Page 7 of Run
“You lying to me?” Again, she shakes her head. “Good Lord, girl. Do you ever speak?”
“Yes, sir,” she says softly. “I mean, no. No, I’m not lying. He won’t be mad.”
“Alright, then. Just don’t stay too long.” Dad turns and starts heading up the walk toward the front door, shouting over his shoulder, “I better find all of my tools the way I left them.”
After he’s gone, Ari moves around me like she’s going to leave. “You don’t have to,” I tell her. “My dad’s bark is worse than his bite. He won’t bother us anymore.”
She curls her fingers around the bottom hem of her shirt. “Lena will be home from work soon anyway, and Papa’s TV shows will be over and he’ll wonder why I haven’t started dinner. And, also, I want to write a letter to my mom.”
Pulling my eyebrows together and my head back, I turn to look at her directly. “I didn’t know you were in contact with your mom.”
“I’m not. But one day I will be. When I’m old enough to drive, I’ll go to the hospital and ask to see my birth records. Well, I may have to go to a couple of the hospitals in the city. I’m not sure which one I was born at.”
I nod, even though I’m pretty sure that’s not how it works.
Head ducked, she starts toward the open garage door when Fonz pipes up, “Hey, wait!”
She turns just as he takes three skips toward her, then flings his arms around her shoulders and squeezes. Ari turns her head and widens her eyes at me in question, with her arms pinned to her sides, fingers fanned out like she doesn’t know what to do with them.
Fonz pulls back, leaving his hands on her shoulders, and says, “It was really great to meet you, Ari. Miss Vida always has something fresh-baked at the house, so come over anytime. OK?” Ari sweeps another stray piece of hair behind her ear and nods while looking down at the floor. “I mean it,” he says. “Anytime. OK?”
“Uh, thanks,” she says, then gives me another questioning look—which I just shake my head at—and heads toward her house.
As soon as she’s out of earshot, I turn to Fonz. “What was that all about?”
Fonz folds his arms across his chest and watches Ari enter her house. “My mom told me about Ari. Said she missed a lot of school last year, and whenever she returned it was with bruises and black eyes. She often doesn’t have lunch. And she’s skittish, like a feral cat.” He shrugs, arms still folded. “I just thought she could use a hug.”
I grin. Maybe this kid isn’t so awkward, after all.
Later that night, flipping through the TV channels while Mom and Dad are arguing in their bedroom, my attention is pulled from their argument to yelling further off in the distance. I click off the TV and stand, walk over to the door, and slip my bare feet into my dirty sneakers. Before I open the door, I hear from down the hallway, “Fine, James. I’ll get out of work earlier, OK?”
Dad responds. “Thank fuck. Why did that have to be an argument?” Knowing their disagreement has been quashed, a small weight lifts from my chest.
Then I hear more loud voices coming from next door.
I head out, making sure to hold the screen door as it closes so it doesn’t slam, and walk toward Ari’s house. The light is on inside, and since it’s past dark, I can see right inside the big side picture window, as if I’m watching a scene from a play. It’s open, so I can easily hear what’s being said.
“Are you simple just like your mother?” Axel bellows. “What do you think happens to stupid girls who hang out in garages with boys? Huh?”
“Papa, it wasn’t like that,” she says firmly, but with her head bowed.
“Don’t talk back to me, girl!” he snaps, and she jumps back, even though he’s on the other side of the room.
“I just had to ask him something. I just had to ask him, um, where he got his bike. I thought maybe—”
“You have a bike.” Axel walks into the kitchen, then re-enters the living room with a beer can.
“The tires are flat,” she says to the floor.
“Well, maybe if you took better care of your shit, they wouldn’t be.”
“It’s not my fault.” I can barely hear her, but Axel must have heard loud and clear because, in an instant, he swivels and swings out, backhanding her across the cheek so hard she stumbles into a side table, knocking a lamp over.
I start to run toward the house but stop when hear a woman’s voice as Lena, I’m assuming, comes into view. “Axel, seriously? School starts next week. She can’t miss the first day and she can’t show up with a black eye.”
“Well, then”—he cracks open his beer—“you deal with her.” He plops down in the recliner, grabs the remote, and turns up the TV.
I see Ari scramble to her feet, and I expect her to run down the hallway toward her bedroom, but instead, she heads to the corner where a little cot is set up. She flops herself down, turns to face the wall, and pulls the covers up. She doesn’t even have a bedroom.
