Free A Tinfoil Sky by Cyndi Sand-Eveland Page A

any of those books at the library?”
    Mel started at the sound of Gladys’s voice, then turned her face up to the window, eliminating the possibility that Gladys could look down on her.
    She doubted Gladys ever went to the library, but still, Gladys’s voice cut the little excitement that remained of the day into pieces, and Mel could feel them disappearing into the dark and dusty corners of the hall. She decided not to ask Gladys for her phone number. Instead, Mel planned to find all the information she needed in the apartment, and look at it without Gladys knowing. The librarian hadn’t asked for a signature; the judge had seen to that. All Mel needed was an address and phone number. It was a formality.
    Gladys unlocked the door and pushed it open. The small plastic plate and key appeared. Gladys bent down and picked up the plate, then walked inside and into the kitchen. She said nothing about the key.
    Moments later, she reentered the living room. “So what? Now you don’t want the key?”
    “No,” Mel told her. “I don’t. I’d rather wait in the hall.”
    “Well, fine then.” Gladys paused, and Mel knew Gladys was readying herself to launch another attack. “But if I were you, I wouldn’t be burning any bridges because the only thing you got going for you right now … is me.”
    Mel turned to stare at the drapes that hung in front of the window, as though she could see through them, past the tinfoil to the sky.
    What stung the most was that it was true. There were no aunts, no uncles, no cousins. There was only Cecily and Gladys, and Cecily was in jail.
    “And didn’t I tell you to take the papers and cans down to Frohberger’s the other day when you picked up the milk?”
    Mel didn’t answer. Instead, she picked up the top stack of newspapers and set a box of flattened cans on top.
    “Is there anything you need?” Mr. Frohberger asked when she dropped off the last box of flattened cans – it had taken three trips to get them all. Only a few days ago, the judge had asked her the same question.
    “No, thank you,” Mel answered. “I’m just dropping these off.”
    She left the store and walked slowly back to the apartment. The door was locked. Mel knocked, then waited. Eventually, Gladys obliged. This would become a contest for control between them – Mel refusing the key and Gladys refusing to rush. Eventually, Gladys chose to leave the door unlocked each afternoon until Mel’s return, so as not to be interrupted.
    Mel went into the kitchen and reached for the broom behind the door. If she was going to be spending her mornings in the hall, it would be nice to at least sweep up the thick layer of dust.
    “Where you going with that?” Gladys’s voice was full of accusation.
    “I thought I’d sweep the stairs and the hallway in front of your door.”
    “No, you’re not taking my good broom out there. If you want to sweep the hall, use the broom at the bottom of the stairs.”
    Mel found the worn-out straw broom tucked in an alcove beside the front door at the bottom of the stairs. As she swept, she imagined the home she and Cecily would find. Today’s vision was a little house, set on a piece of grass at the end of a lane, with a garden. Other times, home was an apartment, on the fortieth floor of a high-rise apartment building. Sometimes, especially when they were out in the cold, it was simply a warm place, any place safe.
    Today, it seemed okay to dream. Cecily had promised, and – Mel didn’t know why – this time she believed her. They were going to have a home of their own, even the judge had said so. And if being here for a month meant they’d have a place of their own when Cecily came back, Mel could stand it.

14
Caught
    The phone hung by the kitchen cupboard next to the bathroom door. But the phone number, which was written in pen behind the little plastic rectangle on the base of phone, was impossible to read. She’d have to wipe it with a cloth to see the number. Mel