Skinnybones and the Wrinkle Queen by Glen Huser Read Free Book Online Page B

Now, Byron has a birthday at the end of July. I could give him an expense-paid holiday.”
    â€œIsn’t this trip to the opera costing way more than it’s worth?” I light another cigarillo for her. It tastes horrible but the sweet tobacco smell hangs in the air.
    â€œYou need a ninety-year-old’s perspective to answer that,” she says. “I’ve never had much patience with aphorisms and the people who spout them, but one for which I’ve gained increasing respect is ‘you can’t take it with you.’ I have money, Tamara, the savings of a professional who traveled solo. Oh, not a great deal of money — but enough.”
    â€œPut a check mark by the Philippines,” I say. “Wherever they are.”
    â€œAnd the driving?”
    â€œMaybe Herb will teach me. Especially if I say I can help Shirl with running chores. I’ll be sixteen in the fall and then I can drive by myself. Take Lyle to his LittleLeague games and Lizzie to her ballet lessons on Saturday. All part of being proactive.”
    The Wrinkle Queen gives me a questioning look.
    â€œPart of an action plan I had to sign. Being helpful and proactive.” I tell her about the meeting at school.
    â€œOh, my, you are a deceptive little beast, aren’t you?” Miss Barclay’s thin cackle gets lost as she breathes out smoke. “Of course, I’ll have to see if Ricardo’s bought any extra tickets this year. They sell out about a year in advance.”
    â€œRicardo?”
    â€œThe owner of the bed and breakfast where I always stay.”
    Bed and breakfast? Must be some kind of motel. I remember the motel next to the Tierney’s Bottles Up Recycling. Sleepytime Al’s. It had a sign like Christmas tree lights that stayed on all night, only one of the letters had burned out so what you saw in the dark was
leepytime Al’s
. Patty-May Tierney showed me where to look for bottles in the trash bins in behind. We’d sneak out at night and collect them before the old guys with Safeway carts came along.
    The Wrinkle Queen smokes silently for a few minutes. I can see Mrs. Golinowski peering out of a hallway window at us. I give her a little wave and smile.
    â€œI think your social worker may be the biggestproblem. Doesn’t he check in with you every week or so?”
    â€œEvery month, as long as things are going okay. If I go missing from the Shadbolts, he’ll have the police out looking for me.” It was the police who picked me up three blocks from where Wilma was living when I ran away from the Tierneys.
    Mrs. Golinowski is at the door now.
    â€œCome on in now, you two,” she hollers. “Tamara, your class is getting ready to go.”
    â€œHere.” Miss Barclay reaches into her purse and, pulling out an envelope, presses it into my hand. I slip it into my backpack.
    â€œBe sure and get a receipt,” she says.
    I wait until I get home to open the envelope. There’s a thousand dollars in it in fifty-dollar bills. I’ve never seen so much money. It seems like enough to run off somewhere and start a new life. No Shadbolts. No Mr. Mussbacher. No Wrinkle Queen rattling on about operas.
    But I don’t.
    On Tuesday I go to the office building on Whyte Avenue where Mr. Jude Law Model Man has his office. He looks surprised to see me and he gets pretty excited when I take out the money.
    â€œHey! Good for you, kid!” He opens a file folder and looks at a schedule. “Yup. There’s still a couple of spotsopen in the August class. I’ll just slate you in here and get you a receipt.”
    He has a deadly smile. My hand shakes as I take the receipt.
    â€œYou can pay the balance when you register in August. Now, let’s see, here’s a package about billeting and meals if you want to tap into that option, a map of Vancouver and the campus area...” He stops in mid-sentence. “Are you okay?”
    â€œYeah.