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She knew she needed to find a job that paid cash—babysitting or cleaning houses, or maybe cooking meals or reading books for someone who was elderly. She wondered if there was a bulletin board somewhere in town that would list such opportunities, and she reminded herself to look for one.
Today, she thought, I will find the energy to do all that I need to do.
From upstairs, she heard Tommie’s door squeak open. She watched as he padded down the steps while rubbing the sleep from his eyes, dressed in one of the two shirts she’d thrown into his backpack. She wondered how long it would be before the other kids began to make fun of him for wearing the same clothes over and over. From the refrigerator, she retrieved the milk; from the cupboard, she pulled a box of Cheerios. There was sugar in the cupboard, left by those who’d lived here before, but she didn’t trust that it was safe to eat. Who knew what sort of icky critters had decided to breed in there?
She poured the Cheerios into a bowl and brought the bowl and spoon to the table. She kept the small bottle of his hair wax on the counter and added a dab to her palms. She smoothed his cowlick, then kissed him on the cheek.
“How did you sleep, sweetie?”
He merely shrugged, but she’d expected that. He was quiet in general, but in the mornings, getting him to speak was sometimes like pulling teeth. She reached for the peanut butter and jelly on the counter and the last two pieces of bread in the loaf. She made a sandwich, wrapped it in plastic, and placed it into a paper bag, along with the last apple and enough change to allow him to buy milk. She wished she had enough money for Cheetos or granola bars or Nutter Butters, or even sliced turkey or ham, but it just wasn’t possible. When the lunch was ready, she squeezed the bag into Tommie’s backpack, then took a seat at the table, almost aching with love for him.
“Honey? I asked you a question.”
He took a bite, and only after swallowing did he answer. “Okay.”
“Just okay?”
When he nodded, she waited. “Did you have a bad dream?” As soon as she asked, she realized she could be speaking about herself.
He shook his head.
“Honey? I’m trying to talk to you. Did something happen last night?”
“It was loud.”
“What do you mean?” she asked, trying to keep any concern from her voice. It couldn’t have been Gary; there was no way he could have found them yet.
“There were crickets. Like a million of them. I think there were frogs, too.”
She smiled. “We’re in the country, so you’re probably right.”
He nodded. Took another bite.
“How do you like the school? And your teacher?”
For the life of her, Beverly couldn’t remember the teacher’s name, but then again, there wasn’t much time left in the school year and she’d only been at the school long enough to sign him up, so she supposed she could be forgiven for her lapse.
“Tommie?”
“She’s okay,” he said with a sigh.
“Have you made any friends yet?”
He ate another spoonful of cereal, then finally looked up at her. “Can we get a dog?”
He’d asked for a dog before, yet another reminder that there was so much more she wished she could do for him. Gary had never allowed one, but even though that life was behind them now, she knew she couldn’t afford to take care of a dog. And who knew when they’d have to run again? “We’ll see,” she hedged.
He nodded, knowing exactly what her answer meant.
When Tommie was finished with his cereal, Beverly tugged at his shirt, straightening it, then helped him on with his backpack. Still barefoot, she ducked upstairs to her bedroom and put on her shoes before walking with her son toward the stump near the road, where they sat and waited for the school bus. The air was becoming soupy, and she knew it was going to be another hot one.
The bus arrived minutes after they’d taken their seats, and as Beverly watched Tommie silently board the bus, she noticed the heat was already turning the horizon into liquid.
The small grocery store nearest the house wouldn’t be open for at least an hour, so after the bus vanished in a swirl of gravel dust, Beverly wandered back inside, thinking it was finally time to tackle the oven.
She went to the bathroom and made a quick ponytail, using a rubber band she found in one of the drawers, then searched under the kitchen sink and in the pantry for the cleanser. She sprayed the surface of the stovetop and began to scrub, noting the burns and scratches, but some of the spills seemed welded to the surface. With a strange sense of satisfaction, she wrapped the tip of a butter knife in the dishrag and, bearing down hard, watched the crusty remains slowly curl away.
After the stovetop, she’d nearly sweated through her shirt from exertion. She sprayed cleaner into the oven, knowing it needed to soak for a while, then went upstairs to the bathroom and removed her shirt. She washed it with a bit of shampoo, then hung it to dry over the shower curtain. It was pointless to put a single piece of clothing in the washer. After that, she started to get ready. She slipped into a clean shirt, pinned up her hair, and slid on the wig, becoming a short-haired brunette again, before wrapping her chest in the Ace bandage. She added dark foundation, changing her complexion, and applied dark lipstick. After donning her sunglasses and baseball hat, she barely recognized herself in the mirror. Perfect.
