Page 2 of Promise and Punishment

She seemed confused. “Did she call you?”

“No…”

“So, you don’t know where she is then?”

“I didn’t know she was gone,” I stated, uneasy by the way she asked me. She was stern, and the newly formed lines around her lips made me guess that they were born from years of frowning. I had only seen her a few times before, but not once had we ever really talked. This was by far the longest time we’d spent together alone, and I could truly see the color of her hair now, its auburn hue less vibrant than Gemma’s, held in a pink scrunchy that matched her robe. She was pretty, but faded like an old photograph, her steely eyes scaring me with an intensity that made me want to leave.

“She’s probably out looking for him…” she muttered.

“For who?” I asked.

Mrs. Harrison considered her answer, staring at me, then down at my bag of papers. “Never mind…” She opened the door wider. “You can come in and wait for her,ifyou want.”

I looked past her again and into the house, the place where the light of day seemed lost. In the hall where I stood, it felt like early morning, but behind Mrs. Harrison, it seemed like dusk.

“Ok…” I reluctantly stared back at the stairs hoping Gemma would appear at any moment. I wanted to wait for her, considering she would be desperate to have Andy back. I pulled my bike to bring it inside, but Mrs. Harrison stopped me.

“No bikes in the house,” she quickly instructed. “Leave that and the bag outside. I don’t know where it’s been.”

I didn’t respond. I only did as I was told, leaning it against the wall outside. I pulled Andy out, keeping my attention on the scuffed white tips of my converse as Mrs. Harrison stepped aside. Right when I passed, she shut the door behind me, magnifying the darkness that surrounded us.

“Do you know when Gemma will be back?” I asked, taking a seat on the brown tufted couch in the living room. It was corduroy and scratchy, but once I sat, I didn’t move. The T.V. was on, playingTerminator 2, and in it, Arnold Schwarzenegger pulled a shotgun out of a box of roses, shooting Robert Patrick in the chest. The sound was low, but the static in the room felt deafening. Mrs. Harrison didn’t answer me, she was in the kitchen for a moment before bringing me a glass of water.

“She’ll be here soon enough, I’m sure,” she finally responded, sitting by my side, placing the glass on an old whicker coffee table. I picked it up, noticing it was a recycled jelly jar with Tom and Jerry on it.

I took a small sip. “I hope so. I’m kinda on a schedule.” The water was warm, and Robert Patrick was now shooting back at Arnold.

“And what are you doing today?”

“I’m out delivering papers for Mr. Gomez. Would you like one?”

“Not particularly,” she sighed, “but thanks.” She reached for my water and took a sip herself. “Why are you out delivering papers?”

“Just for… some extra money.”

“Money?” Mrs. Harrison laughed, and for the first time actually smiled. “Don’t your parents have enough of that?”

“Yes,” I answered. “But that’s their money, not mine.” I didn’t like when people assumed I was made of money. Mom didn’t raise me like that, and in fact, I never wanted anything that I didn’t earn myself. “I’m trying to save as much as I can.”

“Really?” She cocked her head, no longer looking at the screen, but directly at me. “And what could you possibly be saving for? More trading cards?”

I wasn’t sure if I wanted to answer, but it felt like a good idea to do so. This was Gemma’s mom after all, and that meant she was important, and if she knew how I felt, then maybe she could explain it to me, or at least, say it in a way that would make everything less confusing.

“It’s for Gemma,” I blurted out. “I’m saving to get her a birthday gift.”

“A birthday gift?” she grinned. “You are a sweet boy, aren’t you?” She combed a piece of hair away from my forehead and studied me for a minute. I was thirsty again, but the water felt far, and I wasn’t sure if it was considered mine anymore after her sip. “Wait here,” she lowered her voice, lifting herself off the couch to enter the kitchen. She clattered around, grabbing a few items as I watched more of theTerminator. The kid that played John Connor was running in a garage, kickstarting a dirt bike to get away from the killer robots. I wanted to do the same, but thought it’d be rude. What would Gemma think if her mother told her I ran away? That I was scared? Or, as my shirt painfully demonstrated, that I was some small, child?

I forced myself not to move an inch, as Mrs. Harrison returned with a small purse, resting her knee on the cushion near my lap. “Have you ever smoked a cigarette before?” she unzipped the bag.

“No,” I shook my head.

“Good. It’s a bad habit. It’ll kill you, you know?” I nodded as she dug into her purse, pulling out a red and white packet of opened Marlboros. “But then again, some of the best things in life will kill you.” She tapped on the pack, removing a cigarette and sticking it between her lips. She reached back into her purse, pulling out a small book of bar matches, placing them into my hand.

“What are these for?”

“You want to earn money, right?”

“Yes.”

---