40
SAM
June–August
‘Wait here, OK?’ I told Meggie. ‘Don’t talk to any strangers. If anyone asks, your big brother has a job here and you’re waiting for him to finish work so he can take you to the candy store.’
Meggie nodded, chewing a few strands of hair. I eyed her critically, trying to see her as a stranger would, or a cop: a little girl in a shabby dress with dusty knees. There hadn’t been any time to get spare clothes for her and I hadn’t had a chance to buy her any yet.
I hadn’t killed Kirk after all; by the time I’d finished puking my guts up, he’d started to come round, making weird groaning, wheezing sounds in his throat. Although he could hardly stand, Ma had helped him up and gotten him inside somehow. They seemed to have forgotten about Meggie – she’d been left out on the porch, sobbing. When I’d gone over to her and put my arms around her, she’d stiffened. My stomach had jolted. ‘Meggie-Meg, it’s OK. I’d never hurt you, never,’ I said. ‘You hear? I was only trying to protect myself from Kirk. Otherwise he’d’ve hurt me.’
Sniffling, she’d relaxed against me, slowly.
‘You wanna get outta here?’ I’d asked her.
She’d nodded.
I’d crouched down, holding her by the tops of the arms so I could look her in the face. ‘I mean really get outta here, Meggie. I’ve got a friend who might be able to help us, but if you come with me, you’ll never see this place again.’
‘That’s OK,’ she’d said. ‘I don’t wanna stay here anyway. Kirk comes into my room at night sometimes. He scares me.’
‘What does he do?’ I’d said sharply.
‘He just sits there and stares at me.’
I’d clenched my jaw and my fists, taking in deep breaths. I knew I had to get myself under control, otherwise I’d go inside and finish what I’d started.
‘Right,’ I’d said when my heart had stopped racing. I’d picked up my bag, which had still been sitting where I’d dropped it on the porch, and taken her hand. ‘Let’s go.’
‘Where are we going?’ she’d said.
‘Washington, like I said. I’ve got a pal there who might be able to help me get some work.’
I’d thought then, briefly, about sneaking inside to get some things for her, then decided against it. We’d just have to manage until we got to the city. As we’d crossed the yard every muscle in my body had been tense, ready to break into a run; I’d been expecting Kirk to burst back out of the house any second, maybe with his rifle aimed at my head. But he hadn’t. We’d gone out onto the road, which was sun-baked and dusty, and started to walk while I’d listened out for cars. One had turned up eventually and we’d managed to hitch a ride for the first fifteen miles or so.
After that it had been a mixture of walking and hitching. I’d bought us a dinner of hotdogs and soda from a little store in some backcountry town even smaller than Coltonsburg, and we’d spent that night in a farmer’s field. The next day had been the same. The morning after that, we’d arrived in Washington, and now, three days later, we were here at the Washington Post. It stood on 14th and E streets NW, a tall building with a grand stone facade, carved figures along the roofline and a funny-looking little circular window at the top.
I took a deep breath, shouldered my bag and climbed the steps. When I got to the top, I tugged at my collar to straighten it, checked my shoes were clean, and went inside.
The smartly dressed woman at the front desk eyed my medals and the scars on my hands as I approached. From somewhere inside the vast building, I could hear the clatter of typewriters; the air smelled of ink and cigarette smoke.
Nervously, I cleared my throat. ‘Excuse me, ma’am, but is there a journalist who works here called Stanley Novak?’
She frowned. ‘Who did you say?’
‘Stanley Novak. He was a pal of mine in the army.’
‘Wait here.’ She pushed her chair back with the air of someone being greatly inconvenienced, and disappeared through a doorway behind the reception desk, her heels clicking efficiently against the tiled floor.
Five minutes later, she returned. ‘I’m sorry, he’s not here anymore.’
I felt my heart sink into my boots. ‘What? I mean – are you sure?’
‘That’s what they said.’
‘Do you know where he’s gone?’
The woman sighed, and went back through the doorway.
‘He’s in London, England,’ she said when she came back. ‘He went there with his wife.’
London. I closed my eyes, pinching the bridge of my nose.
‘Here. He left a forwarding address.’
I opened my eyes and saw she was holding out a piece of paper with something written on it. I tried to smile at her, wondering what goddamn use a forwarding address was to me if Stanley was all the way over in England again. ‘Thanks.’ I went back outside, stuffing the paper into my inside jacket pocket where I promptly forgot about it.
To my relief, Meggie was still waiting for me at the bottom of the steps. Now what? I thought. I felt grimy; my head ached and I was starving hungry. As surreptitiously as I could, I took my wallet from my inside jacket pocket and counted what I had left. There wasn’t much; I’d been counting on Stanley for a place to stay until I got a job and started earning enough to find a room for Meggie and me. Well, that wasn’t gonna happen now. ‘C’mon,’ I said to Meggie. ‘Let’s go get some breakfast.’
‘Was your friend there?’ she asked as we walked back down the street.
‘No, he’s in England now.’
‘England? That’s a long way away. How will he help us if he’s there?’
‘I don’t know, honey. I’ll think of something.’
We found a diner, and went in and sat down in a corner booth. I told Meggie she could order whatever she liked, aware that this might be our last decent meal for a while. As I drank my coffee and ate my pancakes I tried to work out what we were gonna do.
I spent all that day traipsing around the city, asking at every store, every restaurant, every bar, anywhere I thought looked promising if they were hiring. But the answer was always the same. Whoever I spoke to would look me up and down, take in my scarred hands and shake their head slowly, apologetically. ‘Sorry, son, but we’ve got all the help we need.’ It seemed that every soldier returning from the war had had the same idea – and they’d all gotten there before me.
As the day went on, I began to be gripped by panic. Kirk had taken all the money I’d saved. The bills in my wallet might last another few days if I was lucky, and careful, but after that, the only income I had was my army pension, and that would barely cover food. If I didn’t get a job, I couldn’t get a place for us to live. And if I didn’t have a place to live, I couldn’t send for Ruby.
Later that afternoon, Meggie and I stopped in a park to rest. As I sat down on a bench to take the weight off my aching feet, a great wave of weariness crashed over me. For a moment I wondered if bringing Meggie with me had been a dumb idea, but then I remembered what she’d told me about Kirk coming in her room at night. No, getting her to leave had been the right thing. At least that bastard couldn’t hurt her now. But where were we gonna go? What were we gonna do?
Head north, I thought. There’s gotta be work out there somewhere.
‘Sam, what are we doing now?’ Meggie asked. She looked as tired as I felt, and there was a querulous note in her voice.
‘How do you like the sound of an adventure, Meggie-Meg? Just me and you,’ I said, with a cheerfulness I didn’t feel.
‘An adventure?’
‘Yeah. It’ll be fun!’
‘OK…’ She chewed her lower lip, looking doubtful. As soon as I looked away from her, I felt the smile drop off my face. Thank God it was still summer. If we were lucky I’d find work and somewhere to crash before the weather changed.
Before the stores closed for the day I spent the last of my money on a change of clothes for Meggie, a toothbrush each and a couple of blankets, stuffing everything in my bag. There wasn’t enough left over for food; we’d manage, somehow. We spent that night in another, smaller park, where I slept fitfully, plagued by the usual nightmares about being lost in a fiery inferno.
The next morning, we hit the road.
*
But there was no work anywhere. Sometimes I’d strike lucky and pick up odd jobs mowing yards or painting fences, earning enough to buy us a decent meal that night. Occasionally a kind stranger would take pity on us and give us food. Other days I’d have to resort to stealing from gas stations or rummaging through trash cans. When I couldn’t find any way of earning money we’d hitch or walk, heading slowly but steadily northwards. We slept in barns and fields and outbuildings and under bridges.
Meggie never complained, but she grew thin and tired-looking, deep shadows under her eyes, and her clothes were shabbier than ever, holes wearing in the bottoms of her shoes. I knew I didn’t look much better. I’d thought about writing to Ruby, too, to tell her what was happening, but every time I tried I got stuck. I didn’t want to worry her, and putting my situation down on paper in stark black and white felt too much like admitting how bad things really were. Another week and you’ll be back on your feet, I kept telling myself. Write to her then.
But finally, in mid-August, I was forced to admit defeat.
It had been a bad day. I’d gone from door to door, begging for work, and been turned away at every house, every store. Now we were holed up in a tumbledown shack at the edge of an abandoned lot, waiting for night to fall. Meggie was already asleep. We’d had nothing to eat. No one wants you, I told myself. You’re washed up, done. I looked at Meggie. She’d been crying on and off all day from hunger and exhaustion; there were tear tracks through the dirt on her face, and her eyelashes were still damp.
You should take her to the sheriff tomorrow, a little voice in my head said suddenly. Tell them you can’t take care of her. They’ll look after her – find her a nice family somewhere. She’ll have new clothes to wear, a roof over her head, plenty of food…
For a few, brief moments, all I felt was an overwhelming sense of relief. Then the doubts came crashing in. What if it didn’t work out that way? What if she ended up in a home, or they sent her to someone like Kirk? What if they sent her back to Kirk? I couldn’t abandon her like that. I just couldn’t.
I began searching through my pockets in the vain hope I might have overlooked a dollar bill somewhere; even a few coins would be better than nothing. There was nothing except for a crumpled piece of paper, deep in the inside pocket of my jacket. I smoothed it out and looked at the name and address written on it in neat, sloping script. S. NOVAK, c/o The Bloomsbury Chronicle, 45 Leonard Square, Bloomsbury, London, ENGLAND. My stomach lurched.
I’d forgotten all about that woman at the Washington Post giving me Stanley’s address. I read it again, and again, a plan beginning to form in my head. It was crazy – desperate. It probably wouldn’t work. But just like when I’d joined the army – and man, that felt like a lifetime ago now – what choice did I have?
Carefully, I folded the piece of paper up again and returned it to my inside pocket. Then I settled back against my pack, suddenly wide awake, to wait for morning to come.