I pull out my own phone in the hallway and dial Sam’s number. He doesn’t answer, so I leave a voicemail. “Sam, I think there was a misunderstanding. Please come back.”
I text him.
Please call me. I didn’t understand what you were talking about.
Nothing in response.
Please come back so we can talk about this.
I text him over and over.
I get nada.
Zip.
Zero.
Zilch.
Finally, it’s time to get on the bus. Logan and Emily get on before me and set up their playpen and unload Kit’s toys.
“Have you talked to him?” I ask Emily.
“No. He’s not answering.”
Logan is throwing luggage into the overhead bins a little too forcefully.
“What do I do?” I ask her.
“If he won’t answer his phone, there’s not much any of us can do.” She glares at me. “You should have talked to him about it before he stormed out.”
“I did!”
Emily doesn’t even look at me, but Logan does.
“What do I do?” I ask him.
“Nothing. If he wanted to talk, he’d be talking.” He goes into their little suite and closes the door.
A sob wells up in my throat. I climb into my bunk, which is about the size of a postage stamp, and pull the curtain shut. I sob into my pillow, hoping that none of them hear me. The curtain shuffles, and someone climbs in with me. There’s barely enough space for one, much less two.
But Star has always climbed into bed with me. She has done it ever since we first became Zeroes, when she kept the monsters away. I’m afraid this is one monster she can’t slay, though. She takes my hand in hers and doesn’t say a word. She just lies there holding my hand.
***
A week later, Logan finally tells me where Sam is.
“He went back with the team. The doctor released him and he got his boot off, so he’s training hard and traveling with the team.”
“Oh.”
“Are you okay?” Logan asks.
I shake my head. “Not really. Did you talk to him?”
“No, he’s avoiding everyone. And since he’s traveling, no one can go and kick him in the ass, although Paul is ready to burst into the stadium and drag him off the field just so he can do it.”
“Will you tell me if you talk to him?”
He nods. “I will.” He squeezes my shoulder.
I guess I just need to give him some time. I’ll wait.
***
One week after that, Emilio and Marta show up at one of our tour stops. The door to the bus opens right before we’re about to pull out, and Fin sees them first. She squeals and jumps up, wrapping her arms around Emilio. They all take turns getting hugs, and I’ve honestly never been so glad to see anyone in my life.
The minute Marta puts her arms around me, I burst into tears. “Let’s talk,” she says, rubbing my back.
We walk to the back of the bus, where there’s a bench on one side. We sit down and she says, “Tell me what happened.”
I explain it all, from top to bottom, from Logan’s ears to the douchebag who kissed me, and she listens intently. “And now he’s gone back to traveling with the team, so I couldn’t find him to talk to him even if I tried.” And I did try. I left message after message and sent numerous texts. I got nothing in response.
“Do you want to go to him?” she asks.
I nod. “I want to explain. I didn’t cheat. I’m not that kind of person.”
“I saw him.”
“What?”
“Emilio was being a dad, and he tracked Sam to the stadium. Don’t worry. He came out of it with nothing more than a black eye.” She looks chagrined.
“Melio has a black eye?”
She shakes her head. “No, Sam does.”
“Melio hit him?” I jump up and run to the front of the bus. “You hit him?”
Emilio gathers his hair in his hands and puts it in a ponytail. “Yep.”
My sisters are all biting their lips to keep from smiling, I can tell. “Why would you do that?”
He shrugs. “Because I’m your father, and it’s what fathers do. We protect our daughters.”
I throw my hands up. “I can’t believe you did that.”
He gets up and points a finger in my face. “I did. And I’d do it again. Any man who makes one of my girls cry over something so fucking stupid deserves to get punched in the face. Hell, I should have punched him in the nuts. And I will if I ever get an opportunity.” He sits back down, huffing.
I look up and see Logan leaning against the kitchenette counter. “He deserved it,” he says. He holds out his phone. “He just texted me, by the way.”
I follow Logan to the back of the bus. “What did he say?” I feel like a dog begging for a treat.
“Said he was sorry he misunderstood and he should have known better.”
“Did he say anything about me?”
He shakes his head. “But he sent some tickets over. We’re going to be in the same city as the team tomorrow. He wants us to come to the game.” He shrugs. “It’s our night off.”
“Is there a ticket for me?” I ask.
Logan holds one up and it has my name written on it. My heart leaps.
But I shake my head anyway. “I’m not going. If he wanted to talk to me, he would have called or responded to one of my million texts.”
Logan tucks the tickets in his pocket. “Whatever you want.”
I go back to the bench and sit back down beside Marta. “I want to talk to you about your mother,” she says.
“What about her?” I nibble on a fingernail. My mother is nowhere near the top of my thoughts.
“Honey, she overdosed again,” she says quietly.
My heart aches for what could have been. “When is the funeral?”
She smiles. “Oh, she’s not dead. Emilio checked her into rehab. Don’t worry, he’s paying for it.”
“Oh.”
“I went to talk to her.”
“Why?” Why would she willingly do that? Why?
“Because I love you. That’s why.” I expect her to thump the back of my head any second, but she doesn’t.
“What did she say?” My curiosity is growing.
“She’s not remorseful. Not yet. Right now she’s angry.”
“Yeah, so am I.”
“When you get home, I hope she’s at a better place in her life and you can talk to her.”
I shake my head.
“I want you to talk to her.” She squeezes my hand.
“Okay.”
I always do what Marta tells me to do. Because I know she loves me. I have never, ever doubted it. Not once.
“I had another visitor this week,” she says. She stares hard at me.
I snort. “Who else is left?”
“Mrs. Derricks had a son. He came to see us.” She makes a noise with her teeth. “He wanted to bring something for you.” She reaches into her purse and pulls out a leather-clad book. “Apparently, Mrs. Derricks kept a journal about each of the kids she helped.”
“Must have been a lot of books,” I mumble.
Marta laughs. “This one is for you. He thought you might want it one day.” She holds it out to me. I take it. Mrs. Derricks saved my life and I almost feel like reading her journal would be prying into her secrets. I’ll save it.
“Read it,” Marta says.
“I will.”
“Read it now,” she says. She motions toward my bunk. “Don’t come out until you’re done. Off with you, now.”
Emilio bellows from the front of the bus. “Marta, come and play blackjack with us. And bring some cash! The girls won’t let me play unless I have money!”
Marta rolls her eyes. She brushes her hand down the length of my hair.
“What about your car?” I ask.
She waves a breezy hand through the air. “Emilio paid some roadie to drive and follow the
bus in it.”
I laugh. Leave it to Melio to find a way around anything.
She points to my bunk again. “Go.” She takes me by the shoulders and turns me around. Then she slaps my bottom. I climb into my bunk and roll onto my back. I flip the light on and open the journal. Then I start to read.
August 9
I met a young girl today. She’s in second grade, and one of the teachers came to me with concerns. The girl barely speaks and the teacher was troubled about it. I met with Renee at lunchtime and asked her to come and see me in my office. She sat down in the chair across from my desk and swung her feet forward and back, but she didn’t say a word. I wanted to engage her, but I didn’t want to force her to talk, so I pretended to get a handful of change out of my purse and I dropped it all on the floor.
She immediately scurried onto all fours to help me pick it up. It broke the ice as we crawled around on our hands and knees. I asked her if she had any brothers or sisters, and she shook her head no. With more innocent questions, I finally managed to get her to say a few words.
The teacher was concerned not only about her lack of speech, but also about her home life. Just after talking with Renee for a moment, I realized that she had a debilitating stammer. She is troubled even by simple words, and works to get them out. More often than not, she gives up and just sits quietly.
But what bugs me most is that the teacher says she often comes to school with no lunch money. She rarely has breakfast and the teacher can hear her stomach growling. When she offers her food in secret, Renee gobbles it down like she’s starving.
I keep boxes of crackers in my cabinet, so I took them out and Renee eyed them like she might a Thanksgiving dinner. I let her eat until she was full, and finally she started to talk. Her stammer is bad, but it’s not so bad that I couldn’t understand her. She is exceptionally bright, and she has a wonderful spirit. Her teachers say she is quiet in class, but helpful and polite. But I know that she is hurting. Don’t ask me how I know, but I do. I can see it in her eyes. In her soul. And I am going to help her if it’s the last thing I ever do.
I wipe a tear from my lashes.
September 7 (one year later)
I worried about Renee all summer. Did she have enough to eat? Did she have someone to read books to her? Did she have clean clothes? Was she alone?
When I saw her today, I was relieved. She came into my office, went to the cabinet, and sat down across from me with a box of crackers. She ate while we talked. She assured me that things are fine at home, but I know she’s lying. I know something is wrong.
October 10
I made a home visit to Renee’s house today. I know I’m not supposed to unless I’m on official school business, but I couldn’t help it. I wanted to see where she lives. I knocked on the door and waited, and Renee herself came and let me in. She smiled and looked relieved when she saw me, so I held up the fast food bag of hamburgers I’d brought with me. She took it and went to the table, where she set two places—one for me and one for her.
“That’s all for you,” I told her.
“But I w-want to share. You’ll stay l-longer if you have a full t-tummy.”
She was worried that I would leave.
“Where’s your mom?” I asked.
“She’s at w-work. She’ll be home l-later.”
“Are you alone?”
She smiled. “Not right n-now. You’re here.”
I left soon after that, but I sat outside until I saw her mother come home around midnight. She stumbled to the door, let herself in, and then I could see Renee put her to bed a few minutes later. Finally, Renee pulled the curtains, and I couldn’t see anything else.
I went home with a heavy heart.
December 12
I feel really bad about doing it, but I reported Renee’s living situation to Social Services today. She’s alone almost all of the time. She doesn’t have a babysitter, and she has to come to my office every day just so she can have lunch. I have started bringing twice the food for lunch just so I can feed her.
I never knew she did that. She always told me she just wasn’t hungry.
December 23
Renee came to my office today. She was carrying a tiny package wrapped in tissue paper. “M-m-merry C-c-christmas,” she finally got out. I took it and exclaimed over the beautiful wrapping, and she blushed, but she was pleased too, I could tell.
I opened it up to find a small clay dish. I know all the kids made them in art class as presents for their parents, but this one was special. I flipped it over and saw her name etched in pencil on the bottom.
“I can’t take this,” I told her. “You should give it to someone you love.” I tried to hand it back to her, although I wanted to keep it more than anything.
“I d-did,” she said quietly. Then she left my office. I probably won’t see her again until the new year.
I read and read and read, wiping tears from my eyes as I turn the pages. I stop when I get to four years later.
March 4
Social Services had to take action today. They have done numerous home visits over the past four years, but Renee keeps falling through the cracks. Her mother refuses to put her in speech therapy, and I am still feeding her every day (although, truly, I don’t want to stop that, ever). That little girl has more compassion in her little finger than most people have in their whole body. I envy her. I envy the fact that she can take so little and turn it into so much.
But Social Services couldn’t ignore it four days ago when Renee had an attack of appendicitis. I had to take her to the hospital myself and no one could find her mother. For four days, they searched. Renee didn’t seem to mind. She is apparently used to it.
She’s currently in a group home. It hurts my heart to know that she’s there, but she needs to be somewhere that someone can care for her. I stop by every few days just to be sure she’s okay, and she’s still smiling.
The girls who share her room are some characters. The five of them have formed a bond. I’m glad she has them in her life. And I hope a family comes forward for her soon, because if anyone deserves a happy life, it’s this little girl.
(four months later)
I went to the courthouse today to watch the Vasquez family finalize the proceedings for adoption. They didn’t adopt just Renee. They adopted all five of the girls. They asked her if she wanted to take their last name, and she said she wanted a new first and last name, not just a last name. So they talked it out, and all five girls get brand new starts. I know with all my heart that Renee—no, she’s not Renee anymore—I know that Peck will be loved beyond boundaries. She will be cherished. She will be fed. She will be protected.
She’s learning to play the drums, and I’m so proud of her. She goes after what she wants. I wish everyone had her strength and the ability to persevere.
My only wish for her is that she holds on to that fighting spirit, for it will take her far.
There are a few more entries, like the one about our first concert. She was on the front row at that one, screaming louder than anyone in the auditorium.
(the last entry)
Peck is all grown up. She’s strong, faithful, and most of all, she is loved. My job is done. I will go home tonight and hug my own son a little harder. And I will pray that if he ever finds himself alone, that someone will step up to help him.
Peck, when she finally settles down and marries, will need someone as strong-willed as she is, but someone who has a gentle side. She needs someone who will cherish the words that still stick on her tongue, and someone who will be okay with it if she just sits quietly. He will have to be a special man, but I doubt any of it will come easily. She will have to fight for the right one. I just hope she’s capable. I hope she doesn’t let fear or doubt overwhelm her. I hope she goes for it. Because I know she can.
I crawl out of my cubby and wipe my face. Everyone is at the table playing poker. Marta looks at me with her eyes shining. “All done?” she asks.
I n
od and sniff back a tear. I look at Logan. “Can I have that ticket?”
He pulls it out of his back pocket and grins at me. “I’ll see you there?” he asks.
Oh, yes, he will most definitely see me there. The whole world is going to see me.
Sam
It feels funny playing again. I stretch my leg and try not to hop on it. It’s not even tender, but my trainer says I have a tendency to lay off it, and I’m sure he’s right.
We run onto the field and I can’t keep from looking into the stands. I sent her a ticket via Logan, but I really don’t expect her to use it. Hell, I wouldn’t use it if I was her. I would tell me to go fuck myself after the way I acted. I deserve it. But my heart stalls a little when I see her empty seat. Logan and Emily are here, and all of her sisters used their tickets. I wave at them from the sidelines and point to her empty seat. Star shrugs her shoulders and grimaces. Emilio holds up his fist like he wants to hit me again. I still have a black eye from the last time.
I head to gather with my team on the sidelines.
It’s cold and my breath comes out in tiny little puffs of steam. Wherever Peck is, I hope she has a coat. The whistle blows and the clock starts, and I no longer have time to think about her. I think about football. I get to hit people. And knock people down. I get to run and play this sport I love, professionally. I am lucky and I know it.
But I still wish she was here.
Peck
The guy looks like I’m inconveniencing him, but I don’t care. I had to grease some serious palms to get this to work.
“There’s a two-minute warning time out right before the end of the half. The cameras will go to a commercial, but I can get you on the Jumbotron. You’ll have about forty-five seconds. That’s all. Nothing more. After that, the play will resume. So he won’t see anything you have to say after that.”
“I got it.”
My palms are sweaty, and even though it’s really cold out tonight, I’m hot all over. I’m nervous. So nervous. What if he doesn’t care? What if he doesn’t want me to make a grand gesture? What if…
I shake my head. Mrs. Derricks believed I could do this. She believed I could be fearless, and she was never wrong. She was the first person who ever believed in me, and I’m not about to let her down. And I’m not going to let Sam go without a fight.