Our Fragile Hearts. Buffy Andrews

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СКАЧАТЬ hand. “My apologies. This is Jacy.” He patted the girl on her shoulder. And I’m Marcus.”

      I shook his hand. “Nice to meet you. I’m Rachel and this is Piper.”

      “I like your hair,” Piper told Jacy.

      Jacy smiled. “I like yours, too.”

      By luck, it turned out the girls had the same teacher and an aide came to take them to their room. I squatted so I was eye to eye with Piper. “Now remember to keep your special ID necklace on. That way the helpers can make sure you get on the right bus.”

      “And you’ll be at the bus stop, right?”

      “Right. Just like I promised.”

      Marcus smiled and we watched the girls walk with the aide. Jacy reached over and took Piper’s hand.

      “It looks like the girls made at least one new friend today,” I said.

      Marcus smiled. “That’s good. Jacy was worried she wouldn’t make any friends.”

      “Piper, too. I’m glad we ended up in line behind you.”

      Marcus and I walked out of the school building together, exchanging some more small talk about the weather. My phone buzzed. I pulled it out of my purse and read the text. It was from Claire.

       Free tonight? How about happy hour at White Rose?

      I texted back.

       Can’t. Piper’s first day of school.

      She responded.

       K. Another time maybe? Miss you!

      Yeah, sure, I thought. Another time. But we both knew there probably wouldn’t be another time. I had Piper now. Everything was different. I exhaled a heavy sigh. I missed my old life, the one where I was attending college and bartending at Jack’s. I was only a few classes shy of earning my social work degree when I learned Mom had died. So I dropped out of college, hoping to return one day, and scrambled to find a day job so I could take care of Piper.

      Mom’s best friend, Judy, who had tracked me down when Mom died, hooked me up with a cleaning agency. She knew the owner, who was looking for help. I wasn’t crazy about cleaning, but the money was good and I could work around Piper’s schedule. I needed that kind of flexibility.

      I looked into my rearview mirror and put the car in reverse, slowly pulling out. Damn, Mom, I thought. Why’d you have to die?

      I hadn’t realized how expensive it was to raise a child. Mom left us a few dollars in her bank account, barely enough to cover the cost of her funeral. And who knew when we’d have enough to buy her a tombstone. Probably never. I hate saying this, but it wasn’t at the top of my shopping list. There were too many other things we needed. Or rather Piper needed. Shoes. Clothing. And food.

      The traffic was backed up from an accident and it was taking me longer to get to my cleaning job than I’d planned. I was at a standstill between exits on the interstate so I called Claire. When she answered, I could tell by the sound of her voice she was still in bed. “I thought you’d be up by now.”

      “Are you kidding me?” She yawned. “You know I don’t get up before noon unless I have to. Is everything okay?”

      “Yes, guess I just forgot. Hard to believe that was me a few months ago.”

      Claire laughed. “Next thing you know you’ll be driving a minivan.”

      I’m not sure what came over me but I burst into tears. I sobbed so hard that I could barely see out my front window. Between the rain, which had just started, and my tears, the world was one big blur.

      “Rachel, I’m sorry,” Claire shouted. “I didn’t mean it. Honest.”

      I sniffed. “It’s okay. You’re right. I’m like a fifty-year-old stuck in a twenty-two-year-old body.”

      “Oh, come on. It’s not that bad,” Claire said. “I tell you what. You get a date and I’ll watch Piper. I’ll even come to your apartment so I can put her to bed and you can come home whenever.”

      “First, I have to get a date. And the chances of that are slim considering my life revolves around Piper. There’s no time for anything else. I can’t even go for a run anymore.”

      “Why?” Claire said. “Have Piper ride her bike alongside you.”

      I sighed. “She doesn’t have a bike.”

      “What? No bike? What kid doesn’t have a bike?”

      “This kid. Look, I’m okay. Sorry for the meltdown. I’m just feeling sorry for myself. I’ll get over it. I have to go. I’m cleaning Howard’s house today.”

      “The hoarder?”

      “Yes. It seems every week the junk in his house multiplies like my credit card debt. I convince him to trash a pile of newspapers he’s had for a decade and another pile appears. I’ll never understand how someone can live like that.”

      We hung up and when I walked into Howard’s house I found him at the kitchen table reading the newspaper. The tiny patch of white hair on top of his head stood straight up. The white hair growing out of his ears resembled wiry rabbit whiskers. He looked out over his thick black reading glasses perched on the tip of his broad nose. “Good morning,” he muttered.

      I threw my purse on the kitchen counter, taking up the last piece of vacant real estate. “Hi, Howard. You look well today.”

      He muttered something that sounded like a cross between a thank you and a “I know you’re lying just to be nice” comment.

      “Anything special you’d like me to tackle today?” I noticed a new stack of travel magazines had sprouted under the table, leaving Howard with a tiny square space for his feet.

      He didn’t look up from the newspaper. “Nope. Same as usual.”

      “You know, Howard, you should consider getting rid of some of your junk… er, stuff. It’d make it easier to clean.”

      He didn’t answer.

      “When I moved I donated a lot of things to the thrift store. They were happy to have them. You could do the same. Perhaps your daughter would help you.”

      He sucked in a bucket of air and exhaled it slowly through his noticeably chapped lips. “Margaret? I haven’t seen Margaret in weeks.”

      “Isn’t that odd? Don’t you usually see her every week?”

      “Not since she’s taken up with that bozo. She brought him here a while back and he didn’t impress me none. Sells insurance or something. Wanted to sell me some. I told him I had enough.”

      “Well, okay then. But I’d bet Margaret would help if you asked her.”

      Howard turned the newspaper page. “She’d want something for her trouble. She always does.”

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