"Same thing. I get the messages. Ronnie, he had to go someplace." He squeezed her chin in the cup of his warm, puffy hand.

"So when's he coming back?" She pushed his hand away.

He smiled. "Too late for Marvella. By then she'll be long gone. But here, feel." He guided her hand down his leg. "Right here in my pocket."

"How much? I only got a few bucks."

"One nice kiss and it's free, that's all."

"I got ten bucks." The other eight she needed for food.

"That ain't enough."

"Yes, it is! Ten-I got enough for a rock."

"Not anymore. Price's gone up, but not much. Just a kiss, that's all. Wait much longer, and you know where she'll be."

Toilet plunger, she thought, shuddering as his full wet lips clamped over hers. His fat tongue swelled inside her mouth, and now he was sliding both hands inside her pants. She couldn't talk or push him away. she thought, shuddering as his full wet lips clamped over hers. His fat tongue swelled inside her mouth, and now he was sliding both hands inside her pants. She couldn't talk or push him away. Please, Please, her eyes implored the dull, low clouds, the wet, empty street. her eyes implored the dull, low clouds, the wet, empty street. Please make him stop. Somebody please stop this pig, Please make him stop. Somebody please stop this pig, this disgusting, sweating pig that was grunting in her mouth. She choked and began to gag. He drew back quickly. A car slowed close to the curb, then cruised by, a customer in orbit. this disgusting, sweating pig that was grunting in her mouth. She choked and began to gag. He drew back quickly. A car slowed close to the curb, then cruised by, a customer in orbit.

"Here." He pressed the crack into her hand, then hurried into the pool hall. She looked down at the tiny white rock wrapped in clear plastic. It was too small to be a ten-dollar. He'd ripped her off, but she wasn't about to chase him into the pool hall. Besides, her mother would be too strung out to care as long as she got something.

All the way down Nash Street, she kept spitting onto the sidewalk, trying to get rid of the pig taste. Her whole mouth was sore. It tasted the way Uncle Bob's truck smelled after a pump-out. She stopped in front of the Nash Street Market and spat again. Gum would take it away. Her stomach rumbled with hunger. She couldn't see Thurman. The only cashier was some lady, not that b.i.t.c.h with the tubes. She moved closer to the window. That guy Gordon was at the end of the aisle. If she got food here, she wouldn't have to go all the way downtown to the Shop and Save. She went inside and grabbed a quart of milk, a box of Cap'n Crunch, c.o.ke, Mountain Dew for her mother (the bottle, so when it was empty she could use it to smoke), two Hostess cupcakes, Reese's peanut b.u.t.ter cups, Tost.i.tos chips, hot salsa, and two frozen pizzas for supper. She was starving. "Hey!" she called.

Gordon turned from the meat case he'd been scrubbing and said h.e.l.lo. Water dripped from his rag.

"You got any of them green apples? I can't think what they're called." She didn't even like apples, but every now and again she'd make herself eat one for the vitamins. Her gums were always bleeding, and her two back teeth were so sore and rotted that in her dreams every time she opened her mouth teeth drifted out. She didn't want to end up looking like the loser Burdle sisters down the street, not even twenty yet and no front teeth. Drugs instead of food, that's what happens, she'd warned her mother. She should have been the mother and Marvella the daughter. There was so much stuff her mother didn't know.

"Granny apples." Gordon pointed, but she couldn't see where. "Over there, next to the oranges."

She shifted her armload of groceries and hurried off. Her mother was probably climbing the walls by now. Ninety-nine cents a pound. How the h.e.l.l much did an apple weigh? She tried to find the smallest two without dislodging the display. An apple avalanche, that's all she needed.

"What're you doing in here?" a shrill voice demanded.

"Shopping." Jada clutched an apple as the b.i.t.c.h bore down, dragging her wheeled tank.

"You get out. You get outta here right now!" June grabbed the apple and now was trying to get the milk.

"No! I got money! This is mine! I'm buying it!" Jada yelled, pulling back.

"Then I'm calling the cops, is that what you want? Cuz if you don't, you better put that stuff down and get the h.e.l.l outta here."

"What's wrong?" Gordon asked, wiping his hands on his ap.r.o.n. Both spoke at once, June saying the girl was a thief while Jada insisted she had money. "So you're paying for that stuff?" he asked uneasily.

"Well, yeah!" Jada said, rolling her eyes. "I got the money right here in my pocket."

"And what else've you got in there, you little thief?" June reached toward Jada's pocket.

"Don't you touch me, b.i.t.c.h!" she warned. The crack was in the same pocket as the money. She'd forgotten to put it down the front of her pants.

"See!" June crowed to Gordon. "What'd I tell you?"

Leaning, Jada released her armload of groceries onto the lemons. "Here!" She took out the bills and waved them in the b.i.t.c.h's pinched gray face. "Eighteen bucks!"

Gordon a.s.sured June he'd bring Jada through the checkout himself. He carried the groceries up front, then bagged everything as Serena rang it through. Jada tossed a pack of bubble gum onto the mat.

"Twenty forty-nine," Serena said.

"Oh." Stunned, Jada checked one of the pizza boxes. Two forty-nine. "Take this off, then. I only got eighteen." She'd have cereal, and her mother could have the other pizza.

"Oh yeah, like she wasn't going to steal anything," June crowed from the next register.

"b.i.t.c.h!" Jada shot back.

"Here. Here, it's okay. Take this." Gordon was trying to put money into Jada's hand.

"Count your fingers, make sure they're all there now," June cackled. "Fossums'll steal anything."

"Go f.u.c.k yourself!" Jada cried, shoving past his outstretched arm. Coins fell and rolled across the floor.

"I don't need s.h.i.t. I don't need anybody's s.h.i.t," she panted as she ran home through pelting rain. The front door was wide open. The television was on and all the lights, dresser drawers dumped out onto the bed, the corners of the kitchen linoleum torn back, the dented trash can tipped, its stinking contents spilling onto the floor, while from behind the couch a voice in perfect diction repeated, "Please hang up and try your call again. If you need a.s.sistance, dial your operator. Please hang up now. This is a recording." She reached down and fished up the phone. It was cracked. Directly above was a hole in the wall. She threw herself onto the couch. She was eating soggy pretzels and watching cartoons when the doorbell rang.

"Here." The big guy, Gordon, held out two bags of groceries.

"Yeah? What do you want?"

"Well, here. They're yours."

"How much do I owe you? I forget," she said, hoping he'd say it was all right, she didn't have to pay.

"Eighteen's fine."

"Yeah, but now I only got five left." She slipped one bill from the rest. "I had to get some stuff, some medicine for my mother."

"Oh," he said with a look of consternation as he took the five.

"But I'll pay you back."

"Oh. Okay. All right, then." He nodded as if to convince himself.

The minute he left she tried to light the oven. It wouldn't go on. The gas must have been shut off. "G.o.dd.a.m.n her," she muttered, emptying the frozen pizza onto the counter. She'd have to eat it raw. Or maybe that guy Gordon would let her use his stove. She could see him out in the rain, picking dead branches off his bushes. She ran to the front door, then closed it quickly when the Navigator pulled up. Polie was driving. Ronnie Feaster ran up the steps. He rang the bell, then banged on the door.

"Give her this, then," he said when she told him her mother wasn't home. He handed her a piece of folded paper. His new pager number. He was always getting new ones-just to be safe. When she started to close the door, he blocked it with his foot. He needed a favor. Twenty bucks he'd pay her, and all she had to do was wait by the swings on the South Common for a guy and a girl in a black Jeep Wrangler. Same deal as last time: they'd pay and she'd pa.s.s the stuff. She said she couldn't.

"Me and Polie'll be in the bar. It's right across the street. The Tower. We'll be there. We'll be watching."

"Yeah, like a cop's not gonna know, right, me standing out in the rain."

"Say you're waiting for a ride, for your mother to pick you up."

"Yeah, right."

"C'mon. I told you before, you're like my star. The cops, they don't stop girls. They don't want to be checking your underpants and have you start yelling rape or something. C'mon, piece of cake." He held out his hand.

She thought of Polie and shivered. "No, I can't. Plus, I got a ton of homework. I got all these tests tomorrow."

"Tomorrow's Sat.u.r.day." He grinned.

"They're special tests. I been sick."

"Come on! All right, how much you want? Twenty-five?"

"Yeah, like I ever see it."

"That's Marvella's fault. So this time we don't tell her. C'mon!"

"I can't. I'm hungry. I was just gonna eat."

"C'mon. Twenty minutes this'll take, and after, you can have whatever you want to eat. Anything!"

"Burger King?" Without a car, she never got to go there.

"Sure! Whatever!" He mussed her hair, and she grinned.

She sat in the backseat, trying to avoid Polie's eyes in the mirror. Disgusting creep, he wouldn't dare put a move on her now. She studied the shiny black hair curling over Ronnie's collar. She wouldn't mind him being her father. A mean son of a b.i.t.c.h, but at least he cared what happened to her. She hated running drugs, but her mother usually made her go, and besides, she liked being needed, liked being able to help him out in a bind. If she got caught, she wouldn't face nearly the time an adult would, but they'd definitely take her away from her mother, and if they didn't send her to juvie, they'd put her in foster care again. And that scared her more than anything else.

Gordon came outside the minute Jilly Cross pulled up. She had called a while ago to say she'd be right over if he still wanted to see those condos. She looked tired. Her eyes were puffy, and her hair was twisted into a tight bun at the nape of her neck. "I'm sorry about last week," she said as they turned the corner.

"That's okay."

They drove for a while. Finally, he asked where the condo was. Collerton, she said, but so close to the line that part of their service road was in Dearborn. Her voice trailed off. He tried to think of something to say, something to tell her. Anything to get her attention.

"Look! See? See that? That used to be the hot dog plant." He pointed to the dreary clump of cement-block buildings they were pa.s.sing. "Every month we'd go there and buy hot dogs. My dad and me. A five-pound box. Half skinless and half natural casings." He smiled, recalling how his father hated to pay full price for anything. New shoes came from the factory store that sold seconds and over-stocks. "It was great! The whole city was like that, so many interesting places to go and things to do." There had even been an underwear factory in the city then and one that made jackets and coats. For half price they could buy juice by the case from Whipple's, the fruit-juice company. "If you want, I can show you sometime where they all are," he said as she turned down the road to the condo complex. "Where they were, anyway," he added as she parked the car.

"So, what's your sister-in-law like?" she asked, throwing him off base a minute.

"Very nice. She's a very nice person." He looked out at what appeared to be cl.u.s.ters of attached English Tudor cottages. "I don't know, it looks pretty expensive here."

"Kind of, but Dennis said your sister-in-law's getting you a job at Harrington's. You'd make a lot more there."

"Oh, no. No, I'm fine where I am. I like it there. I don't want to work at the brewery."

"That's not what your sister-in-law wants."

"I haven't discussed it with her. Maybe she thinks I do, I don't know."

"What is she, some kind of control freak?"

"Lisa? No, she's wonderful. She's a wonderful woman."

She opened the door and got out. They went quickly through the model condo, then Jilly drove to the next one, which was smaller and cheaper. Except for a few questions about Dennis, she had little to say on the way back. He felt deflated when she turned onto Clover Street.

"The house looks like it's in good condition." She peered over the wheel. "A lot better than any of the others here."

"It is! Dennis took really good care of it." He smiled out at the neat little house. "Even the roses are doing good now. See all the buds?"

"He's a good brother, huh?"

"Yes. Very good." He looked at her. "Would you like to come in?" he asked, then froze.

"I can't," she said too quickly. "But thank you."

"I mean the house, to see what condition it's in."

"Oh, you mean an appraisal."

He nodded. A second chance, that's all he wanted.

"But first, you were telling me about your sister-in-law. What's she like?"

He'd already told her. "She's very kind and patient, and she's got a really good sense of humor. She always made me feel . . . well, comfortable-I guess that's the word."

"She's really religious, huh? Like really into the church."

That was an odd thing to say. He wasn't sure how to respond. But maybe this was how men and women got to know one another, after a certain amount of awkward probing. He'd have to think of a question about her family. "I don't know much about that part of her life, but one thing's always impressed me about Lisa. She's one of those people who know what you're trying to say before you can even get it out." He saw her fidget with the key chain. Afraid she would turn the ignition, he amazed himself and continued talking. He was telling her how of all the women Dennis had brought on visits, Lisa had been the most natural. He said he still didn't know if Dennis wanted his approval of the women or theirs of him.

"Probably both," she said, smiling.

"Yes, but when I heard her last name, Harrington, I was really nervous. I kept thinking, Here's this pretty young woman from one of the richest families around, and to hear her laughing and talking in the visitors' room you'd've thought she was in my living room or something."

"Sounds like someone's got a real thing for their sister-in-law," she said with raised eyebrows. "Well, anyway." She reached into the console for a card. "Here. Hillman Appraisal. That's who I use most of the time. Ask for Randy. He's the owner."

He kept looking at the card.

"Is that okay?" She started the car.

"Yes. Yes, Randy-I'll remember that." So maybe that's all this was, a business relationship. A favor for Dennis, compelling her to go through the motions with his loser brother. But no, there was something more here. Her interest in him went deeper than that. He could feel it. He could see it in her uneasy eyes.

CHAPTER 8.