Page 67 of Things We Do in the Dark
Joey always thought it would be great when she finally got boobs; her mother certainly seemed to be in love with hers, treating them like an asset meant to be showcased and displayed at all times. But Joey’s were growing, so they hurt. And she was self-conscious. She’d tried to ask Tita Flora to buy her a bra, but her aunt just laughed.
“For those mosquito bites?” Tita Flora had said. “Enjoy them while they’re small. When you’re older, you’re going to hate wearing a bra.”
“Um, Deborah?” Joey said in a small voice. “Do you think maybe next time, when I come back for the trial, we could go shopping for a… a bra?” She knew her face was red; she could feel it.
The social worker didn’t laugh. Instead, she checked her watch. “If you can finish that burger in five minutes, we can go now. And I know just the right bra, because I bought one for my daughter last week. But for you, we’ll buy two. One to wear, one to wash.”
It was the first time she’d ever mentioned having children, and it felt like a gut punch. Deborah had adaughter.
As Joey finished her burger, she could only think of one other time she’d felt this kind of jealousy. She was in grade 2, and Nicole Bowie had brought her Garfield to school. The stuffed cat had perfect orange and black fur, and large plastic eyes that looked bored and unimpressed, just like Garfield did in the comics. Nicole let Joey play with it for five minutes at recess, and by the time she asked for it back, Joey was in love.
She had never wanted anything as badly as she wanted that Garfield. She finally asked her mother for one for Christmas, but Ruby said there might not be any Christmas presents that year.
“Toys cost money,” her mother said. “Wrapping paper costs money. Tape costs money. Christmas is expensive, Joey.”
So she did the only other thing she could do. She wrote a letter to Santa Claus.
Three weeks later, Joey woke up on Christmas morning to find a cat-size box under the tree. There were a few other presents, too, but the tag on this one saidTO JOEY, LOVE SANTA. Squealing with excitement, she tore the paper off while Ruby smiled the entire time. Under the paper was a box with a clear plastic window, and the name across the top said CHESTERFIELD.
Chesterfield?
Joey pulled it out of the box. It was definitely a stuffed cat, but its fur wasn’t orange and black, it was gray and brown. The plastic eyes weren’t white with huge black pupils, they were green. And in the middle of its tummy, there was a button that saidPRESS ME.When she pressed, a cheerful voice said, “Hi, I’m Chesterfield. What’s your name?”
This wasn’t Garfield. This was some cheap imitation cat. It wasn’t even from Santa, because the clearance sticker from Zellers was still on the box. This dumb cat was so unpopular, the store had to reduce the pricetwicejust to get rid of it.
“It’s not Garfield!” Joey cried, unable to help herself. “And it’s stupid!”
Her mother’s face changed. Joey shrank, certain she was going to get a punch—or three. But Ruby simply stood and headed down the hallway to her bedroom, where she shut the door. A minute later, Joey heard her mother sobbing.
Her mothernevercried, and the sound scared her more than thinking Ruby was going to hit her.
Twenty long minutes later, her mother came out of the bedroom. The wrapping paper was still on the floor, and there were a few presents under the tree that had yet to be opened, including the small gift that Joey had made for Ruby at school. Joey was sitting in the same spot near the tree with Chesterfield in her lap, which she hoped would let her mother know that she was sorry, so very sorry, for her outburst.
Ruby calmly strode past her and into the kitchen, appearing a few seconds later with a garbage bag. She put the unopened presents into it and then cleaned up the wrapping paper. Then she plucked the stuffed cat out of Joey’s lap and left the apartment. A few seconds later, Joey heard theclangof the metal door as her mother threw everything down the garbage chute.
“Better?” Ruby asked when she came back into the apartment, empty-handed. “By the way, we’re three months behind on rent, so we’re out of here on New Year’s Eve. I don’t know where we’re going, but anything that doesn’t fit in my suitcase can be thrown away.”
Joey couldn’t speak. She was only seven. What was there to say?
And now, sitting across from Deborah, the kindest person she knew, she felt the same as she did with Nicole Bowie. Jealous. Resentful. Desperate for a better life, a different life, though she knew it wasn’t possible, because she didn’t deserve anything that was good. Deborah was only here because it was her job. Her aunt and uncle only took her in because they were being paid.
There was nobody in Joey’s life who was here simply because they wanted to be.
Deborah’s daughter was the luckiest person in the world. And if Joey could have killed that girl to trade places with her, she would have strongly weighed her options on the best way to do it.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Drew finished reading the last of Joey’s diaries the night before, and he’s spent half of the five-hour drive to Sainte-Élisabeth wondering what her life was like after she moved to Maple Sound. If she kept any diaries during her five years there, they’re long gone now. And the only people who would know anything about Joey’s life in the small town aren’t talking. Her Tita Flora declined his request for an interview. Of her three cousins, only the youngest replied to Drew’s email, and all Carson said was that he was too young back then to remember much.
And her Tito Micky? Dead. Five years ago. Emphysema.
Check-in happens fast once Drew reaches the prison. He’s interviewed inmates at a few different correctional facilities over the years, and he knows the drill. The corrections officer passes him a bin for his phone, belt, wallet, and keys, and then he stands with his arms out as the CO pats him down quickly.
“You’re the sixth visitor she’s had this week,” the officer says as she buzzes him through. “She loves making people wait, so be sure to grab a magazine to pass the time.”
“I appreciate the heads-up,” Drew says. “Merci.”
“De rien.”
