A Dime a Dozen (20 page)

“I was just assembling some packets when you got here,” she said, gesturing toward a pile of oversized plastic containers against the wall. “I hope you don’t mind if I work as we talk.”

“Not at all. Can I help?”

“Sure. I just finished the planets. We can do the number tree.”

She carried one of the boxes to the table and set it down, pulling out a manila folder from inside that held a brown tree trunk cut from construction paper and about 20 orange, yellow, and red leaves with simple addition facts printed on them.

“You just go down the line, taking one of each,” she said as she made a row of piles on the table. “At the end, stuff it all in a manila envelope and put the envelope in the box. We do that over and over again until we’ve used up all the pieces.”

“You don’t want to actually assemble the trees?”

“No, that’s for the students to do. See, the lesson plans sometimes combine a craft with learning facts. When they get to the number tree lesson plan, they have to assemble it themselves in a certain order. It’s just another way to help them learn their addition.”

Following Karen’s example, I went down the piles on the table and began the process of assembling and stuffing. We chatted as we worked, and Karen had nothing but good things to say about MORE.

“If they didn’t have that nonprofit start-up program,” she said, “I doubt I would be in business today. Beyond providing me with a cheap place to get myself established, Dean and Natalie have also given me an enormous amount of support and advice. I owe them everything.”

I was glad to hear what she had to say. She was my last charity of the day, and this final interview was as glowing and positive as the rest had been.

We continued to work as we talked, finishing the trees and moving on to the animal alphabet. Karen asked me about my job, and though I didn’t feel like getting specific, I told her that basically the J.O.S.H.U.A. Foundation supported many different kinds of charities.

“In fact,” I said, “I just spent last week researching a soup kitchen and food bank for the homeless in California.” I didn’t add that I had investigated them, worked with the police to set up a sting, and watched them all get arrested!

Talk of work eventually moved on to talk of the Smoky Mountains and all that there was to do here.

“I know your slate is full this week,” Karen said, “but I hope you’ll get a chance to hike the mountains or pan for gems or tour the Biltmore House or something.”

“Actually,” I said, “I do hope to do a little hiking, and I’m particularly interested in canoeing on Greenbriar Lake.”

At the very thought of canoeing, my hands physically ached for the feel of a paddle. I needed to get out on the water soon and paddle all of my cares and worries and concerns away!

Just then, we heard noises from the front hall, and Luisa and her two children entered the room.

“Mrs. Weatherby!” Adriana cried, throwing herself at Karen, who bent down to the child’s level to accept her hug.

“I found a beautiful flower!” Adriana said, offering up a handful of half-crushed peonies.

“Are those for me?” Karen asked softly. “Because you know purple is my favorite color.”

“Then they’re for you!” Adriana cried happily.

The two of them went off in search of a vase while Luisa directed her son to sit in the nearest chair.

“Hello,” Luisa said with a weary smile. “How are you today?”

“I’m fine,” I replied. “Right now, I’m putting together the animal alphabet.”

“Adriana did that one a few months ago. There is still a ‘J for Jackrabbit’ hanging over her bed.”

“I don’t believe I’ve met your son,” I said, smiling toward the sullen teen.

“This is Federico,” Luisa said, gesturing toward her son. “‘Pepe,’ for short. Pepe, this is Mrs. Webber. She is a friend.”

He barely acknowledged me with a nod before turning to stare out of the window again. I wondered what was going on with them, if she had been able to make plans for the children to go to Texas and stay with her sister, but I didn’t know if I should ask in front of the boy.

“Pepe and Adriana are going to take a trip,” Luisa said, as though reading my mind. “They’re going to visit their cousins back home.”

“Really?” I said, giving her a significant glance. “When are they leaving?”

“My brother just finished up a job in Tennessee,” Luisa said. “He’s coming by to get them any day now, and then they will drive down together.”

“Oh, that’s great,” I said, hoping the man would come soon and that they would be safe until then. The boy didn’t even acknowledge my comments with a glance, so I spoke directly to him. “Hey, Pepe, maybe you could help me out here. All you have to do is go down the line, take one of each, and put them in an envelope.”

Without speaking, he slowly rose from his chair and shuffled over to the table, sighing as if it all required a Herculean effort on his part. Looking embarrassed at her son’s impertinence, Luisa excused herself for a moment and left the room.

“It gets kind of tedious,” I said chattily as we worked, though he didn’t reply. I tried to think of some common ground we could find, some point of conversation. Racking my brain, I pictured the only other kid near his age I interacted with on a regular basis, a young friend I had made during an investigation last fall named Carlos. Carlos was now 13, and most of our e-mails revolved around elaborate discussions of video games.

“I can’t do this for long,” Pepe said finally as he inched his way down the row. “I’m supposed to meet my math tutor online at five o’clock.”

“That’s pretty cool,” I said, “going to school online.”

“Yeah, it’s all right,” he replied.

“So do you ever go online and pretend you’re doing schoolwork,” I asked, thinking of Carlos, “but really you’re playing Time Warrior Challenge?”

He looked at me suspiciously.

“No,” he said.

“Dragon Search Five is good too,” I said.

He shrugged and said, “Nah, Time Warrior Challenge is the best. If you can get to the third level, there’s a secret passageway that gets you around the Door of No Entry.”

“I have a shortcut for that,” I said. “Shift F8 gives you the Golden Key without having to go down the passageway at all.”

“No way!” he said loudly.

“Yes, way,” I said. “But it doesn’t work unless you already have the Silver Sword.”

“I always have the sword by then. I pick it up on level two, when I go around the herdmaster.”

Pepe grew more animated as we talked, and I silently thanked the Lord for sending one teenage boy into my life to help me get through to another. We continued to talk as we worked, throwing around terms like “health points” and “transport packs” and “food replenishment.”

“So how do you know about all this stuff?” he asked finally. “You’re kinda old to be playing video games.”

“Not really,” I said, laughing. “I play online with a friend, and we’re always looking up the cheats and shortcuts.”

“For real?”

“Yeah. Don’t you and your buddies trade tips like that?”

He slid a stack of animal cutouts into an envelope, his shoulders suddenly sloping downward.

“Not really. My buddies don’t have computers, so they wouldn’t really know what I was talking about.”

“Who doesn’t have a computer in this day and age?” I asked. I regretted my words the instant they were out of my mouth. His buddies were migrant children, many of them with needs far more significant than mere technology. Ignoring my own question, I added, “Guess you’re lucky to go to school here, then.”

“Yeah, it’s okay. Although I’d rather go home to Texas and go back to school there. I miss my friends.”

My heart ached for the boy as I thought of his missing father and these three lives in limbo.

“Anyway, Mrs. Weatherby lets me earn video game time. Like, if I get an A on my spelling test, then I get a full hour of Time Warrior Challenge. Wish I could play more, though.”

“I have a computer up at my cabin,” I said, describing where my home was located. “Your mom is welcome to bring you up there to play anytime—until you go to Texas, I mean.”

“Really?”

“Sure. Why not?”

“That would be awesome.”

“Or, if you go into the game here, let me know and maybe I can go on myself and meet you online. That’s what I do with my friend Carlos. In fact, maybe I could give him your e-mail address and the two of you can do tournament play, even with you here and him in Pennsylvania.”

“Cool.”

Pepe was animatedly recounting his highest-scoring game when Karen and Luisa came back into the room. They both seemed a bit surprised by Pepe’s demeanor, and I realized he probably played the sullen teen most of the time these days.

“Next time,” I told him, ignoring their surprised faces, “try holding the F9 key when you reach level twelve.”

“You’ve been to level
twelve?
” he yelled. “No
way!
”

“Pepe!” Luisa reprimanded, thinking the boy was being rude.

“Way,” I said, hoping his enthusiasm wouldn’t dim. “If you do that, you get to go into the fourth dimension.”

“Oh, man,” he cried, “do you know any other good tricks?”

“Hmm. Not off the top of my head.”

“Then I gotta go study my spelling!”

“Good idea.”

“Do you mind?” he asked me, gesturing toward the piles that still remained on the table in front of us.

“Not at all,” I said. “Go ahead. Learn those spelling words. Just don’t be late for your math tutor!”

He ran out of the room and his mother and teacher stared at me, their mouths open.

“Video games,” I said, grinning widely. “The universal language.”

Eighteen

As the two children settled into their studies, Luisa went about cleaning the building. I realized that she and Karen must have some sort of special arrangement, like housekeeping services in exchange for some extra education time for the kids. Karen had excused herself to handle a computer problem, so I finished up the last of the packets for her and then went in search of her to tell her I needed to run. My tour of the orchard was scheduled to start in 20 minutes.

“Callie,” Karen said as I walked into the computer room, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to abandon you back there. We have a printer jam.”

“That’s fine,” I replied. “But I need to get going.”

“Are you sure you can’t stick around and observe the kids at work?”

I glanced at my watch.

“Well, maybe for just a few minutes. I’m supposed to tour the orchard at five.”

“Good. You can just watch them, ask them questions, or whatever,” Karen said, gesturing toward the two children, who were sitting, absorbed, in front of computers.

As Karen turned her attention back to the malfunctioning printer, I walked over to Adriana, who was playing a game that looked kind of like Pac-Man. Upon closer inspection, however, I saw that the munching creature was eating a series of numbers. The top of the screen said “Multiples of Ten” and Adriana was clicking on each number that didn’t end in a zero. When she clicked, the little monster came over and gobbled up the number.

“What happens if you click on the twenty?” I asked.

“I won’t—that’s a multiple of ten,” she said, absorbed in her game.

“Right. But what if you get it wrong?”

“Then it makes me start all over again.”

“What if you get them all right?”

“Watch,” she said. One by one, she clicked on the numbers that weren’t multiples of ten: 18, 7, 42. When she clicked on the last number, the little creature ran over, ate it up, and then exploded into a screen full of fireworks while a triumphant tune played in the background.

“That’s great!” I said. “Do you always get it right?”

“No, ten’s the easiest,” she said. “And five, I guess, and two. But some are really hard. Seven and eight are tough.”

She babbled on about the game as a new screen came up, this time headed “Multiples of Three.” She started playing again, and I crossed over to Pepe to watch him work. He seemed to sense my presence, because he turned to look at me, pulling the headphones from his ears.

“Sorry to interrupt,” I said. “What are you working on?”

“Right now, history,” he replied, rolling his eyes. “I had to put away my spelling to write a report on Egyptian pharaohs. Like that has anything to do with me and my life at all.”

The screen in front of him featured a website with photos of sphinxes and tombs. Next to the keyboard, I could see that he had scribbled a page of notes about the subject.

He asked Karen a question about the history unit, and as I listened I began to understand her function. Though she wasn’t their teacher, she was in charge of their course of study, and it seemed as though it was up to her to give tests, grade papers, and clarify instructions.

“I know you need to go, Callie,” Karen said to me, brushing off her hands as she closed the lid to the printer. “I’ll walk you out.”

I told the children goodbye and walked with Karen back to the entranceway.

“Hey, Mrs. Webber!” Pepe called. “I’ll talk to my mom about coming over, okay?”

“Okay,” I called back. “I’ll look forward to it.”