8. Gretchen
Gretchen
Ihad to be out of my mind, inviting a total stranger to stay at my house. This girl, whoever she was, was not my problem.
Then again, what else was I supposed to do?
I couldn’t just leave her in my neighbor’s house, not until I had confirmation that it was okay.
I had a finely tuned ear for bullshit and while it was telling me that everything Zoe said was true, I definitely needed Jan’s permission before giving someone full access to her house.
Of course I could have insisted that Zoe leave and go find a hotel someplace, but something about the way she’d attacked those crackers with cheese told me that she wasn’t lying when she said she didn’t have any money.
With all my time in foster care, I recognized hunger the same way I recognized danger.
After locking up Jan’s house I led Zoe to my place. She followed me inside and I could feel the wariness coming off her in waves.
“This is the living room,” I said unnecessarily, waving my arms towards the couch. “Kitchen’s through there. I’ll show you the guest room.”
She hiked her backpack up higher on her shoulder and followed me down the hallway.
“There’s only one bathroom,” I said, pointing to the room in question. “Towels are on the shelf. This is the guest room. Ignore all the junk in here, I also use it for storage.”
Zoe looked around, taking in the stack of boxes and bins lined up against the far wall.
It was a simple room with a double bed, a dresser, and a closet that was mostly full of random stuff that I didn’t want to keep in my bedroom or the living room closet.
My house was built in the nineteen fifties, so it didn’t have a ton of storage.
“This is great,” she said. “I really appreciate it.”
She sounded sad and I wondered if she was uncomfortable. It had to be weird, staying in a total stranger’s house, just like it was weird for me to have a stranger staying here. Then again, it sounded like she’d been through a lot.
“Are you still hungry?” I asked. “I have some stew left from dinner.”
I saw her consider it and decide not to be a bother. I let her, despite this strange urge I had to take care of her.
“No, I’m good.”
“Okay, tomorrow is Saturday, so I’ll probably sleep in a bit. If you get up before me, feel free to press the start button on the coffee pot – I’ve already prepped it – or help yourself to anything you find in the fridge.”
“Thanks, that’s really nice of you.”
“No problem.”
I headed out to the dining room where I’d left my laptop and shot off an email to Jan, telling her what happened.
Then I started doing some sleuthing on my unexpected houseguest. Unfortunately I didn’t find much.
If she had social media it was set to private, and a Google search of her name didn’t turn up anything either.
I wasn’t big on social media either, but I still had a Facebook page to keep in touch with old friends from school.
After hitting a dead-end playing Nancy Drew, I pulled out my iPad and read for a while.
I couldn’t concentrate though. My mind kept wandering to the woman currently in my guest room.
There was something about her. I couldn’t describe it other than to say I felt some kind of a connection with her.
Not a kinship, although the part of me that used to be young and troubled recognized that in Zoe.
No, it was more like when you find an old sweater in the back of the closet and realize it’s still comfortable.
The sense that you didn’t realize you’d lost something until you found it and now that you had it again, you didn’t want to let it go.
You’re being ridiculous, I told myself. You probably feel comfortable with her because she’s Jan’s granddaughter.
That wasn’t it though. I just wasn’t sure what to do about the complicated feelings that had arisen after spending an hour with this woman. Mind racing, I headed to bed, tossing and turning until I finally fell asleep.
When I got up the next morning Zoe was sitting at the kitchen table with a cup of coffee in front of her.
“Did you eat breakfast?” I asked, heading right to the coffee pot to get my own caffeine.
“No. I’m, uh… I’m not hungry.”
I turned to face her, giving her a stern look. “Not hungry or trying not to be a bother?”
She gave me a look that bordered on belligerent. “I don’t like to owe people favors.”
I rolled my eyes. “Well I’m making breakfast for myself so you might as well join me.”
I examined the contents of the refrigerator and decided to make a scramble with eggs and vegetables.
“Do you need help?” Zoe asked when I pulled out the cutting board to chop up some veggies.
“First breakfast’s free,” I said. “After that, you help.”
“Okay.”
I made quick work of sautéing mushrooms, peppers, and onions with chunks of frozen breakfast sausage before adding some eggs and a dollop of cream cheese.
I mixed it up, stirring until the eggs firmed up, then split it between two plates.
I put the larger serving in front of Zoe, then grabbed some croissants that I’d picked up at the bakery yesterday during my lunch hour.
I sat down across from her and Zoe watched as I sliced open my croissant and added my scramble to it, making a little sandwich, then she followed suit. She took a big bite, her eyes closing in pleasure.
“This is delicious,” she said.
I felt a rush of pleasure that she liked it. “Thanks. I’m not the best cook so I try to keep things simple.”
We ate in silence for a few minutes, Zoe shoveling food into her mouth like she was afraid that someone would steal it from her.
I wasn’t even halfway through my own breakfast when she finished.
I went to the counter and brought her another croissant along with butter and jam, sliding it in front of her without a comment.
“Tell me the story of your life.”
Zoe smirked. “The story of my life isn’t even gonna get us out of Chicago,” she quipped.
“You know When Harry Met Sally?” I asked in surprise.
“It was my mom’s favorite movie. We watched it all the time.”
“I used to watch that with my mom when I was younger too,” I admitted. “Before she passed away.”
I didn’t usually talk about my mother. I remembered her as a kind and caring woman who’d done her best to take care of me on her own before a brain aneurism took her from me when I was nine years old.
I had no idea who my father was, my birth certificate simply said, ‘Father unknown’.
With no family to pass me off to, I’d spent the rest of my youth bouncing around between foster care placements.
Zoe studied me, her gaze astute, but didn’t ask about my mom. I was glad.
“So the story of my life,” she started as she slathered butter and jam on her croissant. “I was born and raised in Chicago. As you heard yesterday, I didn’t know I had any other family. Mom always told me everyone else was dead and I had no reason to doubt that.”
She paused to take a bite of her croissant.
“We moved around a lot, one crappy apartment to another. Mom worked wherever she could… waitressing, factory work, house cleaning. But we were always broke, always skipping out to the next apartment when the eviction notice got posted on the door.”
I gave her a sympathetic look. “That sounds hard.”
She shrugged. “It taught me to be resilient, probably the same way foster care did for you.”
When I didn’t answer she continued, “By the time I was in high school my mother’s drinking was out of control. I was dating this older guy then and I moved in with him for about a year. Then the relationship ended and since then I’ve been renting rooms while working as a waitress and bartender.”
“You never went to college?” I asked. “You seem smart, you probably could have gotten a scholarship.”
That’s what I’d done, but then again, not everyone wanted to go to college.
“I’m not the best reader,” she mumbled, her face turning red with embarrassment. “The words get jumbled. Sometimes the letters look backwards or something. I’m not smart at all. I barely got through high school.”
“Are you dyslexic?” I asked, remembering that’s how a friend in high school had described her experience with dyslexia.
She tilted her head. “There’s a name for it?”
My heart pinched at the shock on her face. She didn’t know?
“Yeah, it’s a pretty common learning disability, but I understand there are tools that can help. I’m surprised that your teachers never talked to you about it.”
“I changed schools a lot since we moved around so much,” she said, her voice quiet as she looked at the croissant in her hand as if it had all the answers. “I thought I was just stupid or something.”
“You’re not stupid,” I said firmly. “You just haven’t been taught in a way that works with your brain.”