“No. You know how Larry is about cell phones.”
I do. My stepfather believes cell phones are a government scam so they can eavesdrop on us all. I don’t agree with him, but I am convinced Berg has ways to tap into my calls, given half a chance. It’s happened too many times before. I have a few recyclable phones that I consider safe, but I know the best way not to be traced is to never call anybody. I turn on the hot water to rinse a cup and set it on the rack.
“Speaking of phones, I had a call for you yesterday,” Peggy says. “A young man named Linus Pitts left a message in case you contacted me.”
Hearing his name aloud gives me a start. I turn from the sink. “What did he say?”
She reaches toward a yellow sticky note. “He was quite insistent that you call him. Fancy that. Handsome young man, if you ask me. I like his accent.”
Peggy passes over the sticky note, and I take it with wet fingers. A small flutter attacks my lungs and won’t stop. I told him I’d call him when I could, but what is there to say? It’s painful to speculate that he has a camera in his eye, and that Berg has always been a silent spectator in our relationship. Berg may have even seen yesterday’s kiss.
“I do believe that is a blush I see at last,” Peggy says, her voice amused. “What did I tell you before? Smart boys like smart girls. It was only a matter of time.”
“It’s not that simple,” I say. “I just realized yesterday that he must have a camera in his eye. He said he didn’t know about it, and I want to believe him, but it freaks me out.” I stare at the note, and now the blue ink is bleeding where it’s wet. “We’ve always, always had someone else with us, spying along with everything we’ve done.” I can’t explain how this makes me feel, like our relationship has been defiled.
“So talk to him about it,” Peggy says.
I shake my head. Linus is inextricably linked to Berg. Too many feelings to face. “I tried,” I say. “It’s no use. I just can’t right now.” I shove the sticky note in my back pocket.
“That’s too bad,” Peggy says. She folds her napkin. “Your sister Dubbs likes him.”
“What?”
“She near idolizes him, from what I can tell,” Peggy says. “She watches that show of yours more than what’s healthy. There’s some fan site that has all your old footage on it, and she watches your episodes with Linus over and over. Gorge on Forge. That’s what it is. A born romantic, that kid.”
“I guess,” I say. I let out the drain so the dishwater can gurgle down. “How am I supposed to find her and my parents?”
“Larry said they’d call me from a phone booth when they could to check in, in case I heard anything about you.” Peggy taps absently at her collarbone. “You could stay here with me. That’s probably the smartest move, at this point. When I tell them you’re here, they’ll come home and you’ll be reunited.”
“Ian’s in the closet,” I say, pointing out the obvious and all it implies. A tick of fear reminds me I shouldn’t linger. “He must have told Berg when I showed up. It isn’t safe for me here.”
“Your parents were working with a lawyer to try to stop Berg’s guardianship of you,” she says. “We could contact him.”
It’s all I can do not to roll my eyes. “You don’t get it. A lawyer can’t keep me safe,” I say. “This isn’t a fight that will wait for the courts. Berg is utterly ruthless. He wants to mine my dreams, and nothing’s going to stop him until he’s dead or I’m dead. Even then, I wouldn’t put it past him to keep mining me somehow. He’s just like that.”
“I see,” she says slowly.
Her gaze shifts toward the afghan on the couch, so she’s not looking at me directly anymore, and I’m instantly uneasy.
I’ve known Peggy McLellen for as long as I can remember, and I can read when she’s figuring out how to say something I won’t like. She’s probably the closest thing I have to a second mother. Ma taught me my letters and how to read, but it’s Peggy who took me to the library and braced her dark fingers on the paper form while I signed up for my first library card. More than once growing up, I wished Peggy and Rusty would adopt me, and not just because Peggy made better grilled cheese sandwiches. Effortlessly, casually, they made me feel safe and welcome, and I never want to lose that.
“There is one other possibility here,” Peggy says. “Now don’t get mad at me. We could try calling a doctor.”
“For what?”
“You might need a little help,” Peggy says. “There’s no shame in it.”
I look at her in disbelief. Even with Ian in the closet, she thinks I’m making up my problems. “You think I’m crazy.”
Peggy opens both her hands like stranger things have happened. “I’m just saying. Your ma and I talked this over. A lot. She has a mess of regrets about how she handled you when your dad left.”
I stare at her. “What’s Dad have to do with anything?”
“You don’t remember,” Peggy says in a tone somewhere between sorrow and resignation. Her eyes go serious. “You and your dad had a special connection. He was a dreamer, just like you. Big imagination. No goal was too far-fetched. And he loved this country. He believed in it. When he went MIA, you got real quiet. You barely talked. Your ma didn’t know what to do.”
“She never told me this,” I say.
“Why would she?” Peggy says. “She tried everything with you back then, but you were a mouse. You had this dreamy, faraway look. Rusty said you were downright spooky. When we asked you where you were, you said, ‘Talking to Dad.’”
A tingle lifts along my skin. “I don’t remember any of this,” I say.
“I don’t blame you,” she says. “Memory’s a strange thing. When we heard the news that your dad was presumed dead, your ma was afraid to tell you, but you heard about it somehow. You stopped eating for three days. You wouldn’t talk at all. Not for weeks.”
I keep waiting for a resonating prickle of recognition. I was four when my dad went missing and eight by the time he was presumed dead. That’s old enough for memories, but I don’t recall going silent or talking to him in my head. I just remember missing him.
“And you think that old stuff is connected to now?” I ask. “You think that excuses why she signed me over to Berg?”
“I’m just saying, she was afraid you’d need some help once you came home,” Peggy says. “It can’t hurt to talk to a doctor. She wishes she’d brought you to see somebody when you were little.”
Her wishes come too late.
“We can’t blame everything on the past. My mother is weak,” I say, coldly. I brace my hands on the edge of the metal sink and think of what she’s let Larry do to me over the years. “You know her. She’s always been weak.”
“Don’t you think you’re being a bit uncharitable?”
Stung, I frown at her. “Would you ever sign a contract to give up control of one of your kids?” I ask.
She bites her lip, and then shakes her head slightly. “No.”
“Because you’re a normal, decent mother,” I say. “Ma wanted to give me up. It wasn’t the money. It was easier for her that way.”