bright pillows, and a scarf tossed across the back of the sofa. There were many framed pictures on the wall, all of them looking to be original.
“These are pretty,” Elaine said. “Who did them?”
“My mother. She likes to paint on weekends.”
There were sunsets and old buildings and, Elaine’s favorite, a beat-up old truck in a weed-infested field. “I really like them.”
Cheryl seemed to be pleased by that and said thanks.
The kitchen was a separate room and Cheryl led the way. “We need to start by deep-conditioning your hair. It will help tone down the frizz.”
To Elaine’s surprise, there was a boy, eleven or twelve, sitting on a stool by the worn Formica counter. He was eating a huge piece of cherry pie. Nearby was a glass of milk and a big video camera.
Cheryl went to the old refrigerator and pulled out a jar of mayonnaise. “This is Jack. He’s going to be helping me with a project this summer.”
“Hi,” Elaine said, but Jack said nothing. He just stared at her as though he didn’t want her there.
“Jack.” Cheryl’s tone was of disapproval.
“Hi,” he said reluctantly, then downed the last of the milk.
Cheryl handed him three one-dollar bills. “We need more milk, so you can go get some.”
“I haven’t finished my pie.”
“Take it with you.”
The boy looked like he was about to refuse, but he finally got off the stool, took the money and the rest of his pie, and left.
“Wow,” Elaine said. “What’s his problem? And who is he?”
“Roy Wyatt’s son.”
Elaine had to think where she’d heard that name. “Oh! Isn’t he the guy who’s always in trouble?”
Before Cheryl spoke, she looked outside to make sure Jack was gone. “Yes, he is. A couple of years ago, Jack’s parents had a vicious custody battle. His mother hired a lawyer to have her ex-husband declared unfit, but then there was an accident at work.” She motioned for Elaine to sit on a kitchen stool, and she put a towel about her shoulders.
“Was Roy hurt?”
“Heavens no!” Cheryl began slathering mayonnaise on Elaine’s hair. “But Jack’s stepfather was. He’s a building contractor and a new wall that had been nailed down fell on him. When it happened, Roy was surrounded by men in a bar, but everyone knew he’d done it. Jealousy. But Jack’s mother dropped her suit, so now the boy spends a lot of the summer with his father, stepmother and his little brother.”
“I didn’t hear any of this. Who told you?”
