SIX
MAMA PULLED OUT of the food lot as a gray bus with black letters went by. The men inside it didn't look friendly.
"That's the prison bus, Foster."
I got a creepy feeling. "Those men are headed to jail?"
"The sign said Culpepper Penitentiary."
It should have said, CRIME DOESN'T PAY. I watched the bus disappear around the corner.
Mama drove down a bumpy street trying to miss the potholes. Little houses and a few trailers were set back from the road. We drove by a closed-up factory with a faded sign.
"Colonel Culpepper's Jams and Jellies," Mama read. "No Trespassing."
Mama reads to me a lot. My brain closes up when I open a book. I almost flunked sixth grade because of it. My second-grade teacher told Mama I would grow out of it, but it feels more like it's grown all over me.
Mama turned the Chevy down the dirt road past the broken fence, around to the back of Kitty and Lester's place, and parked by the Silver Bullet that was gleaming in the late-day light.
The tow truck was gone. Kitty and Lester were probably off rescuing somebody. In front of the door in the bullet were two outdoor chairs—and a little table. Those hadn't been there before. Mama smiled at the chairs and opened the door. I carried the groceries inside.
Lester's daddy's stupid, dead fish seemed to be laughing at me. "I'm baaaaaack," is said to it. I put the food away, thinking about the pillowcase. Did I drop it outside the car? Did it get run over? Did Mr. Purvis throw it out when he'd got the nite that we'd left?
"I'm thinking I need to call Mr. Purvis, Foster."
" I'm thinking you need to right now!"
She took out her phone and shooed me outside.
I sat in the blue chair and felt the wind blow gently all around me. Mr. Purvis didn't like kids much, but I had wowed him with my brown sugar brownies.
I hoped he remembered those brownies. Of course, they were hard to forget.
Elvis the cat was watching me. He meowed and I meowed back. He didn't like that.
"It's nothing personal," I told him. "If your name was Fluffy or Princess I'd like you fine." Elvis licked his paw.
Mama came out and lowered herself into the green chair like she was carrying a heavy load "He doesn't have it."
"He's lying!"
Mama crossed her arms. "Why do you say that?"
"Because he's mad at us for leaving like that! He's got it, I know he does."
"I don't think that's true. He was very nice to me on the phone." Mama sighed. "I don't know what else to do."
"You could call the neighbors!"
"I don't have their numbers, Foster!"
"You could call Mr. Purvis back and tell him to put up a sign in the front hall about it!"
Mama put in the call and Mr. Purvis said he'd put up a sign. She gave him her phone number.
"Okay?" she said to me.
"Okay."
She started humming a song she'd written to me last year on my birthday. It's called "Foster's Song." Having a song named after you is this side of cool. She sang it soft and low.
