I turn to Scottie. If this is hard on me, it’s worse for him. So, as if I’m Santa unpacking gifts, I say: “Shall we see what we’ve got?”
Except no one wants to see it. So I pull out her laptop, which I’ve kept separate in my backpack. I hold it out to Joe and Sue. They look at each other; then they shake their heads. “We discussed it,” Joe says, “and we want you to have it.”
“Me?” I know how expensive this computer was. “No. I can’t.”
“Please, we want you to,” Sue says.
“What about Scottie?”
“Scottie is ten,” Joe says. “We have the family computer. He has plenty of time to have his own laptop.”
Sue’s face falters, as if she no longer trusts the promise of time. But she pulls it together and says: “And you’ll need it for when you go away to college.”
I nod, and we all pretend like this is going to happen.
“It’s too much,” I say.
“Cody, take it,” Joe says almost harshly. I understand then that giving me the computer is not really a gift. But maybe my taking it is.
x x x
When it’s time to leave, Sue packs up a dozen cupcakes to take home. They’re frosted pink and gold, colors that tell a story of sweetness and joy. Even food lies.
Scottie takes Samson out for a walk and joins me half the way home.
“Sorry about the computer, Runtmeyer.”
“S’okay. I can play DS.”
“You can come over and teach me to play one of your games.”
He looks at me seriously. “Okay. But you can’t let me win. I feel like people are letting me win because I’m the dead girl’s brother.”
I nod. “I’m the dead girl’s best friend. So it’s an even playing field. Which frees me up to totally kick your butt.”
It’s the first time I see Scottie smile in ages.
x x x
When I get home, Tricia is there, nuking a Lean Cuisine. “Want one?” she asks. This is the height of mothering for her.
We sit down to Chinese Chicken, and I show her the laptop. She runs her hands over it, impressed, and I wonder if she resents that the Garcias have provided me another thing that she can’t. This in addition to all the dinners, the family camping trips, everything that they gave me while Tricia was working at the bar or out with one of her boyfriends.
“I’ve always wondered how to work one of these,” she says.
I shake my head. “I can’t believe you still don’t know how to use a computer.”
She shrugs. “I’ve got this far. And I know how to text. Raymond showed me.”
I don’t ask who Raymond is. I don’t need to know that he’s the latest Guy. Tricia never bothers bringing them around, or introducing me, unless we happen to bump into each other. Which is just as well. They’ve usually dumped her by the time it takes me to learn a name.
We eat our meals. Tricia doesn’t want one of Sue’s cupcakes because they’re fattening, and I don’t want one either, so Tricia digs around for low-fat Fudgsicles with only moderate amounts of freezer burn.
“What was with the cats?” she asks me.
“Huh?”
“You asked if we could have cats. Are you trying to fill up the gap left by Meg with a pet or something?”
I choke on my Fudgsicle. “No.” And then I almost tell her because I want to tell someone about Meg’s cats, about her whole life there that I knew nothing about. But I’m pretty sure the Garcias didn’t know about it either. And this town is small; if I tell Tricia about the cats, she will invariably tell someone, and it’ll get back to Joe and Sue. “There were a couple of kittens and they needed homes.”
She shakes her head. “You can’t give homes to every stray out there.”
She says this like people are constantly knocking down our door for a nice, dry, warm place to stay, when, in fact, we are the strays.
11
An academic adviser from the community college leaves me a message, saying that they are aware of my “extenuating circumstances” and if I want to come in for a meeting, he will help me find a way to fix my record. Madison, a girl who���d been in most of my classes at school, also calls, leaving another Are you okay? message.
I don’t return either call. I go back to work, picking up a few more cleaning jobs, six a week now, decent money. Meg’s laptop stays on my desk, along with the rest of my schoolbooks, all of them collecting dust. Until one afternoon, the doorbell rings. Scottie is on the porch, with Samson, who’s tied up to a rail. “I’m here to take you up on your offer to kick my butt,” he says.
“Come on in.”
We fire up the computer.
“What are we playing?” I ask.
“I thought we’d start with Soldier of Solitude.”
“What’s that?”
“Here, I’ll show you.” He clicks on the web program. “Hmm.” He fiddles around some more. “I don’t see your network. Maybe we have to reboot the router.”
I shake my head. “There’s no router, Scottie. No Internet.”
He looks at me, then looks like around like he’s remembering who I am, who Tricia is. “Oh, that’s okay. We can play something on your computer.” He pulls the laptop back toward him. “What games do you have?”
“I don’t know. It depends if Meg had any games.” Scottie and I look at each other and almost smile. Meg hated video games. Thought they sucked out valuable brain cells. And sure enough, there’s nothing on the computer except what came preloaded.
“We can play solitaire,” I say.
“You can’t play solitaire with two people,” Scottie says. “That’s why it’s called solitaire.”
I feel like I’ve let him down. I start to close the computer. But then Scottie holds it open. “Is that what she sent the note from?”
Scottie is ten. I am pretty sure it’s not healthy for him to be talking about stuff like this. Not with me. I close the computer.
“Cody, nobody tells me anything.”
His voice is so plaintive. I remember the good-bye she sent him, also from this computer. “Yes, this is the computer she sent the note from.”
“Can I see it?”
“Scottie—”