by Debra Purdy-Kong

Claire listened to an army of raindrops swarm the roof. If it poured all night, the shaggy living room carpet would be soaked by morning, and she'd be gagging, once again, on the moldy stink. Mom said the landlord had promised to improve the drainage, but that was six months ago.

Claire sighed, turned away from the window, then retrieved her bankbook from the dresser drawer. Peeking out from beneath her socks was a folded yellow sheet she hadn't read in three years. Slowly, she unfolded the note.

"Dearest Claire," her father had written. "I'm moving out, because your mom and I don't get along, and it's better this way. I'll send you money when I've found a decent job. Here's twenty dollars to buy yourself something nice for your birthday next month. Happy eleventh, Claire-bear. Love, Dad".

Claire opened her bank book. Two hundred seventy-five dollars and sixty-four cents. Many times, she'd heard her grandmother lecture her parents to "put something away for a rainy day". Even then, Claire understood the importance of her words. She'd grown up knowing how horrible things were without money. She'd heard classmates whisper about her "ugly" thrift-store clothes, the "shack" she lived in.

Claire folded the note. She hadn't heard from her father since, nor had she expected to. Dad hadn't been interested in earning money, a trait Claire didn't share. Determined to have a better life when she grew up, Claire had opened an account with her birthday gift and began saving up whenever possible. Once she graduated from high school, she'd get a secretarial job, save money for college, and become an accountant. There was always work in that field, always enough money for food.

When Claire heard a light tap on the door, she slipped the note under her socks. She wasn't sure why she'd kept it. Maybe this was her reminder not to become a penniless failure who ran away from problems and responsibility.

"Come in."

"Hi, sweetie." Mom's brief smile looked shaky.

Since this morning, when Mom told her the bills were out of control and she wanted to chat with Claire tonight, Claire had felt edgy. Climbing onto her bed, she placed the bankbook beside her, then clasped her arms around her bent knees.

"I remember the day you opened that account." Mom sat next to her and gazed at the bank book. "You've been saving hard, haven't you, honey?"

"Trying." Claire held her breath.

Over the last three years, she'd done tons of yard work for elderly neighbors. She'd also babysat dozens of kids. Last summer, she picked strawberries in the hot sun. In winter, she shoveled snow until her shoulders ached and her fingers grew numb. The hardest job was rising at five a.m. to deliver newspapers.

"I've been trying too, honey."

Claire nodded and looked at the rain-splattered window. Water spilled over the eaves.

After Dad left, things went from bad to worse. Mom's part-time cashier's job couldn't pay the bills. While she looked for a second job, the food ran out. Her "Scots pride", as Mom called it, had kept her from resorting to welfare or food banks. She'd borrowed money once from Grandma, but was too ashamed to do it again. Twice, Clare had offered to give Mom some of her earnings. After the second offer, Mom said, "I haven't sunk low enough to take money from a child".

She remembered her mother's tears after creditors demanded payment. How many times had they turned out the lights and pretended not to be home when someone banged on the door to take their furniture? Sometimes they couldn't hide fast enough. The TV was gone now. Claire didn't miss it anymore. There were too many jobs to do, plus homework and chores.

"Everything's gone up in price, Claire. Heat, electricity, phone." Her mother scratched raw, scaly hands from the housecleaning job she landed two years ago. "I've missed three car payments, and they'll take it if I don't give them two hundred dollars by Monday. And I'm out of medication."