54

Matthew had never seen Glory cry, not even once. She had sounded real mad when she was talking on the phone, but after she slammed it down, she started to cry. Just like that. Then she looked at him and said, “Matty, we can’t hide like this any longer.”

He thought that meant that they’d be moving to a new place to live, and he wasn’t sure if he was glad or sorry. The room he slept in was big enough so that he could put all his trucks on the floor and move them one after the other just like he would see big trucks on the road at night when he and Glory moved to a new house.

And there was a bunk bed and a table and chairs in that room that had been there when they moved in. Glory had told him that some other kids must have lived there because the table and chairs were just right for a kid his size to sit down and draw pictures.

Matthew loved to draw. Sometimes he would think about Mommy and draw a lady’s face on the paper. He never could get it to look just like her, but he always remembered her long hair and how it felt when it tickled his cheek, so he would always give the lady in his pictures long hair.

Sometimes he would take the bar of soap that smelled like Mommy from under the pillow and have it next to his hand on the table before he opened his box of crayons.

Maybe the next place they moved wouldn’t be as nice. He didn’t mind being locked in the big closet in this house when Glory left him alone. She always left the light on, and it was big enough for his trucks, and she always saved some new books for him to read until she got back.

Now Glory looked mad again. She said, “I wouldn’t put it past that old bag to make some excuse to come barging in here before Sunday. I’ve gotta remember to keep the bolt on the front door.”

Matthew didn’t know what to say. Glory wiped her face with the back of her hand. “Well, we just move up the schedule. I’ll let him know that tonight.” She walked over to the window. She always kept the shades down all the way and if she looked out, she did it by pushing the shade to one side.

She made a funny sound as if she couldn’t get her breath, then said, “That damn muffin jerk is driving by again. What’s she looking for?” Then she added, “You got her started, Matty. Go upstairs and stay in your room and make sure none of your trucks are ever downstairs again.”

Matthew went up to his room, sat down at the table, reached for his crayons, and began to cry.