Becoming Ellen (5 page)

“Shush,” Temerity said to him so sharply that he actually did, turning to look over his own back.

And then Ellen heard it, too. A scraping, grating sound. “What is that?” Temerity whispered to her. But Ellen couldn't see anything. For a few seconds, her eyes scanned the seemingly empty alley. Then, without warning, Runt bolted, yanking Ellen along by the leash wrapped around her wrist. She almost went down, then recovered her step and pulled back hard. But Runt dragged her, resisting, over to a grating about two feet square set just above the concrete that Ellen assumed was some kind of vent from the basement of the building. The dog stopped abruptly and the sudden loss of tension dropped Ellen backward onto her bottom. She landed with a bump, sitting on the sidewalk, facing the grate.

Ellen found herself looking at something behind the grate in that murky darkness, something so shiny and blue that it startled her. It was shocking that such a dank place could produce such vibrant color. The bright pair of eyes stared at Runt until the dog thrust his shaggy muzzle up against the metal and barked. The eyes blinked in alarm and disappeared.

“Ellen? What is it?” Temerity called after her.

“I'm not sure,” Ellen said. “But I think it's a person. Maybe somebody lives down there.”

“In the basement? But that's not an apartment, it's a . . . Oh.”

There was no need to say any more. The space behind the grating, the best Ellen could make out, was an unfriendly one. It had no heat and very little light—a dismal, damp, and moldy place.

But that didn't mean that someone didn't live there.

W
hen Ellen woke up around four thirty that afternoon, she came downstairs to find Temerity rehearsing with Rupert. Temerity played the violin in the city's symphony orchestra, and Rupert played the cello. Occasionally they got together for some extra rehearsal.

When Ellen came in, Rupert, a very large and shy man, stood up and offered his embarrassed hello to Ellen, fumbling even those few words. Ellen understood that the cellist was very private and not very social, traits she shared, to say the least, which was the reason she had been able to allow him to see and converse with her.

“Sorry,” Ellen said, “I didn't mean to interrupt. I'm going to make something to eat.”

“What are you making?” Temerity asked, looking hopeful.

Completely unsure of either what she had or what she
could
make out of whatever it was, Ellen said, “I don't know yet.” She opened the fridge and leaned in to see what was there. “But . . . it will definitely involve bacon.”

“I'm in!” Temerity said. “Ooh, actually, there's some heirloom tomatoes I bought and some really good sourdough bread. How about a BLT?”

“And . . . what else goes on that?” Ellen asked.

“What else is on a bacon, lettuce, and tomato sandwich?” Temerity said wryly. “If only there was some clue.” She tapped her bow against her cheek, leaving rosin marks.

“Mayo?” Ellen tried to cover her ignorance.

“Sure, if you want. I'll have mine with mustard. Rupert?”

His round, naturally splotchy face reddened, an automatic accompaniment to speaking. “I'll have mayonnaise, please.”

Even though Ellen had helped Justice and Temerity prepare meals many times now, she was unfamiliar with preparing food for other people by herself. Her experience with cooking before she came here had almost exclusively been microwaving frozen foods, but had included the use of the stovetop to make bacon. True, she'd mastered boiling water, and recently learned that it could be used to make pasta, as long as she used jarred sauce. She could also now make a salad and even the occasional bowl of rice. She steeled herself to put the BLT ingredients together, unsure if she should toast the bread first. She decided yes. After years of toaster strudel or frozen waffles as a part of at least one meal every day, she could handle a toaster.
Uncooked bread, beware!
she thought. Then,
No, wait, that's not right. Bread is already cooked.
For a blissful moment, the smell and the freshly-baked-to-golden-perfection loaves through the window at the bakery rushed her senses. Ellen thought of the bakers, and she envied those wizards who had mastered the magic to produce something so excellent from . . . well, she wasn't exactly sure what all went into bread. Still, she was in awe.

From the end of the room, under the huge bank of windows gracefully draped with their sheer white curtains, came the magnificent sound of the musicians playing. The melody created a moving picture in Ellen's mind of a sunny country road, or at least that's how Ellen imagined it, though she'd never been to the country, or even out of the city.

While she was frying the thickly sliced bacon, her favorite kind, Mouse came and purred at her ankles until she gave him his share, a nice fat slice, which disappeared quickly into his pillowing folds of furry tummy. The music rolled on through Ellen's imagination as the two instruments each lent their own unique sound to create a new, more glorious one. The piece ended as she was slicing the sandwiches.

She sighed as the last of the vibrations faded away into the open space. Symphonies were stories, they took her places, places Ellen knew she would otherwise never dare to go, and she was grateful for the journey.

They sat at the counter and ate their sandwiches. “This is delicious,” Rupert said as he washed down a huge bite with half a glass of milk.

Ellen agreed, pleased that Rupert shared her love of food, especially bacon.

Temerity finished off her sandwich and announced, “I've got to go get dressed. Talk to you at rehearsal tomorrow, Rupert. Thanks for coming over here.”

Rupert muttered something inaudible, turning so red that his splotches took on a quilted effect against the remaining areas of pale skin.

To Ellen's surprise, though, Rupert did not immediately hurry to put away his instrument and leave as he normally did. Instead, he sat shifting on his stool, which made it creak and groan a bit. He cleared his throat several times but said nothing. Ellen got up and put the dishes in the dishwasher, an amazing luxury that had been yet another adjustment for her. Albeit a good one.

“Uhm, Ellen?” Rupert said, his voice squeaking slightly.

Ellen looked up at him, but he was twisting his calloused fingers into knots and studying them with intense interest.

“Do you like movies?” he asked.

Ellen wasn't sure how to respond, she didn't really care for movies or TV. Rupert was still fascinated by his fingers.

“Movies?” Ellen said, confused. “Uh, yeah, I guess. I mean, I don't watch many, just the ones I get on my little TV. I mostly like the older ones. You know, the black-and-white ones.” She turned away again, and then remembered that Temerity had told her it was polite to ask someone about themselves if they asked about you. So she added, “Do you?”

“Yes.” Rupert nodded enthusiastically, still without looking at her. “There is a theater not far from here that plays those kinds of old movies. Maybe you've been there, the Royal. I thought . . .” He trailed off.

“I don't go to theaters,” Ellen explained quickly. “It's because of, well, you know, I don't really like to be around people if I don't
have
to be . . .” She trailed off as well. Rupert knew some things about her, but she wasn't sure he knew how she was when it came to sliding through public unseen, or avoiding it altogether.

“Oh, I see. Okay. Well, I guess I should go.” He climbed clumsily off the stool and made his way over to where he'd left his cello with his unique, rolling walk, which Ellen found charming, and began the loving process of wiping it down with a soft cloth before he laid it gently in its case. Ellen liked the way he did that. When he was all set, he went to the door of the loft. “Bye,” he said. He opened the door and then stopped. “Ellen, I just thought I would tell you that there's always a great old comedy at the Royal every Tuesday night, and there's never very many people, and you could go in once it's dark. I was thinking . . . Well, I just thought you might like to know.” Having got this out, he went through the door as fast as he could and pulled it shut behind him.

Temerity reemerged from the hallway door, dressed now in brown jeans, an orange top, and blue boots. “Was that Rupert leaving?” she asked, smiling a little like a cat as she came to the counter.

“Yes.”

“How did it go?” Temerity said in a growly voice, raising her eyebrows twice.

Ellen studied her. “Uh, okay, I guess.” Temerity was still grinning like a kid with a hidden candy stash. Ellen didn't get it. So she asked, “Why?”

“Oh, no reason.” Temerity rubbed her palms together and climbed onto a stool, placing her elbows on the counter.

Confused, Ellen finished putting away the dishes. “He said something about a place nearby that plays old movies. Then he got all . . .
Rupert
 . . . you know, and he went.”

Temerity let her head fall to the countertop with a thump. “Ellen,” she groaned from between her arms flopped around her face, “did you say ‘No'?”

“To what?” Ellen was completely befuddled now.

Slowly, Temerity's face rose toward her. “Ellen Homes. Please do not tell me that Rupert finally got up the nerve to ask you out and you turned him down.”

The floor heaved, and the walls spun. Ellen reached out and grabbed the countertop to steady her environment. “But . . .” she sputtered. “He . . . he just . . . he didn't ask me
that
. He just said I might like the comedies they play on Tuesdays, and that it would be in the dark and not crowded and . . .” Her voice died as she realized how very difficult it must have been for Rupert to ask her to go, and she, Ellen—who had never been asked to go anywhere—had missed it entirely.

Temerity was nodding. “Exactly.”

Ellen was terrified. What did this mean? But even stronger than her own fear of being asked to participate was her mortification that she might have hurt Rupert's feelings. His was a fragile soul. “I didn't know,” she said lamely.

“Well . . .” Temerity brightened and slid to her feet with a small jump. “Now you do. Okay, time to find out what we can about Lydia's mom. We'll deal with the Rupert situation later. Let's go spying!”

Spying was good. There was no interaction in spying. The very idea of being present without being known calmed Ellen. She went to get her coat.

Still, the whole walk to the hospital, which was only a few blocks away, Ellen was jittery and uncomfortable. It felt like she had swallowed a large egg that had hatched and something reptilian was thrashing around in her stomach, trying to crawl out.
Rupert had asked her to a movie. A movie. Rupert. A grown man had asked her to do something. Out.
No, no matter how hard she tried, she could find no way to still the squirming, many-tentacled sea creature that had nested in her gut. There just wasn't any place to put it, or the confusion that it introduced.

When they went through the hospital's lobby to the guard station, the woman with a braid thicker than Temerity's arm said hello to Temerity and told her to go on through. Temerity had become familiar to most of the security staff when she came in with Ellen so often during her rehabilitation. Ellen had tried hard to stay invisible, but it had been next to impossible with so many visits and sign-ins. The exposure to doctors and staff had been a nightmare for Ellen, and even now she winced and placed her left hand against the side of her face. For the thousandth time, she was startled to find it smooth.

They first went to the waiting area outside ICU, but after about twenty minutes they had not seen or heard anything useful. The sea beast was now doing flip-flops in her gut so Ellen proposed a trip to the cafeteria to feed it, since that usually helped. Temerity agreed, and they made their way back to the first floor.

They chose snacks and sat at a table by the window. Then Temerity reviewed their situation.

“All right, all we have is a last name, Carson. I'm assuming that she and Lydia share a last name.”

“I'll bet they do,” Ellen said. “They didn't look to me like there was a father, if you know what I mean.” She wasn't sure if Temerity would, but Ellen had spent so many years watching and observing people that she had learned to draw certain conclusions. Ninety percent of the kids she had crossed paths with in the foster system had never even known their fathers, and no father had appeared at the hospital, so it wasn't too far-fetched to assume that Lydia Carson shared her mom's last name.

“And we know that she had a spinal injury. What we need,” Temerity said after a brief, thoughtful break, “is a patient list.”

“Uh, that's confidential?” Ellen suggested, but hesitantly, since Temerity seldom paid much attention to that sort of thing.

“Or
is
it?” the blind girl said. Her mouth curled into a sly smile. “I have a very cunning plan.”

Ellen was familiar with Temerity's plans, and the cunning part usually involved her, Ellen, doing something far outside her comfort zone. She ate faster, hurrying to finish her tuna pasta salad.

Temerity stood up. “Dr. Amanda Bendon, please,” she said to Ellen, as if giving an address to a cabdriver.

Her office, Ellen knew how to find. She'd spent too much time in that tiny space, where Amanda had allowed her to wait so that she could avoid the waiting room and its smattering of people. Many of the interning doctors had small offices, not much bigger than the broom closet where Ellen enjoyed so much fine literature and packaged snacks. With a slight chill of anticipation, or the possibility of unpleasantness, Ellen led the way.

“What are you going to say?” Ellen whispered as they arrived.

“Oh, I'll think of something,” Temerity practically sang. She tapped her chest. “Famous for that,” she added, and knocked on the door. Then, almost as an afterthought, she asked, “You know how to type, right?”

Before Ellen had time to set Temerity straight on that, the door opened and Amanda exclaimed, “Oh my God, Temerity! And Ellen,” she added as she leaned around to see Ellen half hidden behind the doorjamb. “Well, hello, ladies, what brings you down here?” The room was so small that she hadn't even risen from her chair to open the door.

Dr. Amanda looked frazzled. Her naturally wavy hair was sticking out in different places from the knot she'd tried to contain it with, especially over her right ear, where not one, but two pens were stuck in it. Several opened files were stacked on her lap and the computer screen was emitting its hazy light.

“Actually, I wanted to talk to you about something,” Temerity told her.

“Oh. Uh . . .” Amanda's eyes cut from the pile of work on the tiny desk to the computer, and then back to her visitors. “Justice asked me to come to dinner tonight.”

“I know,” Temerity said. “But I wanted to talk without him, if you know what I mean. He's such a pain in the . . . I mean, boys, you know. All they talk about are sports and cars.”

“Sports and cars? Justice?” Amanda seemed bemused.

“Well, not Justice specifically, but boys in general. Anyway, is it a bad time?”

Amanda seemed to come to a decision. “You know what? No. I was just about to go grab a cup of coffee. Want to join me?”

“I do!” Temerity enthused. “But Ellen probably doesn't. Do you, Ellen? Can she just stay here, maybe, and wait for us?”