She hadn’t, however, had the energy to do much more than that. She sat for hours in the rockers out front and slept a lot when Tommie was at school and the house was quiet. Though her exhaustion had remained almost overwhelming since they’d arrived, standing in the orange-walled kitchen reminded her that there was work to do before the house would seem like theirs. After placing the empty glass in the sink, she pulled an old cookie jar from the cupboard. She lifted the lid and found the money roll she’d stashed after moving in. She removed a few bills, knowing she needed to go to the store again, since the groceries were almost gone. After that, she wanted to clean the kitchen from top to bottom, starting with the stove. She also had to empty the refrigerator of all that had been left behind. Getting rid of the god-awful orange walls meant scrubbing them beforehand, as well, to get them ready for painting. She’d always dreamed of a bright-yellow kitchen, something cheerful and welcoming, especially if she added another coat of glossy white paint to the cabinets. After that, she could pick wildflowers, maybe arrange them in one of the jelly jars she’d found in the cupboard. Closing her eyes, she felt a pleasant twinge of anticipation as she imagined how it might look when she was finished.
She counted the remaining money before hiding it again. Though she’d kept a running total in her head, touching and counting the bills made the sum more tangible somehow. It wasn’t enough to live on forever, but as long as she was fine with subsisting on rice and beans and oatmeal, she had time, even if she included the next month’s rent. It was hard, though. On the previous trip to the grocery store, she’d secretly pulled two grapes from a bunch that she couldn’t afford, and the natural, sugary flavor nearly made her moan with pleasure.
Still, the money would run out sooner rather than later, no matter how careful she was or how much she budgeted. She would have to get a job, but that meant paperwork and documents. Social Security number, maybe even a driver’s license. Some employers might require a phone number, as well. She couldn’t possibly use the first two; Gary, no doubt, had already put out an internet alert, which was why she hadn’t bothered to bring her identification with her in the first place. Nor did she have a phone. On her first day, she’d found an abandoned cellphone in the nightstand, but it required a password or fingerprint to access, so it did her no good at all—not to mention the fact that it was someone else’s, even if they’d left it behind. All of which meant she was off the grid: exactly what she needed but a solution that brought with it problems. She supposed that she could lie—simply jot down phony identification numbers on the application—but that also carried risks. Wages were reported to the IRS, and the employer would eventually learn the truth. Which further meant that Gary would learn the truth, too. From his lofty perch at the Department of Homeland Security, Gary had access to virtually any information he wanted.
She knew she needed to find a job that paid cash—babysitting or cleaning houses, or maybe cooking meals or reading books for someone who was elderly. She wondered if there was a bulletin board somewhere in town that would list such opportunities, and she reminded herself to look for one.
Today, she thought, I will find the energy to do all that I need to do.
From upstairs, she heard Tommie’s door squeak open. She watched as he padded down the steps while rubbing the sleep from his eyes, dressed in one of the two shirts she’d thrown into his backpack. She wondered how long it would be before the other kids began to make fun of him for wearing the same clothes over and over. From the refrigerator, she retrieved the milk; from the cupboard, she pulled a box of Cheerios. There was sugar in the cupboard, left by those who’d lived here before, but she didn’t trust that it was safe to eat. Who knew what sort of icky critters had decided to breed in there?
She poured the Cheerios into a bowl and brought the bowl and spoon to the table. She kept the small bottle of his hair wax on the counter and added a dab to her palms. She smoothed his cowlick, then kissed him on the cheek.
“How did you sleep, sweetie?”
He merely shrugged, but she’d expected that. He was quiet in general, but in the mornings, getting him to speak was sometimes like pulling teeth. She reached for the peanut butter and jelly on the counter and the last two pieces of bread in the loaf. She made a sandwich, wrapped it in plastic, and placed it into a paper bag, along with the last apple and enough change to allow him to buy milk. She wished she had enough money for Cheetos or granola bars or Nutter Butters, or even sliced turkey or ham, but it just wasn’t possible. When the lunch was ready, she squeezed the bag into Tommie’s backpack, then took a seat at the table, almost aching with love for him.