He Gave Me Fifty Dollars to Live, I Left Him with Nothing novel · Chapter 3 of 32

Chapter 3: Real Carraway

Whitney mocks Maisie's leaking boots in the school pick-up line and Roz records it; Maisie repeats what Whitney told her about not being a real Carraway.

All Tuesday night I lay beside Philip and listened to him sleep, knowing his signature was on that claim.

He had kissed my forehead and said goodnight.

On Wednesday I bought Maisie a pair of yellow rain boots for forty-eight dollars, and I paid in cash.

I carried the box to school pick-up inside my tote bag.

I wanted to surprise her at the gate.

The line of parents stood under the awning because the rain had started again.

Maisie came out with her backpack on both shoulders and her braids damp.

She was walking carefully on her left foot.

The sole of her boot had split along the toe, and every step made a small wet sound.

"Hi, baby," I said.

"Hi, Mom." She lowered her voice. "Can I not tell Mrs. Carraway about my feet?"

I went still.

"Who's Mrs. Carraway?"

"You are," Maisie said, puzzled. "On the school list."

Before I could ask what she meant, a white convertible pulled to the curb with the top down in the rain.

Whitney stepped out in a camel coat and sunglasses.

She walked straight up the line of parents, smiling at everyone, and kissed the air next to my cheek.

"Roz! I'm on the aquarium committee now. Dad thought it would be good for the family to be seen."

"Whitney, this isn't a good time."

"Oh, it's perfect."

She crouched in front of my daughter and looked down at the boot.

"Maisie, sweetheart, is that a hole?"

Maisie put her hand over it.

Whitney's phone was already in her other hand, held low at her hip.

"Don't be embarrassed," she said brightly. "Some families just have a hard time. Mommy has to draw for her money."

A few parents turned their heads.

"It's a game we play at home," Whitney told them, laughing. "The envelope is always a surprise."

Someone behind me inhaled.

I felt the tote bag against my leg and the box inside it.

I felt Maisie's small fingers close around my coat.

I could have made the scene she was waiting for.

I could have shouted, cried, begged her to stop, and let her post it with a laugh track.

I did something else.

I reached into the tote and took out the box.

"Maisie, these are for you," I said.

She lifted the lid and gasped.

Yellow boots, the exact color she had picked from a catalogue a month ago and never asked for.

"Mom, they're so pretty."

"Sit on the bench and try them on."

She sat, pulled off the wet boot and the sock that was soaked to her ankle, and put her foot into the new one.

Whitney's camera lifted a little higher.

I took my own phone out of my coat and held it up too.

"Whitney, I'm recording as well," I said pleasantly. "You said Maisie's mother has to draw for her money, in front of her classmates' parents. I want to be sure I have your exact words."

The smile on her face stuck.

"I was joking."

"I know. So was your father on Monday, when he answered a nine-year-old's field trip fee with a gold card."

"Roz."

"Say it again, slowly. For the parent committee."

A man behind me cleared his throat.

"I'd like to hear it too," he said.

Whitney glanced at the line of faces.

Nobody looked amused.

Maisie's teacher had come out under the awning with a clipboard.

She stood at my elbow, calm, with her pen still in her hand.

"Is there something I should know about, Ms. Carraway?" she asked.

She was speaking to Whitney.

"Of course not." Whitney pulled her phone back against her coat. "I'm just supporting my little sister."

"Mrs. Tierney is her mother," the teacher said. "And Maisie is not your sister."

Whitney's face went flat.

She turned and walked back to her convertible, and the engine started with a harsh little roar.

The line of parents stayed silent until she was gone.

Then the man behind me said quietly, "Those are good boots."

Maisie stamped one yellow foot in a puddle and grinned at me, wet to the knees.

It was the first time in months I had seen her do that.

I helped her tie the second boot and kissed her hair.

"Thank you for the boots," she said.

"You're welcome."

She looked up with wide eyes.

"Mom, can I ask you something? Whitney said I'm not a real Carraway."

"She said what?"

"She said Mr. Carraway only took me because he had to. She said it's like a library book and he can return me."

My hand went cold on her shoulder.

"That isn't true," I said.

I did not know yet if it was true.

The teacher had drifted close again, lowering her voice so that Maisie could not hear.

"Mrs. Tierney, one more thing," she said. "I wasn't sure whether to bring it up."

She turned her clipboard so I could read the printed class list.

The last name beside my daughter's first name was not Tierney.

*Carraway, Maisie.*

"The office changed it at the start of second grade," the teacher said. "The form came from your husband's lawyer."

"I never signed a form."

She searched my face.

"The form says you did," she said.

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