Sadie

by Courtney Summers

  I wish I could do this next part without talking.

  I sit in my car outside the Bluebird, a few miles from the Laundromat, my load of laundry cooling in the backseat. I tap my fingers against the wheel. The Bluebird. Not a single bird in sight, but there’s a FOR SALE sign out front: $39.99 A NIGHT, WI-FI NOT INCLUDED.

  It’s run-down, badly in need of new siding, a new roof … new everything. I’m parked across from the front office, and I can see through its picture window. An old man is watching a TV mounted to the wall, his back to me. A black-and-white movie.

  I rest my head against the wheel.

  Where are you, Keith?

  I get out of the car with my bag slung over my shoulder and when I face the Bluebird, the man at the desk is no longer mesmerized by the television. He’s turned toward the window and he’s watching me in such a way, I wonder if he recognizes me, if, maybe one day, so many months ago, he looked for something to watch on TV and my face flitted past him on the news, never leaving his head. And now: here I am.

  I cross the lot. Soon as I step inside, he says, “Took your time about it.”

  He looks much younger up close. Grayed prematurely, I guess. But he can’t be more than fifty. He has light brown skin and tattoos up and down his arms and his legs that disappear under the edges of his blue shorts. His voice is put-on, a kind of put-on that pretends we’re friends.

  “I w-want two nights.”

  He yawns. “Sure.”

  I look away from him, to the TV behind his head. It’s so old it has dials. It’s playing a Bette Davis movie. Her beautiful small face and big round eyes command the screen. Dark Victory, I think. I liked that one. Now and again, me and Mattie used to spend weekends with May Beth and we’d watch the classics on one of the three channels she got. The Bette Davis ones were my favorite. Bette Davis is my favorite.

  On her gravestone, it says: She did it the hard way.

  “Just need some ID and we’ll get you set up.”

  I blink away from the movie, turning my attention back to him.

  “W-what?”

  “Age. Can’t rent you a room if you’re underage.”

  “B-but I’m n—”

  “Just let the ID do the talking.” He smiles. “Otherwise we could be here all night.”

  I hate him.

  “It’s policy,” he adds at the same time the television pops. Its screen turns to snow and static blizzards through the speakers, painfully loud. “Oh, shi—”

  He catches himself before he lands the t and turns, hand raised, to fix the set with his open palm. I stare at the back of his head and try to figure out if he might know Keith. If this is a place where Keith is Keith at all. Maybe he’s Darren, here. Or maybe this is one of the places he feels safe enough to call himself by his real name. Maybe he’s Jack.

  “Y-you know D-Darren M-Marshall?”

  He turns, surprised. “I do.”

  Sometimes I’m lucky.

  “C-cool.” I pause. “He’s a friend of my f-family’s. T-told me I should st-stop by if I was ever in th-in the area.”

  “Well, how about that … yeah, Darren’s a real good pal of mine. What did you say you wanted?” he asks. “You said two nights? Single or double?”

  “Single.”

  “I’ll give you five percent off. Any friend of Darren’s…”

  “H-he around? H-haven’t seen him in a while.”

  “Nah, not right now. Sure it won’t be long before I’m seeing him again, though,” he says. “You know how it is.” But I don’t. He yawns again, makes me sign for the room—Lera Holden it is—takes my money and tosses me a key card.

  “Room twelve,” he says. “Second to last down the strip.”

  “Th-thanks.”

  “Y’know, in my granddad’s day, the nuns thought they could beat that outta you.”

  He laughs. He’s talking about my stutter. I stare at him until he turns bright red and fumbles for something to say, but there’s really nothing he could say to turn it around.

  He settles on, “Have a good night.”

  It’s the kind of motel that makes you feel every one of your secrets. The cost of the stay is only how much you’re willing to live with yourself. That, and almost eighty dollars. I close the door behind me, draw the curtain, lock the door and once I do that last thing, I lean my head against it because having four walls around me allows for the tension to release itself from my spent, sore muscles. I let myself get lost in my own hurt. But only for a second.

  Then I turn, absorbing my new setting.

  There’s a chemical smell in the air that can’t mask the stuffiness of the room. A dull beige, stained wallpaper with a repeating flower print attempts something reaching for sweetness and fails. The beds are covered in lifeless green comforters. There’s an old TV set—dials on this one too—on top of a wooden bureau with noticeably chipped edges. There’s a tiny red table and plastic chairs. The carpet is a deep wine red with flecks of electric purple in it, fuzzy in some spots, threadbare in others. I slip out of my sneakers and curl my socked feet into the gritty carpet. From here, I can see the pale aquamarine tiles in the bathroom and a bit of the shower.

  Still no bluebirds.

  But a shower would be nice.

  I take a change of clean clothes with me into the tiny bathroom where I strip naked and run the water, which doesn’t get as warm as I need; I spend the whole time shivering but it’s so much better, being clean. Or as clean as I can get here. There’s mold in the tiles and a stain around the edges of the tub. I scrub the tiny bar of motel soap all over my body, suds up my hair. I want to cry, it feels so good. It’s not perfect, but it feels good. When I’m finished, I pull on a T-shirt and then I stand in front of the mirror over the sink. I press my fingers against the tender skin of my face, hissing from my reflection, my black eye and swollen nose.

  I turn the bathroom light off and stumble to the bed, crawl under the blankets. The comforter is heavy and the sheet beneath it scratchy. My eyes close and I feel the empty around me, a dark space I can finally fall into.

  But a small part of me just won’t let go.

  I don’t know how long I drift in that in-between place when I hear the soft click of a door opening. The threat registers slowly, and even when it does I can’t seem to surface for it. Then, the soft, shuffling sounds of someone moving across the room. I feel the gentle dip of the mattress as he weighs it down.

  His hand touches my ankle.

  “Sadie. Sadie, girl … I’m just coming to check that you said your prayers.” The voice is soft and lulling, not quite a whisper or a lullaby. I keep my eyes closed, my breathing even. “Oh, you’re asleep. Well, okay then.” He sighs heavily. “I guess I’ll go see if Mattie’s said hers then.”

  I open my eyes.

  THE GIRLS

  EPISODE 5

  ANNOUNCER:

  The Girls is brought to you by Macmillan Publishers.

  WEST McCRAY:

  I arrive at Cold Creek in the very dark, very early hours of the morning. I don’t anticipate meeting Claire until a more agreeable time of day—it’s just not decent to visit a person before nine a.m., after all—but May Beth calls me as soon as I’ve set my bags down and tells me to, in these words, “Get here now.” When I reach the trailer, I can hear the two of them arguing from outside.

  [MUDDLED SOUND OF TWO WOMEN’S VOICES]

  WEST McCRAY [STUDIO]:

  It’s almost impossible to wrap my head around Claire being back. I want to talk to her, see what she has to say. I’ve only heard one side of her story and it wasn’t related to me by her biggest fan. But Claire—

  [SOUND OF DOOR OPENING, SLAMMING BACK INTO PLACE]

  MAY BETH FOSTER:

  She doesn’t want to talk to you and she hasn’t changed a bit.

  WEST McCRAY:

  What does that mean?

  MAY BETH FOSTER:

  Selfish as ever.

  WEST McCRAY:

  I’d really li
ke to speak with her, May Beth. This might be our chance at getting a lead on Darren.

  MAY BETH FOSTER:

  I’ll go back in shortly. She’s having a smoke right now.

  WEST McCRAY [STUDIO]:

  May Beth tells me she was getting ready to go to bed when she looked out her window and saw a light in Mattie’s room. Her first thought was Sadie. It wasn’t Sadie. It was Claire, curled up on Mattie’s bed. She’d broken the locks to get in. When May Beth goes back in for attempt number two, I only hear the occasional furious rise in volume between them. It’s a chilly night. The stars above Sparkling River Estates are spectacular. I don’t see them much in New York and I wonder if residents of Cold Creek are so used to the view, they don’t really see them either. I end up waiting nearly two hours before Claire finally comes out.

  CLAIRE SOUTHERN:

  So you’re the reporter May Beth’s been telling me about.

  [THE GIRLS THEME]

  WEST McCRAY [STUDIO]:

  Claire Southern is not what I’m expecting.

  She’s clean, for starters, and that’s one of the first things she tells me. At a glance, it could be true. She’s different from the pictures I’ve seen. She’s put on weight, quite a bit of it, actually. Her complexion is a healthy pink and her eyes are alert. Her hair is long, past her shoulders, shiny. She chain smokes—the one vice she can’t give up. She refuses to go back inside May Beth’s to sit at the table and talk. She wants to stand in the dark, where she’ll consider my questions and, if I’m lucky, answer them. May Beth hovers at the screen door, shifting in and out of view, listening to us both, though I don’t think she knows we know that.

  CLAIRE SOUTHERN:

  The only reason I’m talking to you is because I figured it out; May Beth doesn’t want me to. And if the only person you’ve heard about me from is her—well, I can just imagine the bullshit she’s been feeding you.

  WEST McCRAY:

  The last May Beth knew, you were using and then you were gone.

  CLAIRE SOUTHERN:

  When I heard Mattie … when I heard Mattie died last October, I tried to kill myself. I tried to OD. I just wanted to be with my little girl. It didn’t work, though. I figured it was a sign. A friend helped me find a rehab—a spin dry. It wasn’t the best place, but it worked. So far, it’s stuck.

  WEST McCRAY:

  May Beth said she found you in Mattie’s room.

  CLAIRE SOUTHERN:

  I got a right.

  WEST McCRAY:

  How did you find out Mattie died?

  CLAIRE SOUTHERN:

  Heard it on the news. A … a friend told me to turn on the TV.

  WEST McCRAY:

  Did you know Sadie was missing?

  CLAIRE SOUTHERN:

  Not until tonight.

  WEST McCRAY:

  Why are you back now, if you knew Mattie was dead and you knew Sadie was by herself?

  WEST McCRAY [STUDIO]:

  Claire surprises me, then. She starts to cry, and it seems to take every last ounce of her willpower to stay where she is. She looks like she wants to run. She doesn’t. But it’s a long time before she’s able to speak.

  CLAIRE SOUTHERN:

  Why do you think I got clean? You said it yourself—Mattie was dead. I knew Sadie was here alone. I wanted to be with her.

  WEST McCRAY:

  Do you love your daughter?

  CLAIRE SOUTHERN:

  [PAUSE] Sadie deserves to hear the answer to that question more than you do and you got no right to ask me it.

  WEST McCRAY:

  Her car—

  CLAIRE SOUTHERN:

  She got herself a car?

  WEST McCRAY:

  Just before Sadie left Cold Creek, she did. That was in June. A month later, it was discovered abandoned in Farfield with all her belongings in it. Sadie hasn’t been found.

  Does Farfield mean anything to you?

  CLAIRE SOUTHERN:

  No.

  WEST McCRAY:

  We’re trying to figure out its significance. May Beth reached out to me for help. I’ve been trying to find your daughter.

  CLAIRE SOUTHERN:

  Why?

  WEST McCRAY:

  Why what?

  CLAIRE SOUTHERN:

  Why are you looking for her?

  [DOOR OPENING]

  MAY BETH FOSTER:

  Good Lord, Claire.

  CLAIRE SOUTHERN:

  I knew you wouldn’t be able to keep yourself out of this. [TO WEST] What I mean is, why are you looking for her?

  WEST MC McCRAY CRAY [STUDIO]:

  Before I can answer, May Beth puts herself in front of Claire. She’s waving the postcard Claire sent from L.A. in her hand.

  MAY BETH FOSTER:

  Why even send this, if you were never going to come back, huh? Why?

  WEST McCRAY [STUDIO]:

  Claire takes the postcard and squints at it in the dark. After a long moment, her face just seems to cave in. She begins to cry again.

  MAY BETH FOSTER:

  You know what Mattie was like after you left? She cried for you—

  CLAIR SOUTHERN:

  No, no, no, you had your time to talk and this is mine—

  MAY BETH FOSTER:

  She cried for you. She cried for you every damn day and night. She wouldn’t eat, she couldn’t sleep—she had nightmares … when she got that postcard, it was like a light—it was like a light went on. She had something to live for. But still, she wanted you. They think Mattie got into a truck with a killer because she wanted to make her way to you.

  CLAIRE SOUTHERN [TO WEST]:

  Get. Her. Back. Inside. Now.

  WEST McCRAY [STUDIO]:

  It takes quite a lot of persuading to get May Beth to go back inside. Claire is agitated and refuses to talk until she burns through two cigarettes, tears silently streaming down her face.

  CLAIRE SOUTHERN:

  You know what everyone likes to forget about me?

  I was a kid. I was a kid when I got into all that shit. I was a kid addict. I was a kid when I had Sadie. And my mother—my mother dying. I was a kid for that too. I was an orphan. I’m not making excuses but I don’t understand why Sadie was too young for everything I put her through, but I … I was just somehow old enough for the shit that got thrown at me. Soon as she was born, May Beth ripped Sadie out of my arms and started turning her against me. It broke my heart. And I let it happen because I was just a kid and I was fucked up and I didn’t know how else to be. My mom was dead. There was no one. Sadie hated me, and all I could do was let her. And then Mattie came and—Mattie, she loved me.

  WEST McCRAY:

  Claire, do you know a Darren M—?

  CLAIRE SOUTHERN:

  What?

  WEST McCRAY:

  I’ve retraced a lot of Sadie’s steps from Cold Creek to Farfield—I’m not done yet, but I’m getting there—and so far, it seems she was looking for a man she claims is her father. She’s been telling people his name is Darren. He exists, but I haven’t managed to track him down either.

  CLAIRE SOUTHERN:

  Then what good are you exactly?

  WEST McCRAY:

  If it’s not Darren, who is Sadie’s father?

  CLAIRE SOUTHERN:

  I don’t know.

  [PAUSE]

  I think that’s all I can take tonight.

  WEST McCRAY [STUDIO]:

  Claire excuses herself for a final time, holing herself up in May Beth’s spare bedroom. I won’t get any more information out of her for the time being. May Beth joins me outside a few moments later. She’s been crying and she’s doing her best to pretend she hasn’t been.

  WEST McCRAY:

  What was Sadie like after Mattie disappeared?

  MAY BETH FOSTER:

  What?… How you’d expect. Frantic.

  WEST McCRAY:

  I mean after. After they found Mattie’s body.

  MAY BETH FOSTER:

  She wouldn
’t come back to her trailer until she knew. And half the time she stayed at mine, I’d find her outside, right where we’re standing now and I don’t … I don’t think she ever slept. She was out looking for Mattie when the police came around to tell us the news and I can’t even describe watching her walk up … walk up to them. Two officers, just waiting. And when they told her, she just … I’m sorry.

  WEST McCRAY:

  It’s okay.

  MAY BETH FOSTER:

  She just collapsed. It sounds so dramatic, but it wasn’t like that. She wasn’t screaming or wailing or anything, it was like her body couldn’t stay standing under the weight of it. It was almost like watching a person getting pulled under water, just being taken. And then she stayed at her place and she wouldn’t leave and I was a coward about it. I let her alone for … days, because I didn’t want to see it on her face. I didn’t know if I could handle it.

  When I finally braved it, she was on the couch and I fed her and I cleaned her face and I brushed her hair and I put her to bed. And when she woke up, she was just … there. But something inside her was gone. I couldn’t reach her. Every day, since that one, I couldn’t reach her.

  WEST McCRAY [STUDIO]:

  You can hear it, the devastation in her recollection. But now I want you to imagine it said to the universe, to the millions of silent stars above us.