“We’re celebrating someone else tonight,” one mother said to a crying five-or six-year-old.
“What about cake?” the kid screamed. “I want my cake!”
There was, indeed, a cake set out on a table—white with pink roses. Summer was allowed to cut the first slice like it was her birthday. She cut a giant square where all the frosted roses were clustered and was told that that was her slice. The kid from earlier screamed again and his mom carried him out by the armpits as he kicked and wailed. Little brat! Summer thought. The adults were all drinking beer—the one her dad called “bitch beer.” Even her mama had one in her hand. She wasn’t smiling like Summer thought she’d be, but at least she was talking to people. The mother came back in with the bratty kid. She was holding his hand and his face was red.
“Come here,” Taured said. The little boy went to him. Summer stopped chewing as she waited to see what would happen. The kid didn’t seem afraid of Taured. In fact, he hugged his leg and stared up into his face.
“Enoch Aaron, let’s welcome our guest and not be selfish.”
“Yes, Papa.” The boy seemed chastised, dipping his head.
Summer’s eyes shot back to Taured’s face. He was a dad? Her mom hadn’t mentioned that part. She looked around for the boy’s mother, wanting to remember which of the women it was, but everyone looked the same: smiling, smiling, smiling.
At some point, an older woman with bushy gray hair wandered over to where Summer was finishing her cake and handed her a card. The woman was moon-faced and rosy, like a storybook character.
“I’m Appy,” she said, folding her hands at her waist. “That’s ‘Appy’ with an A—not ‘Happy’—a common mistake. Though I am very happy.” She grinned. “Everyone signed it—even the babies,” she said, pointing to the card. “We are all so happy you’ve come to live with us. You can’t even imagine how excited we’ve been to meet you.”
It all felt so overwhelming and good, like syrup on pancakes. And then there was a feast, the food unusually colorful compared to what she was used to: pistachio salad, gelatin molds with the fruit floating inside like bugs in amber and a popcorn machine they said they only used on special occasions. They grilled hamburgers and hot dogs and chicken legs outside by the playground, and a tall girl with blond pigtails came to take her hand and offered to show her the animals.
That night, Summer sat in a bath with a blue bath bomb—her favorite color—and watched in fascination as the foam built and then fizzled away to nothing. The bath was in the guesthouse, where they were staying until the paint fumes left their smaller room. Taured had told them that the guesthouse had been used for visitors to the prison, and occasionally the warden when he spent the night, so it was special. Despite her comments in the car, Summer didn’t think it was creepy at all to be in a prison; it was an adventure. Her dad always talked about taking her to Alcatraz, but then he’d died. To her, it was the perfect setting: corridors and secret rooms, an animal farm with tiny piglets and chicks, and, very best of all, a large family. For the first months at the compound, Summer was radiant.
“Look at her, Lorraine!” Taured would point to her on the playground, smiling at her in pure delight. “She’s so happy.” Summer shone brighter and brighter to meet their comments, while her mother watched her, guarded. She smiled less and less, Summer noticed, and she wasn’t very friendly to the other women when they tried to include her in things.
They had moved into their new space exactly four days later.
Two twin beds sat on either side of the small room, with a wardrobe between them. Up near the ceiling were two shoebox-size windows; Summer would have to stand on her tiptoes on the bed to see out of them. It was kind of dark, even with the lights on. The room had a metal sink for water, but Taured explained that refrigerators weren’t allowed in the rooms. “We want everyone to eat together and not have an excuse to hide away,” he said, winking at Summer.
“Who wants to eat alone?” She spun around the room, arms stretched wide. There wasn’t really space, and her mama told her to stop.
“Exactly,” Taured said. “But adults get weird sometimes and want to hide instead of fixing the problem.” He looked at her mother then. It was a strange look that she didn’t understand. Her mother had loosened her braid and was shaking out her hair, something she only did when she wanted to hide her face.