Keeping Lucy

by T. Greenwood

  “Oh, God, that smell is making me nauseous,” Marsha said. “I’m gonna run to the little girls’ room. Can you just order me a black coffee?”

  “Sure,” Ginny said.

  The sleigh bells hanging on the diner door jingled, and a tall bearded man walked in. He smiled at her and the children and took a seat at the counter.

  Peyton was busy stacking creamer packets into a teetering tower, but Lucy was a bit wriggly, uncomfortable. Ginny wondered if her stomach was still troubled. Thankfully, she hadn’t seen any more hitchhikers in her last diaper.

  Ginny picked Lucy up and put her on her lap, thinking to distract her with the paper place mat that had a map of Virginia to color on it. But there were no crayons and Lucy was starting, for the first time, to really fuss. Maybe her bottom was still bothering her. At least the lice were gone, though her hair was still greasy with mayonnaise. God, what a mess they must all look.

  “What’s the matter, sweetie?” she said as Lucy thrashed about a bit.

  Lucy hadn’t said a word since she said “moon” in Atlantic City. If she could talk, at least then she could tell Ginny what was bothering her.

  Lucy stiffened and clenched her fists, making a horrible low sound in her throat, almost like Arthur made when the mailman came up the walk each day, and Ginny glanced around the room, smiling uncomfortably, as Lucy was starting to draw the attention of the other patrons. She willed Marsha to come back from the bathroom.

  The waitress came over, and Ginny expected to be scolded for the unfolding chaos, but she only pulled out her notepad and said, “What can I get y’all?”

  “I’m sorry, I haven’t had a chance to look at the menu yet,” Ginny said, reaching with one hand for the laminated menu in the center of the table while trying to keep Lucy from squirming off her lap. “Sorry,” she offered as Lucy threw her head back and the growl became a howl.

  The waitress reached into her pocket and pulled out a cellophane-wrapped sucker, broken at one edge, crushed into orange dust. She squatted down so she was eye level with Lucy and held it out to her.

  Lucy stopped fussing for a minute but only looked at the lollipop. She, of course, had probably never seen one before.

  The waitress stood up and put the candy back in her pocket, shaking her head. She leaned over to Ginny and said sympathetically, “I got a cousin that’s retarded. At least your girl’s pretty. I didn’t even know nothing was wrong till I got up close. But she needs a good shampooin’. You know, a little dab of that VO5 will go a long way.”

  Ginny, stunned, gripped Lucy tighter.

  “I’ll just have two scrambled eggs and toast, please. Two black coffees. The children will each have a pancake and a glass of orange juice. In paper cups, please. With lids and straws if you have them.”

  “Okay, doll,” the waitress said and turned on her heel.

  As the waitress walked away, Lucy wriggled out of Ginny’s arms and slipped down underneath the table. Ginny checked to make sure Peyton was still occupied. He was still stacking the creamer packets, a tower of Coffee-mate. She bent down and located Lucy sitting on the floor beneath the table, knees to her chest.

  “Lucy, honey,” she cooed. “Come on up, sweetheart. I just ordered you a pancake. It’s going to be so yummy. I promise.” Ginny hesitantly reached her hands out, beckoning her gently. Lucy shook her head and tears rolled down her flushed cheeks. She looked scared.

  “What’s the matter, sweetheart?” she asked. Lucy had, so far, been perfectly trusting. Not afraid at all, and especially not afraid of her.

  She sat up to look around the restaurant at what Lucy could possibly be hiding from. The place was filled with people: mostly older couples, a few families with small children. There was a jukebox in one corner playing “I Think I Love You,” that Partridge Family song. Nothing scary.

  The waitress brought the coffee and said, “I’ll be just a minute with y’all’s orders.”

  “Lucy, please,” she said, starting to wonder how on earth she ever thought she’d be able to do this alone. If Ab were here, he’d at least be able to distract Peyton, to keep him occupied with a knock-knock joke or riddle while she dealt with Lucy. But Ab was not here, and, for whatever reason, Marsha was still in the bathroom. Peyton was swinging his legs under the table, impatiently kicking, kicking. She worried he might wind up kicking Lucy if he wasn’t careful. Just then the towering stack of creamers toppled over, half of them tumbling to the floor, under the table, where Lucy remained. Resolute.

  “Peyton,” she said, and, bending down again, she said firmly, “Lucy. I need you to come up. Your breakfast will be here in a minute.” She didn’t want to lose her patience. The poor thing was clearly already distressed, the last thing she needed was for Lucy be afraid of her. But her patience had been whittled away to a sliver.

  The couple at the next table over from their booth were leaning into each other and whispering. The old woman tsk-tsked and shook her head as Ginny tried to pick up the creamers and restore them to their stainless receptacle. She’d deal with the ones on the floor after she got Lucy to come up.

  Marsha came back just as Ginny was starting to feel her throat close, choking on her frustration.

  “Where’s Lucy?” Marsha asked, her eyes widening.

  “Under the table,” Ginny said, feeling desperate now. “Please, baby,” she said again to the shadow under the table, reaching for her with open arms. This time, for some reason, she complied. But once she was back in Ginny’s lap she burrowed her head into Ginny’s chest. Even when the waitress set down their food, with a pancake that looked just like Mickey Mouse, Lucy refused to unfurl.

  “Is she okay?” Marsha asked, reaching across the table and touching Lucy’s back gently.

  Ginny shook her head. “Something in here is scaring her. But I don’t know what it is. Do you feel better?” she asked Marsha.

  Marsha rolled her eyes a little. “Remind me to never, ever drink again, will you?” she said and took a sip of the steaming coffee.

  “I think Peyton needs some whipped cream for his pancakes,” Marsha said, and Peyton, who had been scowling, brightened. She beckoned the waitress over. “Ma’am, do you have some Cool Whip?”

  Ginny tried to eat her breakfast, but it was difficult with Lucy on her lap, so she asked the waitress to put it in a Styrofoam container for her. She figured she could eat later, once they were on the road again.

  Marsha paid the check, and Ginny hoisted Lucy up onto her hip. She could feel her diaper was heavy, but she didn’t want to risk taking her to the bathroom here. She just wanted to get her into the car again.

  They made their way to the front door, and as they did, Lucy’s body stiffened and she dug her sharp little nails into Ginny’s neck. That low growl rumbled in Lucy’s throat.

  The man who had come into the restaurant earlier was still sitting at the counter. Now that she was closer, she could see he was maybe thirty years old, with a dark beard and a slightly lazy eye. As they passed he looked up at them, and Lucy clung onto her for dear life, growling audibly now.

  Was she afraid of this man? They’d never even seen him before.

  As she rushed her out the doors, Lucy’s body slowly, slowly relaxing the farther away they got from the diner, Ginny felt overwhelmed, again, by all that she didn’t know about what had happened to this poor child in the last two years. There were ghosts haunting her, ghosts that might always haunt her. And it was her fault. Ab’s fault.

  Marsha got Peyton into the backseat, but Lucy wouldn’t let go of Ginny’s neck, so Ginny put the food on the dash and settled into the front seat with Lucy still clinging to her.

  Marsha rolled down the windows and turned the key. Soon enough the smell of peanuts faded into the distance, and Lucy, finally, finally let go.

  Eighteen

  September 1971

  Marsha’s aunt Pepper lived on a farm in the Blue Ridge Mountains, ten miles from civilization in a house she built herself. Pepper worked from home a
s a tax preparer, and Nancy was a teacher in the local elementary school. They’d lived together for nearly twenty years, though as far as anyone knew (locally, anyway), they were simply “roommates.” Nancy would have lost her job if the school administrators caught wind of the truth.

  As they pulled up the long gravel drive to their small cabin, Ginny sucked in her breath. The view at sunset was stunning, the mountains in the distance like rolling waves of blue.

  The children, groggy in the backseat, woke and silently wondered at the view, like a painting, framed by their windshield. As they pulled to a stop, a woman emerged from the front door of the house, followed by two loping, gray hound dogs.

  “Welcome to Paradise!” Pepper said, throwing her arms up and gesturing grandly as she barreled toward the car. She was dressed in dungarees and a plaid flannel shirt. An Amazonian version of Marsha, she was at least six feet tall, with broad shoulders and long legs, short black curls, and a wide smile. Marsha had said she was sixty years old, but she looked youthful still. Marsha threw the car door open and ran into her arms.

  Ginny tentatively opened the passenger door as Peyton leapt out the back. Her legs were cramped from the drive, and her spine ached. She was also hungry. They hadn’t stopped since breakfast except for gas, and all she’d had to eat was a bag of Fritos and part of a little tin can of Hunt’s butterscotch pudding that Peyton couldn’t finish.

  One dog went straight for her crotch as she moved to the rear door to get Lucy out. As soon as she opened the back door, the dog leapt into the backseat. Lucy let out a sharp squeal, and Ginny’s heart sank. God, please don’t let her have another meltdown. The dog was walking back and forth across the backseat, slobbering on Lucy, who batted her eyes as if she couldn’t believe what she was seeing. Ginny realized she’d likely never seen a dog before. She tried to imagine what must have been going through her mind; so much of the world was completely unknown to her. A strange and terrifying place. However, it wasn’t terror that registered in Lucy’s eyes right now, but rather delight. Lucy reached out at the dog’s wagging tail when it batted back and forth across her face. She blinked and giggled. Ginny thought of Arthur at home, how gentle and sweet he had always been with Peyton. She wondered if she brought Lucy home what she would think of such an enormous (though gentle) beast.

  “That’s a dog,” Ginny explained. “Dog.”

  “That is a bad dog,” Pepper said. “Come on, June, get yer ass out of that car right now.”

  Sheepishly, June tumbled out of the car, leaving Lucy covered in dog drool and fur.

  Pepper squatted to the dog’s level and grabbed either side of her jowly face, frowning. “What am I gonna do with ya?”

  The dog looked back at her as if to say, “I haven’t got a clue, but whatever it is, I deserve it,” her tail firmly between her legs.

  “Go on with Johnny,” Pepper said. “Git!” The dog bounded off back toward the house, where the other, nearly identical hound dog remained waiting patiently.

  “I’m Pepper,” the woman said, thrusting her hand into the air between them.

  “Ginny,” she said. “Thank you so much for having us. I hope it’s not too much trouble.”

  Pepper waved her hand as if swatting a fly. “Hush. Marsha is like my own little girl. Any friend of hers is a friend of mine.”

  “Where’s Nancy?” Marsha asked as she popped the trunk open and started pulling out their bags.

  “She’s in the kitchen making up some of her famous venison and leather britches. Blackberry dumplings for dessert. You ever had Appalachian cookin’?” Pepper asked Ginny. Ginny shook her head. “Well, yer in for a real treat then. I hope you brought your appetite.”

  Inside, they met Nancy, a petite woman who seemed older than Pepper by a decade. She had two gray braids wound up into a sort of crown on the top of her head, and a plumpness that comforted Ginny.

  The smells coming from the stove were delightful and strange.

  “It sure is pretty here,” Ginny said, peering out the kitchen window at all that undulating blue.

  “Well, too bad you couldn’t come a month from now,” Pepper said. “It’s the prettiest place on earth when the leaves turn.”

  Peyton stayed outside, occupied with both Johnny and June, throwing a big stick and then watching as the two dogs tumbled after each other for it. Lucy sat in a chair at the kitchen window facing the porch, clapping her hands. When June came up to the glass and slobbered a big wet kiss on the window, she blinked her eyes and laughed.

  “Dog!” she said. Clear as the most beautiful bell.

  Ginny felt a surge of happiness, and for the first time since they left, she felt a sort of peace descend upon her. They were safe. At least for now. In a warm kitchen with kind people. Family. Far from Willowridge, far from home.

  But then, just as they sat down to eat, the tiny wooden door on the cuckoo clock swung open, the little bird popping out to announce the hour.

  Five o’clock.

  Five o’clock, the time Lucy was supposed to be returned to the school. Ginny was now officially breaking the law. Her body tensed again; she felt as tightly wound as that clock.

  Marsha looked at Ginny, concerned. “You okay?”

  Ginny nodded, despite the heavy feeling in her chest, the tingling in her hands as she gripped the fork.

  Still, the meal was one of the most incredible spreads that Ginny had ever tasted. The blackberry dumplings were so rich and tart, she accepted a second serving with a dollop of sweet cream and a sprig of fresh mint plucked from the front yard, even though her belly was already straining against the waistband of her jeans.

  Nancy had cooked the entire meal herself, so Pepper declined everyone’s offer of help and excused herself to do the dishes. At home, Ginny did all the cooking and all the cleaning. She never once thought to solicit Ab’s help; he’d certainly never offered. After dinner, it took her at least an hour to do the dishes and get the children cleaned up. Ab usually retired to the living room, returning to the kitchen only to make a drink or steal a kiss. How had she never seen the inequity in this before? This equal distribution of labor was so simple, so sensible.

  When Pepper returned from the kitchen, Marsha opened up the road atlas on the table. “We’re trying to figure out where we should stop next. We want to get to Weeki Wachee Springs by Wednesday or Thursday. I figure maybe two more days of driving? Got any recommendations between here and Florida?”

  “Well, you said y’all need to stay off the beaten path, right?” Pepper asked, raising her eyebrow.

  Marsha had told Ginny that she’d shared just the basic facts with her aunt and Nancy. They didn’t know the details of their plight, of their flight, she assured her, but she obviously knew this wasn’t just a fun girls’ road trip.

  Nancy chimed in, “If you aren’t in too much of a hurry, you could go by way of Asheville. It’s a little out of the way, but sure is pretty.”

  “Plus, nobody on your tail will expect you to go that way,” Pepper added.

  Maybe Marsha had told her more than she thought. She wondered about Ab. About Willowridge. She couldn’t imagine that Ab would let the school call law enforcement; certainly, he would have spoken to the powers that be by now to ensure that there wasn’t any trouble. But assuming the best of Ab was exactly how she’d wound up where she was now. She truly had no idea what he was capable of. The lengths to which Abbott Senior might convince him to go.

  She needed to check in with her mother again. Though she was starting to think it was maybe for the best if her mother didn’t know where she was; that way Shirley couldn’t get in trouble for helping her. As of five o’clock, she was a fugitive, she supposed, in the eyes of the law. A kidnapper on the run. It was all so unthinkable.

  “Or, you could swoop down to Savannah, maybe stay the night there; it’s a straight shot from there to where y’all are headed. Get you there by Wednesday afternoon. You might keep an eye on the weather, though,” she added. “Hurricane’s coming u
p from the Caribbean, I believe. Edith, they’re calling it. What kind of name is that? Sounds like some fuddy-duddy housewife. If I were the one doing the naming, I’d call it Esmeralda. Now that’s a storm.”

  “A hurricane?” Ginny said. They didn’t get hurricanes in Massachusetts.

  “Yeah, I think y’all will be okay. They’re sayin’ it’s gonna hit Mississippi and Louisiana mostly. Might get some rain down there, though,” Nancy offered.

  Pepper clapped her hands then and said, “How about some Yahtzee?”

  * * *

  After the kids were bathed and put to bed in the guest room, Ginny, Marsha, and Pepper stayed up at the kitchen table rolling dice. Nancy went to bed early. She had to be at school the next morning by seven o’clock. She gave each of them a hug and kissed Pepper sweetly on the cheek before disappearing upstairs.

  Pepper was a terrific storyteller and had a sense of humor to match her niece’s. Ginny quietly listened to them share jabs and family anecdotes that Ginny, in all the years she’d known Marsha, had never heard.

  Marsha started yawning at about nine o’clock. Early for her, but she must have been exhausted from the drive. Ginny wished she could offer to help. It seemed an unfair burden that Marsha had to do all the driving. They might be able to make it to Florida faster if Ginny were able to take the wheel and let Marsha get some sleep.

  “I feel like I’ve been run over by a truck,” Marsha said, yawning elaborately again. “I’m gonna head to bed. We should get on the road early.”

  Ginny nodded. “Yeah, me, too. Plus, I feel like I’m going to burst.”

  Pepper had gotten the leftover blackberry dumplings out and fixed them each another bowl.

  “Thank you again for everything,” Ginny said to Pepper as she helped clear the dessert dishes. “I really appreciate your letting us stay here.”

  Pepper squeezed Ginny’s arm as Marsha disappeared up the stairs, as if she wanted her to stay behind a minute. She complied but had no idea what Pepper could want with her.