"My husband, Albert, may he rest in peace, felt it important to help out the less fortunate. Don't get me started on the juvenile justice system or we'll be here for weeks. You did a good job today."
I flash her a smile of appreciation.
She starts to sign the form, but stops herself. "It says here you have experience in construction. You know ... I may have another job for you. That is, if you're up to it."
"What kind of job?"
"How good are you with your hands?"
"Better than most," I say, then chuckle.
The old lady points to a tall pile of lumber stacked in the corner of the backyard. "Okay, Mr. Better-Than-Most. You think you could build me a gazebo out of this pile of old wood? You do know what a gazebo is, don't you?"
Yeah, I know what one is. Building a gazebo will take at least a couple of weeks, probably even fill up enough time to finish my community service.
What am I thinking? I can't work with Maggie. No way. It would never work.
Although it's not like I'd actually be working with her. I'll be on my own, building the gazebo. The way Mrs. Reynolds is looking at me with confidence strengthens my bruised ego. I'm not thinking about Maggie. I'm not thinking about what's right or wrong. I blurt out, "I can do it." I should be honest with the lady and tell her about why I was convicted. And, more importantly, who I was convicted of hitting. "Mrs. Reynolds, I have to be honest with you ..."
As if on cue, the phone rings. The old lady takes her cane and hurries into the house. "Just come back tomorrow and we'll finish our conversation then."
So now I run to catch the bus because I'm late. When I get on, Maggie is sitting up front so I head for the rear.
The fifteen-minute bus ride seems like an hour. At our stop, we're the only two left on the bus. We get off and I let her lead the way while I follow behind.
My sister is outside. The expression on her face when she sees Maggie and me walking up the street together is priceless.
"Did you just come home with Maggie?" Leah asks, following me into the house.
"We were on the same bus. Don't get all hyped up about it."
"Don't get all hyped up about what?" my mom says, coming into the room in the middle of a conversation I don't want her to know anything about.
"It's nothing," I tell Mom, then narrow my eyes at my sister and say through clenched teeth so only she can hear, "so stop making a big deal about it."
Leah runs up to her room and slams her door shut. My mom goes back into the kitchen, totally oblivious.
The Beckers are a picture-perfect family. A picture-perfect, royally-fucked-up family.
TWENTY-TWO *** Maggie
On Monday I head for the bus after school. As I step into the aisle, I catch sight of Caleb already sitting in the back. It was bad enough working side by side in that small attic last week. If I have to work with him again I'll quit.
But then I won't be going to Spain.
And if I don't go to Spain, I won't be leaving Paradise next semester.
And if I don't leave Paradise next semester, Caleb and his friends will be laughing all the way to prom while I sit home and prove them right.
Maybe he's not going to Mrs. Reynolds' house today and I'm going off on unnecessary tangents for no reason.
Maybe he's working somewhere else doing odd jobs. But as he follows me into Mrs. Reynolds' backyard, my fears are realized.
"Now come inside, both of you. Irina brought over some pie." Mrs. Reynolds walks into the house, not realizing that neither me nor Caleb has followed her.
"Took you long enough," Mrs. Reynolds says when I enter the kitchen. "Here, I cut some pie for both of you."
I sit down at the kitchen table and stare at the pie. Normally I'd dig right in, but I can't. Caleb walks in and sits across from me. I focus my attention in the opposite direction, as if the painting of the fruit bowl on the wall is the most interesting object I've ever laid eyes on.
"Margaret, remember you told me I should have that gazebo built?"
"Yeah," I answer cautiously.
Mrs. Reynolds holds her chin up. "Well, Caleb is going to help make that a reality. It may take a few weeks, but--"
A few weeks? "If he stays, I quit," I blurt out. A few weeks?
I hear the clink of Caleb's fork hitting the plate, then he stands and storms out of the room.
Mrs. Reynolds puts her hands on either side of her face and says, "Margaret, what is all this nonsense about you quitting? Why?"
"I can't work with him, Mrs. Reynolds. He did this to me," I cry.
"Did what, child?"
"I went to jail for hitting Maggie with my car while I was drunk," Caleb says, reappearing in the doorway.
Mrs. Reynolds makes some tsking noises, then says, "My, my, we are in a pickle, aren't we?"
I look up at Mrs. Reynolds with pleading eyes. "Just make him leave."
I can tell she's going to do it, she's going to tell Caleb to get out.
Mrs. Reynolds walks up to Caleb and says, "You have to understand that my first priority is Margaret. I'll call the senior center and have them contact your community service officer."
"Please, Mrs. Reynolds," Caleb tells her, his voice pleading. "I just want to finish the job and just... be free again."
Mrs. Reynolds looks back at me, her wise eyes telling me more than words could say. Forgive.