“Because then I don't have to pay for cable.”
“Oh.” She started to laugh, in an embarrassed, self-conscious way. “Oh my god, I'm so nosy. You must hate me. I barge into your home and set up camp, having a level three meltdown.”
“That's only a level three?”
She nodded. “So, what kind of medications are you on? I didn't look in your medicine cabinet, and you don't have to tell me if you don't want to. I have some Valium in my purse for emergencies, but you talked me down.”
“Me? I don't take anything.”
“You're a good listener.” She picked up a grocery flyer from the coffee table and flipped it open to a page with holes from the coupons I'd cut out.
I said, “I try to stay away from drugs of any kind. Seen them mess up too many people. No offense intended, I'm sure you have a prescription and it's just for emergencies.”
She rolled her eyes, grinning madly. “Life is not how I thought it would be. And I brought a kid into this world, can you imagine?”
I popped up from the couch to peek in on the girls, still coloring.
“Your daughter seems happy,” I said as I sat down.
“Well, she's seven. I can only hope her childhood lasts longer than mine. I got my first period when I was eleven. Life's been a roller coaster ever since. The ride never comes to a stop anywhere long enough for you to get a nice view and catch your breath, does it?”
Before I could answer, she also jumped up to go check on the girls, but going over to the table instead of just peeking around the corner as I had. I got up and followed her, feeling one-upped by her parenting concern.
She said, sweetly, “Taylor, are you sleepy, honey bunny?” To me, she said, “Let me take you for lunch one day soon. I'll let you talk for a change.” She pushed her curly blond hair behind her ear and her trendy glasses up her nose. How old was she? I couldn't tell, because the glasses hid the area around her eyes. Thirty?
“Sure,” I said. “I work part-time, but my hours change from week to week, so I don't know when.”
“Today's Thursday. Then the weekend, and all that house-selling business will have me murdering myself or Dave, so let's go Monday.” She started putting her daughter's books and things into a purple, mermaid-covered knapsack.
Bell put her colored pencil down and blinked up at me. “Murdering?”
“She's just kidding,” I said, wrapping my arms around her shoulders and kissing the top of her head.
Natalie said, “Kids this age are so literal, aren't they?” To Bell, she solemnly said, “I'm sorry that I was being insensitive. Sometimes grown-ups say things that can't possibly be true. Like when you were telling me about hiding in the trunk of a car.”
Bell craned her neck to grin up at me. “That was fun.”
“You're very silly,” I said, trying to keep my voice calm even as my anxiety rose. What else was she telling people? I'd given her the adult dose of Benadryl to keep her knocked out that night. She'd been murmuring a bit, but slept a full eight hours even after we crossed the border. Yet now she was talking about it?
To Natalie, I said, “Bell has a wild imagination.”
“I know your secret,” Natalie said.
The world seemed to stop, and I held my breath, waiting for something to drop.
“No television,” she said. “That's the secret to Annabell's wonderful imagination. What do you think, Taylor? Want to donate your little TV to charity? You can still watch your shows on the family room TV, but maybe your play room will just be for drawing and art. I can bring my watercolors in there.”
“Yes,” Taylor said, swinging her arms emphatically. “We can give it to Bell! She can be charity.”
Natalie winced and mouthed the word sorry at me while Taylor put on her shoes by the door.
“Thanks again for coming by,” I said.
“So, Monday?” She pulled a business card out of her purse and handed it to me. Apparently Natalie was also a rep for a makeup company that seemed vaguely familiar. “You know, if you did want that little television, it has a built-in disc player, and we'll get you some movies as well, then you don't need cable.”
Bell started to plead with me to say yes, so I did. I had been a single caretaker to a child for long enough that I had learned to pick my battles, and refusing a free TV was not one worth fighting.
I did not look forward to Natalie prying into my life, but she was too persistent to refuse. Like Sawyer. And Derek's son. Like all the people I should have said no to, no matter how much they flattered me or promised the moon and stars.
That night, after I closed my eyes. My past caught up to me, bringing back memories that stung like the sharp blade of a knife.
I'll be sixteen soon. Sweet sixteen. I don't know what that term means, but Derek keeps repeating it to me, like a taunt. He says, “Sweet sixteen and never been kissed,” then he puckers his lips at me, in front of everyone.
Derek acts like he knows me, but he doesn't know me at all. There's a diary under my pillow in my bedroom, and I know he reads it. I put a hair between the pages—one of Bell's soft, pale baby hairs. The hair always disappears within a few days, and I don't get the feeling my mother would care enough to look, so it has to be him. The pig.
I write in the diary every week, on Friday night, so there's something there for Derek to read and he doesn't go looking for my real diary, the one I keep hidden inside the ceiling.
He asks about boys at school and acts like he's protective of me. I don't know why he cares, when he's such an ass**le to me most of the time, but he's started acting all fatherly these last few weeks.
I guess he's been different since he started seeing his son. Damion has spent most of his life with his mother, two states away, but Damion's twenty now. He's not trying to be Derek's son, exactly. They're more like friends. Buddies.
It's Friday tonight, so I pull the fake diary out from under my pillow. My mother and Derek are out on one of their dates. It's a new thing. Date night. I think they went bowling last week. So stupid.
Bell has already been put to bed for the night. I tried to get her to use the Big Girl Potty, even reading to her for half an hour, but she wouldn't even pee. I put her to bed with her diaper, which was too small. Derek bought the cheap ones to save money, even though you have to leave gaps at the sides and the sticky tape catches on her baby skin if you're not careful.
I open up the diary and write the date in round, looping letters. I've heard that you can tell a lot about a person by their handwriting, and I wonder… if I change my handwriting, would that also change how I am?