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I walk toward the stairs, pausing at the garbage bag. I swallow down the acid that’s creeping up my throat. “You want me to take the trash out?”
Beefer nods and takes a seat back at the table, shoving the cash back into his green cashbox that he keeps in the basement refrigerator. He doesn’t have a strongbox bolted to the floor. Then again, who’s going willingly climb down into this claustrophobic concrete box and expect to leave Marjory’s with Beefer’s money? No one. That’s who. An idea pops into my head.
“Hey, Beefer, think I could store my cash here?”
He pushes out his bottom lip and considers it. “Yeah, I suppose. Why not? Bring your cashbox over the next time and we’ll store it underneath mine. A man’d have to have a death wish to come down here and steal from us. Ain’t that right?”
“That’s right.”
The side of his mouth curls up. “I like this idea. You’ll watch my back and I’ll watch yours.”
His words make the load in the trash bag a helluva lot lighter.
8
Bitsy
“You have to wear your tennis shoes,” Leka insists. He holds one up to my feet.
I shake my head furiously. I’ve never had white tennis shoes before. If I wear them outside, they’ll get all dirty. I want to keep them white and new like I kept my bunny slipper. I miss Bunny.
“We can’t go to the park unless you wear them,” he warns.
I peek out the window. It’s real sunny outside. I bet it feels good. “But my shoes.”
“Don’t they fit?” He picks one up and looks at it. “The person at the store measured your feet and everything.”
He sounds mad, but not in a frightening, I should go hide under the blankets way mad. Just mad. Still, I don’t want to make Leka mad.
“I’m afraid I’ll get them dirty,” I mumble.
The clouds in his blue eyes clear right up. He sets the shoe down by my foot. “We’ll clean them off when we get home, and if we can’t get them clean, we’ll get another pair. How’s that sound?”
I drop my butt to the floor and scramble to tug the shoes on. “I don’t need another pair. I love these.”
I don’t want Leka to think I’m ungrateful. I’ve heard that lots before. You ungrateful little shit. Get the fuck out of here.
Mommy didn’t care about saying shit in front of me, but it must be a bad word because Leka tries to use stuff instead. It doesn’t bother me what words he uses. He could call me brat if he wanted to because I know he’s not going to hurt me. And I don’t want to give him a reason to.
I jump up. “I’m ready.”
The corners of his lips turn down. I’ve made him unhappy, which is worse than mad. I squeeze my hands together. How do I make him smile? The shoes! I say nice things about the shoes. I stick out my feet. “These are pretty.”
“Yeah, they are.” His big hand curves around the back of my head. “You don’t need to be afraid of me.”
I lean into his touch. All the fear that was stirred up inside of me just disappears. “I’m not.”
The unhappy look fades some. He nods to the door. “Ready to go?”
“Yup.” I rock onto my tiptoes.
I follow him into the hallway and watch as he checks the locks twice. He jiggles the door handle a little before turning toward the stairs. I jog behind him. It’s hard to keep up with Leka’s long legs. He doesn’t know it, but he walks fast. I bet if I had a cape, it’d be a big help. I share this tidbit with him.
“A cape?” he asks. “Why do you need that?”
“Blossom, Buttercup, and Bubbles have one.”
He halts abruptly. “Who are they?”
I skip the last step. “They’re the Powerpuff Girls!” I lift my arm and knee as if I’m about to launch myself in the air. “They fly. Well, not all the time, but lots.”
His face grows confused. “The Powerpuff— Oh, you mean the cartoon?”
“Mmmhm. What park are we going to? Does it have a name?”
He doesn’t answer right away, but when we reach the sidewalk, he admits, “It’s a park attached to Middleton Elementary School.”
I wrinkle my nose. He’s tricked me.
“School?”
“You have something against school?”
“Do you go?” I ask.
“I can’t because I’m working.”
“I work, too.”
“Oh, yeah? At what?” There’s a smile in his words.
I beam at him. “Protecting our stuff. You told me my job was to make sure all our stuff is taken care of.”
“Is that why you fold everything? I wondered about that.” He scrapes a hand through his hair. It falls right back over his eyes. “I’m going to buy an extra lock for the door and that lock will keep all of our sh—stuff safe.”
I wonder if I should tell him it’s okay to say shit. He seems to struggle with that.
