“I think some people are just stuck.” My mind drifted back to Perry and I shook my head.
Snatching up the bucket as he stood, Mr. Jericho nodded. “Makes sense. I feel less like I’m going to toss my cookies, so I’m going to put this back in the bathroom.” He gave me a wink, and I got to my feet and rushed over to Daddy near the door. I bounced on my feet, and he opened his arms so I could slide close and snuggle against him. The best part was when he wrapped his arms around me and held me tight.
“Be safe,” he said quietly. “I know you’ve been going a few places by yourself, but if you’re worried or feel uncomfortable—”
“Call you, I know. I’m fine on the bus, Daddy. Besides, Mr. Jericho will be there.” I beamed up at him, and he gave me one last kiss before he left. I slipped on my shoes, then stood on the porch and waved at him, watching him walk away and wishing I was going with him, but I would see him later. If I was done early, I could always meet him at the church.
When Mr. Jericho came out on the porch to join me, I locked the door, and we took the short trip to the bus stop at the end of the block. He wobbled as we stood waiting, and I put a hand on his arm that had him smiling at me.
“You know I don’t ask a lot of questions,” I said.
Mr. Jericho tilted his head and his blond stubble, which was messier than usual, glinted in the light while he studied me. “I am aware that you don’t talk much unless someone starts the conversation.” He nudged me with his elbow. “I hope this means we’re friends now.”
Nodding, I let my hand fall away from him. “I don’t feel good sometimes.” I ran my fingers through my hair. “But I would never drink until I felt worse. Why did you do that?”
He shoved his hands into his pockets, glancing up at the bright blue sky. The tip of his nose curved up, as though trying to meet the sun, and his pale lashes gleamed. “I don’t know, it seemed like the thing to do at the time. I’m not a perfect person—hell, I might not even be a good person—but I try, though, and so does Gian.”
I thought about that as we waited. I tried, too, but I still wouldn’t get drunk. It was scary to be so out of control.
Once we were on the bus I stared out the windows at the city like I always did and let my mind drift. The bus was fun, and I liked that I didn’t have to be responsible for much except getting off at the right stops. I never started conversations, although sometimes other people talked to me, and even with Mr. Jericho at my side, my head still went out of focus and fuzzy the way it often did, especially when we passed a familiar street corner.
There was a small shop with entrances from both cross streets. The doors were red and had white trim striped like a candy cane. I’d been inside before and could imagine the old-fashioned wood-and-glass candy counter. A boy used to go with me. I struggled to think of his face but lost the image when Mr. Jericho cleared his throat.
“You didn’t have to come with me.”
I shrugged. “I wouldn’t have wanted to go alone if I felt sick.”
“Well, then, thank you for your help.” He knocked the back of his hand against my knee in a friendly swat.
Delight zipped through me, and I smiled at him. “Think nothing of it.”
“You’ve been hanging out with the nuns too much. What you should say isbless your heart.”
I couldn’t hold in my snickering, and he grinned at me.
Not long later we got off the bus near the clinic. I’d come to love the charming, historical building, and I especially appreciated the wraparound porch. Mr. Jericho groaned as we walked up to the lawn that was strewn with beer cans and other trash. He put his hands on his hips and shook his head. “We’re really fucking early for the weekend group therapy meeting. Were you planning to go?”
I nodded. “Sure.”
“Want to do me a favor?” He waved a hand at the garbage. “People sometimes toss their crap in the yard because they’re... inconsiderate”—he hesitated like he would’ve rather used a cuss word—“and I still feel like hell warmed over. I have gloves and garbage bags inside, plus a crisp fifty-dollar bill with your name on it if I don’t have to clean this up today.” He rubbed his temples and slumped, trying to be funny, but he didn’t have to act; I’d seen him with the bucket.
“Yes!” I said in excitement. Daddy and I had been talking about me maybe getting a small job sometime soon, but then it had gotten closer to school, and I’d helped him at the church. I would give him the money, and if he didn’t want it, I would give it to Sister Joan for the shoe drive she was putting together.
“Thank you,” he said, running a hand over his face. “I probably would’ve ended up puking in the bushes if I did it, and then I would’ve had to get a hose and clean that up.” He shook his head and smiled, and I followed him inside. It didn’t take him long to find the bags and gloves, and with some simple directions—“Pick everything up. Except needles, don’t touch any needles. Sometimes I find those. Come get me if you run across any.”—I went back outside into the heat and humidity and began to remove the trash.
Sweat quickly beaded on my skin, but I didn’t mind much because it was a nice day. I hummed as I picked up cigarette butts, which were gross, and gathered all the garbage near the street. I was just grabbing part of a newspaper that had blown into the yard and had gotten caught in the flower beds near the front door, when I stood and noticed a familiar man in a blue St. Loren police uniform coming along the sidewalk toward the front of the clinic. He poked his phone screen and frowned at it.
The man’s name didn’t come to me, though I knew it should. His round face went with his button nose, and he had short chestnut hair along with an amber complexion. Even though he wasn’t looking at me, his brown eyes were stark. It popped into my head that I knew his grandmother, then a river of information deluged my mind. Her name was Romina. She came to the US from Mexico as a teenager and made me flan for my birthday. His father, Dave, was a member of the Chitimacha tribe, but he’d never bothered to register. Dave had told me about his family one day when I was upset because I didn’t know anything about my dad. A couple of boys at school were making fun of me for it. He’d said—“You’re not the only one, kid.”—and then he’d ruffled my hair and asked if I wanted to play ball with him and Jesse. Jesse’s mom, Lily, had told us she would make hot dogs while we played.
All those little details swam up in my mind at once and fought for my attention.
Jesse.
I took off the gloves and threw them into the trash bag while I stared. He glanced up from his phone and stopped dead in his tracks, then ran toward me. I backed off with my hands up, and he didn’t stop until his shoes touched mine. My heart raced.
“Phoenix, is that you?” The familiar voice sank into my mind. The last time I’d seen him he had longer hair that almost brushed his shoulders, and I was the one with short business hair. I touched my sweat-damp strands and dragged in a deep breath.
“Jesse?”
