Day 172

He lingers in the dining room, hiding underneath the table, playing with a toy car that one of the older kids threw at him earlier. It drives back and forth across the carpet, and he makes quiet noises for it under his breath, stopping every few seconds to make sure Mrs. Comer has not heard him. She’s on the phone, and he’ll get in trouble if he bothers her. She shooed the others outside a long time ago, but she didn’t notice that he stayed behind; he didn’t think he could deal with the others today.

He wishes he has a green toy car, like his dad’s car…he wishes he can make it drive right up to Mrs. Comer, or over her, and pick him up and bring him back home. His mom would, if she weren’t…well, wherever she is. He’s not sure. The nice lady who brought him to Mrs. Comer’s house�"and was, in retrospect, not so nice after all�"said that his mother was somewhere else, but watching over him, and she’d help him if he were in trouble…but his mom had been sick…and all pale and still, and everyone had been crying…so maybe she just couldn’t come for him right now, she was too tired. So he’d have to wait.

His dad must be with her. That must be why he hasn’t come back yet. But when Mommy gets better, they’ll both come for him…he’s sure of it. They won’t make him stay somewhere like this forever. He’s already been here for such a long time…and they’re all so mean….

Movement in the kitchen: Mrs. Comer hangs up the phone, rather more forcefully than is strictly necessary, and marches out into the hallway. Evan freezes, praying he’ll remain undetected. She doesn’t seem like she’s in the best of moods.

But Mrs. Comer passes by the dining room without a second glance, jerking the back door open. The back yard is where all the kids will be�"or at least, the ones she cares about. Her own children, the youngest of them already fifteen, do as they please, keeping out of the house as much as they can, as eager to avoid the half-dozen kids crammed into their guest room as the kids are to avoid them.

Mrs. Comer is yelling�"Evan’s hands fly to his ears, but then he realizes that she’s calling someone.

Him.

“Evan!” she calls with lungs of steel and leather. “EVAN! You get in here right now, boy! You had a phone call!”

Up to that point, he fully intended to stay hidden for as long as possible�"it is best to keep away from her when she is this angry. But a phone call? Someone is calling him?

He scrambles out from underneath the table without a second thought, shouting squeakily, “Here�"I’m right here!”

But if he thought she’d be overjoyed by his miraculous appearance, he was wrong. She grabbed him at once, painfully, by the shoulder, slamming the door shut with her foot. Evan glanced outside in time to see three of the children, all glaring at him with a powerful hatred.

It unnerved him. They were just jealous, that was all…still…he would have gladly traded with them at this point. Mrs. Comer had fingers like vices, and sharp fingernails, too.

The door closed, and once no one else could hear her, she started yelling. “What the hell were you doing in the dining room?” she shouted at him. “I said you can’t ever go in there, you little�"”

He tries to wriggle away from her, but she swats at him; he’s not sure what she’s aiming for, but it hurts regardless. “Ow,” he whines, but she just does it again.

“Don’t you ‘ow’ me, get upstairs, right now! And don’t think you’re getting any dinner tonight!”

“B-…but…I’m hungry,” he protests, stunned. What will he eat if he can’t have dinner? And what if it’s something good, like McDonald’s?

“I don’t care!”  she snaps, leaning down so she is at his level. It’s not a pretty sight. “Now listen to me, you little brat�"listen�"you go upstairs and get all your things together, tonight, d’you hear me? And take a bath, and put on some clean clothes�"your clothes, not Andrew’s. Got it?”

“But…but where am I going?” Evan asks her, starting to tremble. If he’s leaving here…sometimes kids went away, to new foster homes, but he knew that they could be better�"perfect, even, with the kind of family that didn’t have their own kids, and wanted something to love that wasn’t a pet�"or much, much worse….

“Your dad’s coming to pick you up tomorrow. And you have to be clean, you got me? I’m going to check, you better do it right. And you need to brush your teeth, and….”

But he isn’t listening. It felt like all his insides had turned to ice; now they feel like they are doing a back flip, but in a good way. An excited way. His dad is coming back! His DAD!

And that meant…soon, everything would be back to the way it was, and he could pretend all this was a bad dream, and have his mom and dad back again, and someone to hold him and love him and be nice to him….

He ducks Mrs. Comer’s hand and dashes upstairs.