Page 12 of Playing Santa

“After that I was sent to live with an aunt and uncle who I barely knew and they already had four kids and a small house. I slept on the couch. My aunt and uncle seemed to work all the time but never seemed to make enough money.

“I never knew how that was possible until overhearing them fighting one night after I’d been there a while. Apparently, Uncle was a gambler. As time went on, I realized the house was always in danger of foreclosure and one day two years later, when I was a sophomore in high school, on the brink of getting my driver’s license, my aunt and uncle said they were leaving town and they packed the kids in the car and left.”

“What the hell?” Outrage rises up, killing my ability to keep quiet and listen. She’s been telling the story as if it happened to someone else, but I’m acutely aware that this tragedy is her life, where she came from, what she had to go through.

“Whoa, there. Calm down Sherriff. I should clarify. Technically, they gave me the option of going with them. But in actuality, they encouraged me to stay and live with one of my friends. I was about old enough, I’d be alright. That’s what my uncle told me. My little cousins wanted me to come with them and they were a cute if unruly bunch, all too young and impressionable.

“But when my uncle told them to shut up and he stared me down, he made it clear the suggestion that I stay behind was more like a demand.” Ronnie shivers and I’m not sure if she’s aware of it.

“He says ‘You can stay in the house for a few days, but I wouldn’t linger if I were you. There may be some bad dudes showing up. Can’t tell you where we’re going.’ My aunt says, ‘Maybe in a few … months I’ll call you. Let you know. You can come join us then.’ Then my uncle says, ‘Yeah, sure. That makes sense.’ But I know it’s half-hearted. He tells me, ‘You can hang out with a friend until then.’

“I saw the guilt in his eyes, remember it still in my dreams sometimes, but the jumpiness in him and the fear far outweighed any crisis of conscience he might have had. So I said my good-byes and went back inside the house. And even though I could sleep in one of the vacated beds that night, I slept on the couch. No need to get attached.”

“Ronnie…” My voice rumbles, emotion and the longing to help that sixteen-year-old girl churn through me. I tighten my hold, but she pulls away. When she faces me there’s an angry glint in her eyes, but it’s not meant for me. At least I don’t think it is.

“You asked for this story, now let me finish it.” She stares me down, challenging me to be tough enough to take it, as tough as she is. I nod and shore myself up.

“It wasn’t long after my aunt and uncle left when I met Jimmy’s dad, Lorcan McNamara. Everyone called him Mack. Contrary to my uncle’s advice, I stayed in the house and hid or took off whenever anyone came by. There were realtors and bankers and someone from the town based on the signage of the vehicles, but after a month and no visits from the leg-breakers, I figured I was in the clear. I made sure the neighbors didn’t know I was still around, leaving for school super early. At school, I tried to pretend everything was fine. It was hard since I ran out of things like shampoo, toothpaste, soap and laundry detergent pretty quick.

“Finding food was a challenge, but one I had to deal with. That was when I first went to the local food bank. I was so ashamed, I wore some old sunglasses I’d found in a drawer and walked there. It was over a mile. The woman gave me a big heavy bag with canned goods and I despaired about carrying it home. And despaired about cooking the stuff since the electricity and gas had been turned off. So next time I went I asked for the kinds of things you could eat without cooking. The lady did the best she could to accommodate me and then suggested I go to the local food kitchen and gave me directions. I went because my stomach dictated it and I was starting to turn into a skeleton.

“Enter Mr. Charmer. He worked at the soup kitchen and was a recent immigrant who lived in a boarding house. He made me laugh and he knew my big dark secret about living on my own. Except I lied and told him I was eighteen. He loaned me the money to get my drivers’ license and forged my parents name. He borrowed a car so I could take the driving test. Eventually, I invited him over to the house and he helped keep me warm at night so I let him stay. That’s when he tried talking me into getting married. And that’s when I needed to tell him I wasn’t eighteen. He was angry but his devious mind went to work. He said he could get me forged documents, but I told him no way. I wasn’t a criminal. I was lying about my circumstances at school, but there was a line I wouldn’t cross.” She scoffs, letting out a chortle of self-ridicule.

“That went down the tubes when I later discovered that he’d stuck pinholes in all the condoms so I’d get pregnant because then he knew I’d go along with his plan to forge the documents to get married. And most importantly, so he could become a citizen. Before that happened though, we had to leave the house because it was being auctioned off. So we moved into the rooming house where he’d lived before with other recent immigrants, most of whom didn’t speak English. He encouraged me to get a job even though I was still in school and sick half the time I was pregnant, but I did it and worked part time at the food kitchen.

“He was good to me when we were together and I believed he was fond of me. He’d quit the job at the food shelter and found a job as a bouncer, started working out and getting expensive clothes and a haircut though we continued to live in the boarding house.

“When it became apparent at school that I was pregnant, they started questioning me and tried getting in touch with my aunt and uncle, but they were obviously unsuccessful. I was only mildly disappointed that my aunt never contacted me six months later. It was close to the end of the school year, so I confessed everything about my aunt and uncle and the house to the school counselor and they were appalled and going to find me foster care. To avoid that I had to tell them I was married. I didn’t tell them about the forged documents though. After I begged them, they allowed me to finish the school year without calling social services because I assured them I was better fed and clothed now than I’d been with my aunt and uncle. Which was true. I ate regularly at the food kitchen while I worked there and Mack would bring home food from the club where he worked.”

She pauses then and faces me. I hold my breath, not daring to interrupt her, knowing more was to come. My insides are so knotted up, I can’t move, don’t take my eyes off her.

“Right up until the night when he never came back. To this day, I don’t know what happened to him. I was afraid to think about it. I was just about nine months pregnant.”

I suck in a breath, but I don’t have time to express my outrage because she keeps talking.

“It’s not like I was in love with him, but he’d been my security.” She pauses and shakes her head in a derisive gesture. “I should never have depended on him. Or anyone.”

“Ronnie—”

She cuts me off. “Don’t say a word. Don’t feel sorry for me. That’s not why I’m telling you this.”

“Why are you telling me?” I hold my breath. I have no idea what motive to anticipate. She has depths I can’t imagine, dug by tragedy and the strength to deal.

“Hell if I know.” She shakes her head and faces me. “No. That’s not true. I’m telling you because I don’t want you to get the wrong idea about me. You have a generous streak—which is admirable and all—but I don’t want it aimed in my direction. I don’t need anyone. I’m not depending on anyone but myself from now on.”

“I get that. I respect it.” She stares me down with a stern expression only sharpened by those flashing jewel eyes. I clear my throat. “So that’s it? Between you and Mack?” I can’t help myself and she sees right through me, smirking without apology.

She shrugs and I don’t think she’s going to say more as she watches and waves at Jimmy. The sun is almost down, but the festive lights keep the park bright.

“Mack was someone I shared my secrets with. I had friends in high school, but I didn’t have much in common with them because most of them had parents, a home and regular food on the table. I maintained one good friend who’d invited me to stay over once but I was uncomfortable and out of place in her relatively palatial home with her caring parents and siblings. My own parents and the life I had as a child felt like a distant memory, sometimes now it feels like my childhood was a dream, a fairytale that never happened. Not something real because it was so thoroughly undone once my parents were gone.”

“What about your friend? Why couldn’t you stay with her?”

“Her family looked at me with too much sympathy when they learned that my parents died and I’d been staying with relatives. I never went into detail about who my relatives were or my circumstances, but they could clearly see by the way I was dressed and how I’d been generally unkempt with wild long ungroomed hair and nails that I wasn’t well off. Understatement.

“The school year ended and I stayed in the rooming house. The landlord got me a good lock for the door and looked out for me and Jimmy. Fast forward six years and here I am.” She stares ahead, watching Jimmy and Dasher and I sit mute, waiting for my heart to settle, for my gut to untwist, for my mind to figure out what the hell I can say.

It’s a lot to digest. My head hurts and my heart hurts even more. With a shaky arm, I pull her in close to me. She resists. I don’t relent.