14. Tink
TINK
When we get back to the shop, the front stoop is crowded with blue nylon delivery bags, some toppling over the step, others stretched full with boxes. The distinctive Valu-Mart bright yellow checkmark is on the side of each damn one.
Pan whistles. “Damn, you buy up the whole store, kid?”
Next to me, Wendy folds her arms and kicks at the ground. “She said I could.”
For a split second, my heart stops. Then I remember.
Treasure. Treasure said she could.
That’s right. It’s fine.
“It’s fine,” I say out loud, to Wendy. “Let’s bring them in.”
And we do: Fox shouldering three bags per shoulder, plus putting the box in his arms. Pan grabbing a few with Kit, and Wendy insisting on snatching one herself—one of the emptier ones, clicking and clacking with what sounds like little bottles.
“Well, I am beat,” Pan announces as we clomp into the dark first floor of the shop. No lights are on except for the uplighting on the logo. Usually it feels calm, even a little cozy. Right now though, right now all I can think about is how it looks to Wendy.
A scared kid. A little girl.
“Where are we sticking all of this?” he asks no one in particular.
From up on the loft level, I hear the click-click of toenails.
“I’m taking the dog food upstairs,” Fox says. “since that’s where the dog is.” Without waiting for the rest of us, he mounts the spiral stairs, keeping his balance surprisingly well despite the giant bag of kibble.
Kit shrugs and follows after, and so too does Pan, literally going with the flow like he usually does.
Wendy, though, just looks at me.
I don’t want to be in charge of her, but the only thing I want less than that is for any of the others to be in charge of her, so…
“Yeah.” I nod her on. “Let’s go.”
Up on the loft, the other three drop the bags wherever there is space, on any flat surface they can find. Fox sets the kibble down so it’s leaning against the bar cabinet, to the absolute delight of Nana, who starts turning in circles and whipping her skinny tail back and forth through the air.
“You got a dish or something?” Fox says, straightening. “I can, uh, feed her.”
“Um, I don’t know,” Wendy says, and again glances at me.
I shrug and set down the bags I am carrying. “Use whatever, I guess.”
It all feels so comfortable. Domestic. Even as literally nothing is normal or even stable about what we’re doing.
Two people are dead. A house is destroyed. And now we just put this kid to bed like it’s a slumber party?
Fox grabs a paper plate—used, I think, spotted with pizza grease—and rips open the top of the kibble. “How much is she supposed to get?” he says after scooping out a small mountain of brown pellets. Nana noses him and he drops it on the ground. “Okay, okay.”
Wendy giggles. “I mean, less than that, but…” She winces, then shrugs. “She’s probably hungry,” she adds in a lower voice. “And tired.”
“That makes two of us.” Pan does an exaggerated yawn and stretches his hands over his head. “Does anyone need anything from me? ‘Cause I’m done.”
Of course you are, I think.
“No,” Kit says.
“Nah,” says Fox, who’s crouched by the skinny dog and watching her wolf down her kibble. He glances up at Wendy. “Is she supposed to eat that fast?”
Again, Wendy giggles. “No. Nana, relax.” She gives the dog a pat on her bony spine.
Pan sticks his hands in his jeans pocket and saunters over to me. “So where are we putting her?” he says, in a lower voice so Wendy can’t hear.
“Back room?” I offer.
Pan frowns. “We don’t have a back room, we have a…” He spins a hand in the air. “Closet, I guess.” He looks at the lounge area on the loft floor. “She can’t sleep on the couch?”
“No,” I say, a little pointedly. “Privacy?”
“Oh, yeah. Okay.” Pan scratches the back of his head, uncomfortable. “I mean…you’ve got space in your room, right?”
I look at him.
“Okay, okay,” Pan says. “I mean, I’m not sharing, but…hey, thing one and thing two!” he yells at Fox and Kit. “Can the two of you double up in your bunk beds, or…?”
“They’re not bunk beds,” Kit and Fox say in unison.
“Jesus Christ,” Pan mutters. “All right, well, I’ve done my best.” He does an I wash my hands gesture and dramatically bows backwards. “And I am out.”
It’s been a terrible fucking day for you? I think. What about the kid whose house burned down, whose dog almost died, and whose brothers…
I cut myself off, looking at Wendy petting the little knobbly spine of her dog, scratching behind its ears.
You did save her from having to see something really, really ugly.
Treasure’s words echo in my ear.
“Yeah, I’m kicking off too,” Kit says. “It’s been…” He blinks. “A day. Whatever. See you guys in the morning.”
Fox straightens up from his crouch, finally looking away from the dog. “No one wants to hang?”
It’s just me and Wendy now, so I’m not sure who he’s asking, exactly. “Not right now,” I say by way of apology. “Maybe later.”
Fox sighs. “Fine. Uh, good night, I guess.”
He nods at me, even darts a glance at Wendy, but she’s busy rummaging through her Valu-Mart bag, pulling out different random objects.
Betting we got a male shopper, judged on the way it’s organized.
But it’s all there. Treasure really kitted her out.
Toothbrush, hairbrush, some leggings and shirts, a plastic pack of something that Wendy quickly tucks back in the bag, glancing around, which I realize must be underwear.
And I realize I am alone with her.
It’s up to me.
“Come on,” I say, as Wendy unfolds a brightly colored fleece blanket and wraps it over her arm. “I’ll show you where you can sleep.”
I grab a bag that seems to have clothes in it and carry it down the hall to the spare room.
Pan’s right. I yank the chain on the bare bulb overhead, which snaps on, revealing the whole room—although it’s really barely a room.
Even the little window shows mostly brick wall across the alley, just a tiny strip of velvet blue at the top.
But it does have a door, and an old futon—one that I think came from the trash at one point, but an eyeball check makes it look clean enough.
I glance at Wendy, and wince at the look on her face before I can stop myself.
“Uh, I know it’s not fancy, but—” I push around in the Valu-Mart bag, hoping there’s something cozy in there.
A basic sheet set—the cheapest brand, but it’ll work—and a set of pajamas.
A green T-shirt top with black lace on the edge of the bottom, and green and black checkered pants.
They look way too big for her. I frown, glance at the tag: no size, just the brand name.
Wyld-n-Tru. I know that one. It’s teen girl line at Valu-Mart.
Distinct from the girls’ line, the kids’ line, which is called Everything Nice.
I guess Wendy picked these herself.
“Uh, here.” I hand over the pajamas, pick up the sheets.
“I’ll get this set up for you. You can…” I look down at the bag she’s holding, all the little bottles that must be toiletries of some kind.
“Bathroom’s down the hall,” I finish. “You can get in your PJs and brush your teeth or whatever, and I’ll get the bed set up, okay? ”
I try to sound like a guy would. Like a big brother would. And it must work well enough because Wendy gives me two quick nods.
“‘Kay,” she says.
Once she’s gone, I rip open the sheets. Do my best to tuck the weak elastic edges around the corners of the futon, which, once I lay it flat, spans basically the whole room. The pillowcase is weird on the square pillow that’s in here, but it’ll work, and at least it’s clean.
Then I take the blanket and spread it out on top.
The blanket’s soft. Fuzzy. A light purple color and covered in cartoon animals—puffy blue puppy dogs, big-eyed yellow kitty cats.
A kid’s blanket.
I shake away the shiver that runs down my side, straighten up, and look down.
It’s…sad. It’s giving foster care. Too many pastels in a space that’s otherwise pretty goddamn dingy.
But I think about what Fox and Kit said. Or didn’t say, really. Didn’t have to. Maybe it is better. I trust us more than I trust anyone else out there in London Valley.
And that kid…
“Can I come in?” Wendy’s voice behind me.
“Oh, yeah. Sure.” I step back, really out of the room because there isn’t room for two of us in here, and open the door wider so she can see. “I did my best,” I say—sheepish, clumsy, boy. And then add for good measure, “I don’t know what girls like, but…”
That gets a smile out of Wendy. Then she rolls her eyes. “You sound like my brothers,” she says, arms folded.
The pajamas are huge on her. She’s got the waist of the pants cinched so tight that the fabric is almost buckling on itself trying to bunch, and the T-shirt sleeves hang past her elbows, the hem almost at her knees.
This is not a Wyld-n-Tru teenager. This is a kid, whether she wants to be or not.
I swallow.
“It’s all yours,” I say. “Girl it up however you want.”
Wendy scoffs but sidles into the room and climbs onto the bed to sit. She shrugs. “It’ll work, I guess.”
From down the hall, Nana trit-trots in and instantly plops her little head on Wendy’s knee. She’s still shaking a little, and for the first time it occurs to me that maybe she’s, I don’t know, hurt or something.
“Is…Nana okay?” I ask. I don’t know if dogs can get smoke inhalation or what. Or whether it’s supposed to be shaking like that.
There’s a long pause.
“Greyhounds don’t bark,” Wendy answers at last. Greyhound, I think.
That’s what kind of dog it is. Like on the buses, big skinny leaping things.
“Not unless they’re really, really scared.
” She looks at me, and when she does, her eyes are shining.
Her voice drops to a whisper. “She must have been so scared today.”
I feel like I’m frozen.
Because what I want to do, what the girl in me wants to do, even now, is soften and coo and open my arms to offer this little girl a hug. Stupid emotional instinct is that fucking deep.
But I can’t. I can’t, and I can’t even think about doing it.
Instead I do…I do what a guy would do. I reach out and squeeze her shoulder. Kind of like how Fox squeezed my hand, back on the bike.
Which, come to think of it, was a little weird. Not bad, but…but I’m not a kid.
I shake my head to clear it as Nana crouches and leaps up onto the bed. Immediately, Wendy looks at me.
“Is that allowed?”
I shrug. “I don’t know. I guess. She can’t be any dirtier than Blue.”
Wendy giggles, not getting the double entendre. But that’s for the best. “Nana is very clean, aren’t you?” she says, her voice taking on a tiny baby lilt as she strokes the dog’s head. Then she looks at me. “Um, thanks, Tink.”
“No problem,” I mumble. “I’ll just, uh…” I step back even further. “Uh, wake up whenever you want,” I say. “And, like, there’s food and stuff. Some up here, but mostly in big kitchen downstairs…”
I’m just sort of rambling.
Wendy’s looking around, taking in her new surroundings. “Okay,” she says, not really listening.
Then she looks at me. “Tink?”
Her voice suddenly small.
“Yeah?”
“Do you know where my brothers are?”
Goddammit. I can’t lie. I will not lie to this kid. But I also… I also don’t want to have to be the one to tell her the truth. I don’t want to be the one to rip her out of childhood. Not if I don’t have to. Not right now. I don’t want to be the bad guy in this part of someone’s story.
“I don’t know,” I say truthfully. “Haven’t heard from them.” Also not a lie.
Wendy pouts. Or more than pouts. Looks like she might even cry a little. Mutters something I’m not sure if I’m supposed to hear or not.
“What’s that?” I ask.
“They always do this,” she says, a tiny bit louder, picking at the fluff on her cheap fleece blanket, pulling fibers out of one of the kitty cat’s giant eyes.
“They always do. Just going away and not telling me why and leaving me with people and—I mean, we’d only even been at that stupid house for like a month, and… ”
She trails off, not meeting my eyes. Her fingertips find another piece of thread, and then another.
I don’t know what to say. It had never occurred to me that maybe this was a regular thing for her. But it would explain why she’s so…chill about everything. Relatively speaking.
“I just feel like I never get to stay anywhere,” she finishes. “You know?”
Now she looks up at me.
And…I do know.
“Yeah,” I say. “I’m sorry, Wendy. That…sucks.” There’s really no better word for it. “But you’re here now, okay? As long as you need to be.”
“Yeah.” Wendy nods. And an idea hits me.
“Here, look.” I crouch a little, pointing at the greasy glass of the window. “See the sky up there?”
You really can barely make anything out, but Wendy follows my gesture anyway, staring up to the dark blue and the few winking points of light.
“No matter where you go, you’ll always have the same stars shining down on you.” I lower my hand. “My grandma used to tell me that when I got homesick,” I add, quietly. “So…yeah.”
Wendy stares. “Yeah,” she echoes.
Feeling suddenly awkward, I stand back up. “Um. Yeah. Let me know if you need anything—”
I reach for the light chain and yank it, leaving the room dark, and start to pull the door closed behind me, when—
“Wait,” comes Wendy’s voice. “Um, can you just leave that open a crack?”
“Oh.” I twist the handle and push it forward the inch or two that it’ll move against the door. “Sure. That better?”
“I’m not afraid of the dark,” Wendy’s voice comes fast. “I’m not a baby. I just…”
“It’s okay,” I say. “Being a grown-up’s overrated.”
There’s a long silence from inside the spare room. “Thanks, Tink,” Wendy says at last. “Um, good night.”
“Night,” I say. I walk down the hallway slowly, my stomach sinking with every step.
Not because Wendy’s in the way. Not because she’s a problem. Not even because she’s a kid.
Because she’s a girl. A girl who feels like a problem.
And I think back to what I said earlier, what I shouted in front of all the guys.
We can’t have a girl living with us.
And we can’t, I think.
Not one, and definitely not two.