Blade Silver: Color Me Scarred (8 page)

"Sure. How about a quarter'til? Does that give you enough time
to make a safe getaway?"

I kind of laugh. Abby knows me too well. "Thanks. I'll be
ready."

And so I have to kick it into high gear. It's about ten now and
I still have to vacuum and dust and sweep and take out the trash
and about a dozen other time-consuming things. At times like this,
I really wish my morn would get up and help out. I know she does a few things while we're at school or in the middle of the night. But
it's like she's afraid to come out if anyone is around. Why can't she
get over it?

I'm working so hard and fast that I've actually worked up a sweat
by noon. I'm just heading for a quick shower when I hear someone
coming into the house. Thinking it's my dad, home early, I feel a
chill of disappointment run through me. But when I peek around
the corner of the hallway, I see that it's just Caleb.

"What are you doing?" I ask as I pull the belt of my bathrobe
more tightly around me.

"Just getting some stuff before Dad gets home."

"Where are you staying?"

Caleb scowls. "I can't tell you."

"Why not?" I demand. "What if something happens? What
if I needed to get ahold of you? Like what if Mom did something
or-

"Do you swear not to tell Dad?"

I consider this. Caleb and I always take our promises to each
other seriously. Even more so during the past six months. "I swear,"
I finally say.

He studies me as if he's weighing my integrity.

"Caleb," I say with impatience. "If you can't trust me, who-"

"Yeah, yeah. Well, I'm staying with Grandma."

"Grandma Wallace? I'd think she would've called Dad a long
time ago."

"Not Grandma Wallace. Grandma Donna."

"Wow." I slowly nod. Grandma Donna is Mom's mom, and not
always the most reliable sort of grandma. Although she's pretty interesting. "1 thought she moved to Oklahoma with her last husband."

"Well, she's back. And he's not."

"How'd you find her anyway?"

°I called Uncle Rod. He told me where she was staying."

"Where's that?"

"Out on Ferris Road. She's got a trailer out there that her brother
is letting her use. She doesn't have a phone, but if you really needed to
reach me, I mean like a real emergency, you could call Uncle Rod."

"You live in a trailer? Like the kind people go camping in?"

"No, it's bigger than that. I guess you call it a mobile home."

"What about school?" I don't remind him that his grades are
low enough that he could be stuck in junior high for another year if
he doesn't straighten up.

"Grandma Donna's neighbor gives me a ride on his way to
work."

"How long do you plan to stay there?"

Caleb frowns. "I don't know. All I know is I can't stand it here
anymore. I'm afraid I'm going to kill Dad someday"

"You're going to kill Dad?" I look at his slender frame. He's
barely as tall as I am. And Dad probably makes up about two of him.
Murder doesn't seem likely.

"I imagine doing things," he says, "like maybe putting rat poison
in his coffee or messing with the brakes on his truck or maybe throwing an electrical appliance into the shower while he's in there."

"Oh." I feel my eyes widen.

"For now I'm staying with Grandma Donna. Until I can figure
things out."

"Did you tell her about anything?"

"A little. She doesn't ask too many questions."

"I'll bet."

"Well, I better hurry and get my stuff. My ride's waiting."

I put my hand on his shoulder now. "I miss you, Caleb."

"Yeah." He almost looks like he has tears in his eyes. "I'm sorry
to leave you like this, I mean with Dad ... and everything. But I
didn't know what else-"

Then I uncharacteristically hug him. To my surprise, he doesn't
resist, although I can tell we both feel uncomfortable when we step
apart.

"What is that?" he asks suddenly, pointing down at my arm
where my bathrobe sleeve has come up to my elbow.

I quickly push down the sleeve without answering him.

But he reaches over and pushes it back up, exposing at least six
scars of varying ages. "Ruth?" His eyes narrow. "What's going on?"

I push it back down and look away. "Nothing."

Then he cusses.

"It's no big deal, Caleb-"

"It figures," he says with real disgust. "This whole family is so
messed up-I don't know why I'd think that you should be any
different." Then he turns and walks toward his room.

"Caleb," I begin, but I have no idea what I can say to him. I
mean, what can I possibly say that will change what he thinks of
me now?

"I gotta hurry," he calls back in a husky voice. "I don't wanna be
here when Dad gets home." He closes his door behind him.

"You and me both," I mutter as I head for the bathroom.

I pause by the drawer where my razor is hidden. Everything in
me wants to go for it now-like a magnet I am drawn to its metallic pull. And why not? It'll only take a few minutes and then I'll feel
better.

But somehow I manage to just shake my head and go directly
to the shower. I am not going to cut today. I am not going to cut. I say
this over and over as I take a shower. My cut from last night is still throbbing and it burns when the water hits. It's starting to bleed
again, so I have to put a fresh bandage on it when I get out. I have
to stop doing this. It's not only hurting me but it's hurting Caleb
now too.

Caleb is gone by the time I am dressed. I peek into his room to
see that it looks pretty much the same. Neatly made bed. Everything
perfectly in its place, the way we've been trained. I check out his
closet and a couple drawers. He's taken quite a lot of clothes. As if he
plans to be gone awhile. And while I know it's not really my fault, I
can't help but feel as if I am partially to blame for this. If only I were
stronger, more together.

Don't think about it. There's nothing you can do anyway. I decide to
focus on my own life-maybe I can salvage something here and help
Caleb later. And for some unexplainable reason, the possibility that
Glen might actually like me gives me strength. And I think maybe,
just maybe, if something can come of this relationship ... well,
maybe I would get better, get healthy, move on. But what can I do
to help facilitate this thing? How do I compete against all the other
girls who might like to get their hooks into Glen?

Finally, I decide it's time to clean up my act-to start acting,
looking, and even dressing like a "normal" girl. In other words, it's
time to do some shopping. And so I decide to take some extra money
with me to the mall today. Okay, I know my dad would be furious if
he saw me "robbing" my piggy bank, but it is my own money, after
all. Some saved from babysitting and some from the meager allowance I'm given each week. But I should be able to use it how I like.
Right? Well, if this were a normal family and if I were a normal kid,
it would be right. For now, I just have to cover my tracks and hope
my dad won't be checking up on my finances anytime soon.

Now I'm thankful that I took the time to make my dad a nice big tuna-fish sandwich earlier. I wrapped it in plastic wrap and
put it in an obvious place in the fridge. I just wish I'd had time to
make chocolate-chip cookies or brownies. That might've helped to
appease him even more. Then I leave a note, clearly saying what I'm
doing (well, other than the spending money part) and who I'm with
and when I'll be back. And, not taking any chances, I also mention
the sandwich and make a smiley-face picture next to it. Yeah, I'm
pretty desperate.

It's getting close to one now, and I'm suddenly worried that Abby
will be late and my dad will get here and figure out that Caleb's been
here and, well, you just never know which way it might go from
there. But then Abby is here, and I'm flying out the door, jumping
into her car. With a heart that's pounding I tell her to hurry up and
get out of here.

"Free at last," I say, as she drives away from my house. I lean
back into the seat of her Bronco and finally breathe.

"Has Caleb come home yet?" She turns a corner that takes a
different route to town, one that does not pass by the tire store. I
have to give her this much, the girl is thinking. So I tell her about
his little appearance, not mentioning his unfortunate discovery, and
I even mention that he's staying with Grandma Donna.

"But you can't tell anyone," I say quickly.

"Like I would do that." Then she laughs. "Grandma Donna. I
haven't seen that woman in years. How's she doing anyway?"

"I have no idea. I didn't even know she was living around
here."

"Remember that time when we went to visit her?"

I nod. Of course I remember. How could I forget? It was the
summer before seventh grade, and we decided to ride our bikes out
to her place to pick cherries. Somehow we'd gotten it into our heads that we were going to make a cherry pie.

"She was so cute," says Abby. "Trying to get all glammed up for
her big date with-what was his name?"

"Mike," I tell her, although I don't say that we later found out
that "Mike" was on the lam-wanted for robbery, I think.

Abby goes on, reminding me of how we helped Grandma
Donna with her hair and nails and everything, and how she actually
looked pretty good for an old lady. But then this Mike dude shows
up and he's young enough to be her son and we both suspect that
he's probably just using her. But my grandma doesn't even seem to
notice. Abby thinks it's all pretty funny, but I mostly think it's pretty
pathetic. Like my whole family Suddenly I feel angry at Grandma
Donna too. I wonder why, since she's moved back to the area, she
hasn't come around and helped with my mom during these past six
months. I heard she visited Mom once in the hospital. But as far as
I know that was it. Of course, my dad probably doesn't make her
feel too welcome. Everyone knows he can't stand her, or any of my
mom's relatives for that matter. We are such a freaking mess.

"Earth to Ruth," says Abby in that obnoxious way of hers, like
she thinks she's being clever.

"That's getting old," I tell her. We're just going inside the mall
now, but I have obviously not heard a word she's said since we left
the car.

"Well, so is your little space-cadet routine, Ruth. I was trying to
ask you a question."

"Sorry," I say. "I guess I kinda was someplace else."

"No kidding. Anyway, I was just asking if you were hungry, like,
should we get something to eat at the food court, or shop first then
eat somewhere else later?"

"Your pick," I tell her, even though I think the selection at the food court pretty much sucks.

"Okay," she says. "I vote for the food court. That way we might
see someone."

I hadn't really considered this myself, since there's no one I
particularly want to see anyway. Well, other than Glen. But then I
sort of doubt that he'd come to the mall. Somehow I just don't think
he's the type. He'd probably think this was a dumb waste of time. I
usually think this myself, but at least it's something to do, and way
better than being at home. Besides, Abby loves to shop, and in order
to be her friend, I kind of have to play along. Normally, I don't mind
trailing her around, although I plan to do some shopping of my own
today.

As we head toward the food court, the mere possibility of
running into Glen brightens me up some. I'm glad I took time to
put on something besides my overalls. Just in case.

But we don't see anyone we know at the food court. We both get
a piece of pepperoni pizza and a soda, and then find a table that's in
a good location for people watching. Finally, our food is gone, and
we give up on seeing anyone.

"We can always come back later," says Abby. "Get some yogurt
or something."

"Sounds good." Then I hold up my purse. "And you may be
happy to know that I actually plan to shop today"

Her brows go up. "You mean you brought real money?"

I kind of laugh. "Yeah, I thought my wardrobe could use a little
boost."

She grabs me by the arm and I try not to wince, but I'm sure it
must show. Fortunately she's not looking. "All right then. Let's get
going, girlfriend," she says with great enthusiasm.

I take in a deep breath and wish the throbbing pain in my right arm would go away. By the time we hit the first store, it's lessening
some. Once again, I promise myself that I will not cut again. It's just
not worth it. I've got to stop.

"How about this?" asks Abby as she holds up a pale-blue-andwhite striped T-shirt for me. "You'd look great in it, and it would go
with your beads."

"I'm not sure-"

"Here," she insists. "Just try it on."

So I add it to the several pairs of shorts and jeans that I've already
collected. I am trying to focus my shopping on the lower half of my
body. Because I know if I pick up a long-sleeved shirt, Abby will
make some predictably lame comment about how I always wear long
sleeves and it's summer, for Pete's sake. I just am not up for that.

"And how about this?" She holds up a black cami. "You'd look
fantastic in it."

So I take the camisole as well. Just to appease her. Or maybe
I might wear it underneath something with sleeves, like my linen
shirt, if I can get the clay stains out of the cuffs. We both wait in line
and finally get into the dressing rooms. I am so glad this place does
not allow customers to share rooms!

At first I plan to try on only the jeans and shorts. But one pair of
jeans is perfect. In fact they look so great that I'm curious as to how
the T-shirt would look with them. So I carefully remove my longsleeved shirt and slip into the T-shirt. Abby was right. It does look
good on me. And it fits perfectly. Even so, I could never wear it. Not
with these arms. I do my little squint trick where I try to imagine my
scars all healed. But it's tough because of the white gauze bandage
on my most recent-