Rachel Gibson - True Confessions

How hard could it be?

“Bloody finger one block awaaay…” Beneath a makeshift tent of blankets, safety pins, and kitchen chairs, Hope shined the flashlight under her chin and stared at the two young faces across from her. She opened her mouth and continued her scary story in her scariest voice. “I ran and hid behind my bed, but still I heard, ‘Bloody finger one house awaaay…’ ” She slid her hand under a pile of sleeping bags and rapped her knuckles against the hardwood floor. “Bloody finger at your door…” Adam’s eyes got wide and Wally chewed on his lower lip. “… knock… knock… knock.” She reached out her hand. “I opened the door… and there was a kid standing there.” She paused for dramatic effect, then continued. “He had a bloody paper cut, and he needed a Band-Aid.”

For several long moments the boys stared at her within the darkness of the blanket tent. Then they looked at each other and snorted.

Adam shook his head. “That was really lame.”

“It wasn’t even scary,” Wally added.

“You guys were scared,” she said. “I saw you.”

“Wally was, but I wasn’t.”

Wally punched Adam on the shoulder. “No way.”

“Come on, guys,” Hope complained as the two started punching each other in the arms. “You’ll knock down the tent again, and next time I won’t put it back up.” The two had spent most of the evening in a wrestling tangle, and while they seemed to really enjoy slamming and pounding on each other, it drove Hope crazy. Made her contemplate that bottle of zinfandel she had in her refrigerator. One glass probably wouldn’t hurt, but Adam’s daddy already thought she couldn’t handle two little boys. Probably wouldn’t look good if he came to pick up his son and Hope was knocking back vino.

“You two tell each other stories while I clean up,” she said as she crawled out of the tent. She stood and stretched her arms over her head. Growing up, she and her brother had wrestled, and he’d tickled her until she’d wet her pants, but geez, never like Adam and Wally. Those two were in constant motion.

She picked up the half-empty cans of Pepsi from the coffee table, a bowl of popcorn kernels, and walked into the kitchen.

She’d heard from Dylan about forty-five minutes ago, calling to tell her that they’d transferred Shelly to the hospital in Sun Valley. The wound in her hand had been severe enough to require surgery to repair some of the damage. He’d also said that the twins were on their way to the hospital, and that as soon as they arrived, he would leave to pick up the two boys.

Hope set the bowl on the counter, then dumped out the cans of Pepsi and tossed them in the recycling bin. The drive from Sun Valley would take Dylan at least an hour, so she figured he’d arrive at her door anywhere from fifteen minutes to an hour and a half, depending on the Aberdeen twins.

“Hey,” came a muffled cry from the other room, “get off my head, butt-munch.”

“You’re the butt-muncher.”

She closed her eyes and lifted her hands to the sides of her face. She was going to ignore them for a few minutes; maybe they’d work out all their energy and just pass out. Instead, they giggled, which she’d learned was not a good sign.

She walked into the living room and stood quietly outside the tent made of blankets.

“That was bad, Wally,” Adam said.

“I’ve got another one. Quick, pull my finger.”

She thought for sure no one would be so stupid as to follow that command. She was wrong, and the room was filled with rude noises and more giggles. Hope made a vow to herself right then and there: If she ever decided to adopt a child, she would adopt a girl. No boys. No way.

She turned on the television and watched the ten o’clock news out of Boise. To her vast relief and utter surprise, the commotion within the tent quieted, and halfway through the weather report, Adam crawled out and informed her that Wally had fallen asleep.

“Do you want to sit with me or color something?” she asked him.

“Color, I guess.”

Hope gave him a box of colored pencils she used to correct her articles after she printed them out to proofread. She placed pieces of copy paper on the coffee table and he got busy.

“What are you going to draw?”

“My dog.”

Hope sat next to him on the hard floor. The antler legs of the table provided very little room beneath, and she was forced to sit Indian-style.

“What are you going to draw?” he asked.

“You.” She reached for the green pencil and drew a boy with big green eyes and brown hair sticking up on his head. She wasn’t much of an artist, and when she was through, the drawing looked nothing like Adam.

He looked at it and laughed. “That’s not me.”

“Sure it is.” She added a few freckles and pointed to the missing front tooth in her picture. “See?”

“Okay, I’ll draw you.” He grabbed a clean sheet of paper and a yellow pencil.

“Get my good side.” She presented him her profile.

“My mom’s got yellow hair, too. But it used to be brown.”

Her interest thoroughly piqued, Hope carefully asked, “Where does your mom live?”

He glanced up at her, then back down at his drawing. “Most of the time in California, but when I see her, we go to my grandpa’s house.”

“Where’s that?”

He shrugged. “Montana.”

Hope felt a little bad pumping the kid for information, but not bad enough to stop. “Do you get to see her very often?”

“Yep. She’s on the TV.”

On the TV? “You mean her picture is on your TV?”

“Yep.”

One more question and then she promised to stop. “Where does your mom work?”

“I’m not supposed to talk about that.”

Really? Hope immediately wondered what Dylan’s ex-wife did that was so bad Adam couldn’t talk about it. Hooker or stripper came to mind. “Hey,” she said and pointed to the drawing of her. “My nose isn’t that big!”

Adam nodded and laughed. “It is now.”

“Fine.” She grabbed another piece of paper and drew Adam with big ears and crossed eyes. “Look at you,” she said, and the race was on to draw the goofiest face. When they finished, Adam won with his picture of Hope picking her nose with “wolverine claws.”

“What do I get?” he asked.

“What do you mean, ‘What do I get’?”

“I won. I get something.”

“Hmm… I have some microwave popcorn.”

“No way.” He looked around and pointed at the stuffed bobcat on the hearth. “What about that?”

“I can’t let you have that. It’s not mine.”

He pointed to the bearskin rug. “That?”

“Nope.” Hope rose to her feet and walked into the dining room. The only thing she could think to give him was a small crystal hummingbird she’d bought to hang in the window by her computer. “How about this?”

“What’s it do?”

“When you hold it up to the light,” she explained as she handed it to him, “it shoots really cool prisms around the room. It works best in sunlight.” His hair was a little too long and fell in his eyes as he studied the bird. She wondered what it would feel like beneath her fingers, or what he’d do if she pushed it from his eyes.

“It’s pretty, huh?”

“I thought so,” she said and gave in to her curiosity. She raised her hand and combed his hair off his forehead. Warmed by his scalp, the baby-fine strands slid through her fingers.

Maybe one little boy wouldn’t be so bad to have around the house, she thought as she dropped her hand to her side. “What do you think?”

Adam’s shoulder itched and he scratched it. The bird was kinda girly, but okay, he guessed. “It’s all right.” He shrugged and walked back into the living room, watching his bare toes as he moved to the tent. He looked over at Hope. “Tell me when my dad gets here,” he said and crawled inside next to Wally. He lay down on a sleeping bag they’d found in a closet upstairs and stared up at the blankets arching over his head. He wished he were at home. He wished his dad would hurry.

He held up the bird Hope had given him, then lowered it real close to his eyes. Light from the living room filtered in through the blankets and if he squinted really hard, he could see it through the hummingbird. He thought about Hope, and about her drawing pictures with him even when his dad wasn’t around. She’d given him a present, too. And she hadn’t brought it to his house just so she could see his dad. Not like those other girls.

Maybe Hope was like Shelly. Shelly wasn’t like the others. She didn’t come over and pretend she liked Adam so she could talk to his dad.

He rolled onto his side and shoved the little bird into his shorts pocket. Maybe he’d find Hope a cool rock. He liked it when she took pictures of him and Wally, and he liked those blue boots she wore sometimes. She’d built the tent out of blankets, and she was funny when she ran from bats. He liked the way her hair shone.

Like an angel. Like his mom. Adam knew his mother wasn’t a real angel. He knew she lived in California and sometimes in Montana with his grandfather, but never in heaven. He knew she didn’t sit around on clouds and pray a lot, because she didn’t even pray at dinnertime. He knew his mom couldn’t live with them ‘cause she had to be on television. He knew he couldn’t tell all his friends about his mother because then people would come and bug her during their special time in Montana. The only friend who knew about his mom was Wally, and he couldn’t tell anyone, either.

Adam tried to keep his eyes open, but the left one kept shutting. He thought maybe he’d close them both for just a few minutes, give them a rest before his dad came.

He knew his mom was an actress and that was her job. He knew some of the stuff she did wasn’t for real, like she couldn’t fly and she couldn’t come into the room and be invisible if she wanted. But he figured some of the stuff she did on her show had to be real, and he wished he could meet those kids she’d saved when their house caught fire last week. She’d saved their cat, too. And his mom knew Santa Claus. She’d saved Santa when he’d drunk too much and got hit by a bus. She’d told him that he had to live for all the kids in the world who loved him, and Adam wished he could go to the North Pole and meet Santa. He and Wally had talked about that. Since his mom had saved Santa, for Christmas Adam would ask for something big, like the go-cart his dad said he couldn’t have until he turned ten.