A Family of Strangers

by Emilie Richards

  “Any questions?” she asked once the to-do list was complete.

  I was surprised she hadn’t told me to time the girls with my stopwatch as they brushed their teeth. “How’s Dad this morning?”

  “I made him a banana–almond milk smoothie for breakfast.”

  “In other words, not good.”

  “He will adjust.”

  I felt even sorrier for Dad than I had before the phone call.

  Since I was awake I went into the girls’ room. Why should they sleep when I couldn’t? They both sat up, groggy-eyed, long hair tangled from what must have been a restless night.

  I put on my brightest smile, the one that turned normal dimples into canyons. “Time to get up, sleepyheads. Do you need help picking out your clothes?”

  They both stared at me. Either they thought I was crazy to assume they couldn’t pick out their own, or crazy to assume they could. Since I couldn’t tell, I smiled again. “See you in the kitchen in a few minutes.”

  I dressed quickly, then padded barefoot downstairs, turning over breakfast possibilities as I went. I had bread, I had eggs, and while there was no milk or syrup, I’d found honey with the other basics. So I melted margarine, asking forgiveness from the nutrition gods, and made French toast using eggs and water, finishing with diluted honey as a topping. While the toast cooked, I assembled two bagged lunches.

  By the time breakfast was ready, the girls still weren’t downstairs, so I trooped back and found them sitting exactly where I had left them.

  “Up, and dressed.” I clapped my hands, so reminiscent of my mother that I flinched. “What do you want to wear?”

  Holly slung herself to the floor, and shrugged.

  “Your bathrobe? A bathing suit?”

  Noelle actually giggled. Holly stared at her through narrowed eyelids. “I don’t care.”

  “Pick something.” I turned to Noelle. “Want some help?”

  At the dresser closer to her bed, I opened a drawer and held up a pink shirt with purple hearts. Pink was no surprise. “Like this?”

  “Can I wear my red shorts?”

  Since red, pink, and purple are kissing cousins, I dug for the red shorts and held them up. “These?”

  “She can’t wear red shorts with that shirt,” Holly said. “It’s ugly.”

  “What are you wearing?” I glanced at her. She hadn’t moved since I’d challenged her. “Oh, goody. I get to pick out something and dress you myself.” I wiggled my eyebrows. “Where’s your Halloween costume?”

  The hair took even longer. Holly, finally clad in denim capris and a green shirt, managed to unsnag her own after I told her she was welcome to go to school without combing it. Amid squirms and moans I did Noelle’s. I couldn’t imagine my sister loved going through this torture every morning. Was Wendy such a whiz at braids and pigtails that she needed a showcase?

  When the tangles were finally tamed, I found twin gold barrettes and snapped them into place to keep Noelle’s hair out of her eyes.

  Downstairs the French toast was not a hit.

  With no other choices, I’d made less-than-healthy butter and honey sandwiches to take for their lunch, scrounging for raisins to go with them. I knew better than to exhibit what I’d packed ahead of time. After what passed for breakfast, they retrieved their backpacks, and I stuck the lunches inside. “The lunches will be a surprise.” I beamed as if this was a special treat.

  “We buy lunch,” Holly said.

  “That’s not what your grandmother told me.”

  Somehow I got them out the door, and we started down the street with much dragging of feet, passing one of the few residents I’d noticed. The woman, who looked to be ninety, was hauling a small mixed breed dog along the sidewalk. She nodded, and the dog yapped, showing its remarkable lung power and vocal range until we were half a block away. So much for social life in Tropicana.

  Even with a shortcut through a tar pit, we would have gotten there faster. Luckily, by the time we stood in front of the school, the bell still hadn’t rung.

  The building was defined by buckling wood panels and outdated windows. At the end of the sidewalk two women waited to welcome students. I dragged the girls, one on each arm, toward them, more than ready to turn them over to a willing adult—or even an unwilling one.

  “Holly,” the woman on the right said, “good morning. Is this your mother?”

  This was probably one of the two Mrs. Englishes. She was in her midthirties, rosy-cheeked and wholesome, and dressed casually in a striped tunic and leggings.

  Since Wendy and I look nothing alike, I was surprised she had confused us. I held out my hand. “I’m Holly and Noelle’s aunt, Ryan Gracey. The girls’ mother is my sister, and I’m filling in while she’s out of town.”

  “Gretchen English, Holly’s teacher,” she said, shaking my hand with vigor. “I was told they were staying with your mother.”

  “Not anymore.”

  “I see.” She turned to the girls. “You run inside now. School’s about to start.”

  Neither girl said goodbye or gave a backward glance, which probably surprised the teachers but not me.

  I smiled at Mrs. English to show I was really a nice person, no matter what the girls believed. “My mother says I’ll need to complete some paperwork so I can pick them up and be the official contact until my sister comes home.”

  She inclined her head to one side, as if she wanted us to have a little privacy. We sidestepped a bit so we wouldn’t be easily overheard.

  She didn’t waste time. “I’m worried about Holly.”

  I couldn’t add that I was, too, because as far as I knew, my niece’s behavior was perfectly normal for her.

  She didn’t wait for an answer. “A lot of mornings she seems tired. Exhausted, actually. She’s fallen asleep at her desk more than once. I need to have a conference with her mother.”

  I could relate because I needed one, too. “I’m not sure when Wendy’s coming home. But I’ll certainly mention it when she does. Did you tell my mother this?”

  “No. I haven’t met your mother. This is my first week on morning duty. And I thought it would be better to talk to Holly’s parents about giving her an earlier bedtime. But her father’s away in the navy, right? And since her mother’s absence seems ongoing...”

  “I’ll be absolutely sure she gets to bed early enough for a good night’s sleep. You can count on that.”

  “Sleep is so important.” She paused. “Along with an absence of stress.”

  I thought about all the stress in the girls’ lives. “I’ll keep things as calm as I can.” I gave a firm nod.

  “You will tell their mother to get in touch with me?”

  I planned to add that request to my long list of things to tell, ask and insist on with Wendy.

  Inside the school I talked to the administrator, who gave me a form to fill out and one for my mother to sign. He told me to bring them back that afternoon. Since Mom had been designated “temporary guardian,” he seemed to feel the forms would cover it.

  I walked back to the town house at an even slower pace. The first part of my day hadn’t been a trip to the amusement park. The next part was going to be less so.

  What little gift do you bring a heart patient on a heavily restricted diet? I wasn’t sure Dad was allowed to drink coffee, so even with soy milk, Starbucks was out. Certainly chocolate and baked goods were no-nos. Dad had never been much of a reader, but I stopped for half a dozen bestselling thrillers at the mystery bookstore closest to Gulf Sands and slipped them into a gift bag.

  Unlike ungated Tropicana, Gulf Sands has a suspicious set of guards. The guard of the day didn’t recognize me, and gave me the third degree before he allowed me to pass. Since one of the cold case murders Sophie and I were considering took place in a gated community like this one, I wasn’t offended.

/>   Researching a show like Out in the Cold lends itself to paranoia, but I think my interest in crime began earlier when Mom read me all those gruesome bedtime stories. My education added a layer, too. As an undergraduate, I was a criminal justice major, and afterward I pursued a graduate degree in journalism. These days I dig deeply into the hearts and minds of bad guys, and report the salacious details to my listeners. So it’s no surprise I’m inclined to be cautious.

  What most people don’t know is that I keep a Smith & Wesson revolver locked securely in my glove compartment. Nor would they guess that the handgun is the result of an armed assault I barely survived when I was twenty-four.

  When I finally pulled up to the house, the sun was peeking out behind billowing cumulus clouds. I got out and stretched before I navigated the curving walkway to the front door. As always, I wondered why my parents had built such a large house after both daughters left home. Dad travels a lot, and while Mom sometimes travels with him, most of the time she’s rattling around here alone. When they’re both home, can they find each other? I hoped these next weeks and months while Dad recovered right under Mom’s nose wouldn’t present an impossible challenge to their marriage.

  I let myself in and made my way to the master suite. The door was closed again, so I left the gift bag just in front of it and went to look for Mom.

  My parents have so much money they could throw wads of bills into their fireplace every night and still die rich. Mom employs a cleaning lady twice a week, and crews arrive quarterly to wash windows, steam rugs and scrub the travertine floors with a toothbrush—if needed. Despite that, she cleans constantly. Clutter offends her, and dirt is her archenemy.

  I wasn’t surprised to find her upstairs in the room where the girls had slept. She was down on her hands and knees with a lamb’s wool duster, vigorously swishing it under the bed.

  I lounged in the doorway and cleared my throat. “Don’t you still have a cleaning lady?” I didn’t know the latest martyr’s name, since Mom’s standards were so high nobody lasted for more than a few months. She’d immediately run through Gracey Group’s official cleaning staff, and was now working her way through the general population.

  She slid backward and rose up on her knees. “I wanted to be sure there was nothing under here to attract bugs.”

  “You should have started your own franchise. You’d have been more successful than Dad.”

  She wasn’t in the mood for backhanded compliments. “Have you heard from your sister?”

  “No. I got the girls off to school, though, and I brought a form for you to sign.” I produced it, along with a pen, and she did just that.

  “Be prepared,” she said when she had finished. “The girls will be bringing home paperwork to sign almost every day.”

  “Thanks. I’m not prepared for a lot of things, like making lunches. There wasn’t much in the house, and Holly swears they always buy lunch at school. Did you know that?”

  “The lunches I packed last week were healthier.”

  I made a mental note to call the school about lunch tickets. “I even met Holly’s teacher. She was out front welcoming students.” I didn’t tell her about our conversation.

  “I’ll get your father up before you leave. He’s supposed to stay awake as much as possible.”

  “What else can he look forward to?”

  “He starts cardiac rehabilitation on Wednesday. At first he’ll go three times a week. They work on exercises and monitor him while he’s doing them. That goes on for a while.”

  “When can he go back to work?”

  “No sooner than six weeks. Longer if I have my way.” Mom got to her feet, using the bed to help herself stand. I felt a pang. This was a woman who never wanted to show even minor weakness. My parents were aging and needed a stress-free environment. Instead they had a daughter on the run.

  Since Wendy was near the top of my list of reasons to be here, I suggested we go downstairs and make a cup of tea. She followed without argument. In the kitchen I put water in the kettle and got the tea caddy so we could choose. When I had everything, including cookies that I found in the cupboard, I brought the cups to the table and sat across from her.

  “What can I do to help, other than watch the girls?” I asked, knowing what her answer would be.

  “Bring your sister home.”

  “I wish I could.” I reached across the table and put my hand on hers for a moment. Mom and I are short-term touchers.

  She looked tired. “I’ve tried calling, but she doesn’t pick up. I guess she’s trying to work out whatever it is and spare us. I can’t believe the problems with airlines these days. Every time I open the paper there’s another horror story.”

  I’d been working out what to say, and now I had no choice but to launch right in.

  “It’s not the airline’s fault, Mom. It’s not a simple question of scheduling. Wendy ran into a problem while she was away, and she has to stay in...California until she can resolve it. Except for childcare, she doesn’t want help. She needs to work out whatever this is on her own, and she’ll let us know when she has. In the meantime, she doesn’t want to talk to anybody.”

  She digested that. “That’s not what you said before.”

  “I told you the situation was complicated, and that’s still true. But she’s not trying to reschedule a flight and running into delays. There’s more going on, which is why she called me. It’s doubtful she’ll resolve it right away.”

  “Resolve what? What’s going on?”

  I held up my hands. “She was in a hurry, and she didn’t want to answer questions. But she did say she won’t be using her phone anymore, so we won’t have any luck reaching her. You can stop trying.”

  Her expression was a storm about to break. “Why wouldn’t she want to use her phone?”

  “Like I said, she wants to do this alone. I’m sure she’ll explain the whole thing once she’s back.”

  “You should have gotten more details!”

  “Remember this came out of the blue. I tried.”

  “Your sister does not behave this way. The whole thing is hard to believe.”

  “For me, too.”

  “This is so bad for your father. He counts on Wendy here and at work. You need to invent a story he’ll believe.”

  Throughout our exchange, she had stared at the table as if the wood grain spelled answers. Now she looked up. “The girls will need an explanation, too. Later we can explain to your father that not telling him the whole truth was for his own good.”

  When the time was right, I would have to explain the same thing to her. I felt a stab of resentment that my sister was putting all of us in this position.

  I struggled to lighten the mood. “You’re asking me to make up a story out of thin air? To lie? Arlie Gracey, champion of the truth?”

  “Ryan Rose.” She narrowed her eyes.

  Wendy had told me to invent a story, too. The problem is that while I’m a writer, I don’t invent facts. I report them. Accurately. I certainly couldn’t report these.

  I looked down at my unpolished toenails and thought out loud. “Dad’s not going to believe she’s staying away for a break. Not when she knows he’s had major surgery. He’s not going to believe the absence is work related. All he has to do is pick up a phone and check.” I looked up. “I can tell him she’s on a religious retreat, that while she was traveling she had a spiritual awakening.”

  Mom looked skeptical. “She’s a Catholic. We’re awakened enough.”

  “A friend’s in trouble? Someone from college? She’s afraid to leave because her friend has nobody else right now. She’s going to wait until things improve?”

  “Too sketchy.” She sighed, as if our conversation was too grueling to endure. “Who’s the friend?”

  “Somebody named...Chloe. They pledged the same sorority. Chloe helped Wendy o
ut of a jam during their first year in college. Now she feels like she owes it to her to lend a hand.”

  “There was nobody named Chloe in her sorority.”

  I couldn’t believe Mom remembered the names of Wendy’s sorority sisters, or that she was nitpicking. “Choose any name you want.”

  “Your sister didn’t get into jams in college.”

  “If she did, she certainly wouldn’t have told you.”

  Mom thought a moment. “And she’s not calling why? She’s just disappeared with this girl?”

  I tried not to wince at the “D” word. Because disappeared exactly described the situation. “Chloe lives in the Arizona desert. Off the grid. No cell towers.”

  “California, not Arizona.”

  I remembered Sophie had encouraged me to find out if Mom knew anything else about Wendy’s trip. “You seem certain.”

  “Don’t you think I know where my daughter is?”

  The sentence hung in the air, because, of course, nobody knew where her daughter was.

  She finally looked away. I finished quickly. “Can you tell me what you know about Wendy’s schedule? Exactly where she was going and maybe why? Was she traveling from place to place? Do you know who she was meeting?”

  “Your father would be the one to answer, but I’m certainly not going to ask him for details. He’ll know something’s up.”

  “Of course.”

  “Your story will work for a day or two, maybe a few more.”

  “Hopefully that’s all we’ll need.”

  Mom sat back and stared out at the water beyond the kitchen windows. “Please don’t think I like lying. I’m angry your sister hasn’t called to hash it out.”

  I added the last thing I’d decided to tell her. “While we’re waiting to hear, let’s not tell anybody outside the family what’s going on. When the subject comes up, which it will when Gracey Group’s staff starts asking questions, just say it’s a normal business trip that got extended.”

  “Suddenly you’re in charge.”

  “I don’t have to be. But don’t you think you have your hands full right now?”

  She gave a curt nod. “And we’re lucky you’re here. I know. Thank you.” She checked her watch, then got to her feet. “Let me wake up your father. He’ll want to see you. I told him you’d come by this morning.”