I think, as I start reading, that I’m beginning to understand how Sarah’s story fits into the bigger picture, not for The Stranger, but for her.
She’s telling us what happened to her. That is a microcosm, a way of understanding the story of all those who’ve been ruined and harmed by The Stranger’s actions. If we understand her pain, her story says, then we understand the Russian girl, Cathy Jones, the Nicholsons.
If we cry for her, then we cry for them. And we remember.
I turn the page and continue reading.
Sarah’s Story
Part Four
43
Some people are just good. Do you know what I mean? Maybe they don’t have special or exciting jobs. Maybe they’re not the most beautiful or the most handsome, but they’re just, well, good.
Desiree and Ned were like that.
They were good.
“STOP IT, PUMPKIN,” SARAH SCOLDED.
The dog was trying to stick his head in between her lap and the table, hoping to catch falling crumbs or (hallelujah!) actual pieces of food. Sarah shoved the dog’s monstrous noggin away.
“I don’t think he’s going to listen. That dog loves cake, don’t ask me why,” Ned said. “Come on, Pumpkin.”
The pit bull left with great reluctance, stealing glances back at the cake on the table as he was ordered into the backyard. Ned returned and resumed punching candles through the frosting.
Sarah had come to love Ned, just as Desiree had promised. He was a tall, lanky man, a little on the quiet side, but with eyes full of smiles. He always wore the same clothes: button-up flannel shirt, blue jeans, hiking boots. He kept his hair a little longer than was in vogue, he was inclined to meander, and had a slight scruffiness that was endearing; it spoke of a vague absentmindedness when it came to caring for his own appearance. Sarah had seen him get angry, both at her and at Desiree, but she had never felt endangered. She knew that Ned would cut off his own hands before he would ever hit either of them.
“Nine candles, gee-whiz,” he said, rueful. “Better start checking for gray hairs.”
Sarah smiled. “You’re such a dork, Ned.”
“So I’ve heard.”
The last candle was placed just as Desiree came through the front door. Sarah noticed that she was flushed, excited.
She’s really happy about something.
Desiree was carrying a wrapped present, a large rectangular something, and she bustled into the kitchen, leaning the present up against the wall.
“Is that it?” Ned asked, nodding toward the present.
Desiree smiled and glowed. “Yep. I wasn’t sure I was going to be able to get it. I can’t wait until you see it, Sarah.”
Sarah was mystified, in that good, birthday kind of way.
“Cake’s all ready?” Desiree asked.
“I just put the last candle on.”
“Well, let me wash my face and cool down and we’ll have a birthday!”
Sarah smiled, nodded, watched Desiree hurry off, towing Ned behind her.
She closed her eyes. It had been a good year. Ned and Desiree were great. They adored her from the start, and after a month or two of this as a constant, Sarah tossed away the last of her distrust and adored them back. Ned was away a lot, as Desiree had first told her, but he made up for it when he was home, always kind, always attentive. Desiree herself was…well…in Sarah’s secret place, in the most guarded part of her heart, Sarah realized that she was beginning to love her foster-mother.
She opened her eyes, looked at the cake, at the presents on the table and the one against the wall.
I could be happy here. Am happy here.
Not everything was perfect. Sarah still had nightmares every now and then. She’d wake up some mornings weighed down with a sadness that had come out of nowhere. And although she liked her school, she’d rebuffed offers of friendship, not by refusing them outright, but by simply never following up on them. She wasn’t ready for that, not yet.
Witch Watson had shown up a lot at first, but only once in the last nine months, which suited Sarah just fine. Cathy Jones had stopped by a few times, and seemed to be truly gratified that Sarah was doing well.
Sarah had long ago accepted a place in Desiree’s arms when comfort was needed. The one thing she still hadn’t shared was her story about The Stranger. She didn’t think Desiree would believe her. Sometimes, she wasn’t sure she believed it herself. Maybe Cathy had been right. Maybe she had been confused.
She shook these thoughts from her head. Today was her birthday, and she planned to enjoy it.
Ned and Desiree came back.
“Ready for candles?” Desiree asked Sarah.
Sarah grinned. “Yeah!”
Ned had a lighter, and he lit each candle. They sang a raucous, somewhat off-key “Happy Birthday.”
“Make a wish, honey, and blow!” Desiree cried.
Sarah closed her eyes.
I wish…I could stay here for good.
She took a deep breath, opened her eyes, and blew out every flame.
Ned and Desiree clapped.
“I always knew you were full of hot air,” Ned joked.
“So, do you want to eat cake first, or open your presents?”
Sarah could tell that Desiree was bursting for her to open the mystery present.
“Presents first.”
Desiree snatched the rectangle from its place against the wall and handed it to Sarah.
Sarah hefted it. It was big, but it was light. A painting, or maybe a photograph. She began to tear the paper away. When she saw the top edge of the frame, her heart jumped.
Could it…?
She tore the rest of the paper off as fast as her hands would allow. She saw what it was, and stopped breathing. Her chest hurt.
It was the painting her mother had done for her. The baby in the woods, the face in the clouds. Sarah looked up at Desiree, wordless.
“I could tell how much you loved that painting when you told me about it, honey. And you know what? It turns out that Cathy Jones packed away some of the stuff in your bedroom after they…well, after the police were done with things. Just some photos and toys and some other stuff. She kept it in storage for you so it wouldn’t get lost. That is the one, right?”
Sarah nodded, still wordless. Her heart was thudding in her chest. Her eyes burned.
“Oh my God,” she finally said. “Thank you so so so so much. I—” She looked at Desiree, who smiled, at Ned, whose eyes softened. “I don’t know what to say.”
Desiree’s hand touched Sarah’s hair, moved a lock of it back behind the young girl’s ear. “You’re welcome, honey.” Desiree was beaming.
Ned coughed, and held out an envelope. “This is the other part of that present, Sarah. It’s a…well, a kind of gift certificate.”
Sarah wiped the tears from her cheeks and took the envelope. She still felt overwhelmed, a little bit giddy, and her hands trembled as she opened it. Inside was a simple white card that said Happy Birthday on the front. She flipped the card open and read the inside.
Redeemable by Sarah, it said, for one adoption.
Sarah’s mouth fell open in shock. Her head snapped up and she saw that while Desiree and Ned were smiling, they looked nervous too. Almost scared.
“You don’t have to, if you don’t want to,” Ned said, his voice soft. “But if you do, Desiree and I would like to adopt you permanently.”
What’s happening to me? Why can’t I talk?
She felt as if she was being rolled by an ocean wave. She was a boat hitting the top of a swell and then sliding back down the trough, only to be picked back up again.
What’s wrong?
It came to her, a sudden clarity. This was the part of her that she’d kept buried, hidden, locked in a vault. A place filled with Nothings and Puppysheads. Frozen agony, thawed in an instant. It was crashing through her inner barriers and it was filled with thunder and thorns.
She couldn’t speak, but she managed to
nod at them, and then she began to wail. It was a wordless, terrible sound. It caused Ned’s eyes to shine and Desiree’s arms to open. Sarah fled into them and wept three years of tears.
44
SARAH AND DESIREE WERE LOUNGING ON THE COUCH WHILE NED muttered in the home office as he paid the bills. Cake had been eaten. Even Pumpkin had gotten a lick of frosting that Sarah had snuck to him. He was curled up on the floor, his feet twitching as he dreamed a doggy dream.
“I’m so happy that you want to stay with us, Sarah,” Desiree said.
Sarah looked at her foster-mother. Desiree looked happy. The happiest that Sarah had ever seen her. This filled her heart with joy. Sarah was wanted. No, more than that—she was needed. Ned and Desiree needed her to make their life complete.
The fact of this filled a void inside her that had seemed bottomless. A soul cavern stuffed with darkness and pain.
“It was my wish,” Sarah said.
“What do you mean?”
“My birthday wish. What I wished for before I blew out the candles on my cake.”
Desiree raised her eyebrows in surprise. “Wow. Is that spooky, or what?”
Sarah smiled. “I think it’s kind of magic.”
“Magic.” Desiree nodded. “I like that.”
“Desiree?” Sarah watched the floor, struggling with something.
“What is it, honey?”
“I—is it weird that this makes me miss my mom and dad? I mean—I’m so happy about this. Why would it make me sad?”
Desiree sighed and touched Sarah’s cheek. “Oh, honey. I think…” She paused, contemplative. “I think it’s because we’re not them. I mean, we love you, and you’ve made us feel whole, like a family again, but we’re not a replacement for your mom and dad. We’re a new thing in your heart, not a substitute for them. Does that make sense?”
“I guess so.” She gave Desiree a probing look. “So does it make you sad too? About your baby, I mean.”
“A little. Mostly it makes me happy.”
Sarah thought about this.
“It mostly makes me happy too.”
She moved over so she could be cuddled by her new mother. They turned on the television, and Ned came in not long after and they all laughed together even though the shows weren’t that funny. Sarah recognized the easy, comfortable rhythm.
This is home.
“Here?” Ned asked.
Sarah nodded. “Right there.”
Ned pounded the nail into the wall, and hung the painting. He stood back, giving it a critical eye. “Looks straight.”
The painting faced the foot of her bed, just as it had in her old bedroom. Sarah couldn’t take her eyes off it.
“Your mother was talented, Sarah. It’s really beautiful.”
“She used to make something for me every year, for my birthday. This one was my favorite.” She turned her head to Ned. “Thank you for helping bring it back to me.”
Ned smiled and averted his eyes. He was shy about praise. Sarah could tell he was happy.
“You’re welcome. You should really thank Cathy.” He frowned, coughed once. “And, uh, thanks for…you know. Letting us adopt you.” His eyes came up to meet hers. “I want you to know that it’s something we both wanted. It means as much to me as it does to Desiree.”
Sarah studied the scruffy, kindhearted truck driver. She knew he’d always be awkward about expressing his love, but she also knew that it was something she could be certain of.
“I’m glad,” she said. “Because I feel the same way. I love Desiree, Ned. But I love you too.”
A spark jumped in his gray eyes at her words. He looked both wounded and joyful.
“You miss your baby more than Desiree does, don’t you?”
Ned stared at her. Blinked once and looked away. His eyes found the painting. He continued to look at it as he spoke.
“After Diana died, I almost quit living. I couldn’t move. Couldn’t think. Couldn’t work. I felt like the world had ended for me.” He frowned. “My dad was a drunk, and I promised myself that I’d never touch the stuff. But after a month of trying to stop hurting, I went out and bought a bottle of scotch.” He looked at Sarah, smiled one of his gentle smiles. “It was Desiree that came to the rescue. Grabbed the bottle, broke it in the sink, and then pushed me and yelled at me until I broke down and did what I needed to do all along.”
“She made you cry,” Sarah said.
“That’s right. And I did. I cried and I cried, and then I cried some more. And the next morning, I started living again.” He spread his hands. “Desiree loved me enough to save me even when she was hurting too. So the answer to your question is no. Desiree misses Diana more than I do, not less. Because she’s got more ability to love than anyone I’ve ever known.” He looked uncomfortable and awkward again. “Anyway, I guess it’s time for you to go to bed.”
“Ned?”
“What is it, honey?”
“Do you love me back?”
The moment hung in silence. Ned smiled, a beautiful, brilliant smile that swept his awkwardness away.
That’s Mommy’s smile, Sarah marveled. Sun on the roses.
He walked over and gave Sarah a fierce hug, filled with his strength and his softness and a father’s roaring promise to protect.
“You bet I do.”
A loud “woof” broke the hug. Sarah looked down and laughed. Pumpkin was there, staring up at them.
“Yeah, it’s bedtime, puppyhead,” she said.
Ned gave the dog a faux-scowl. “Still a traitor, I see,” he said.
Pumpkin used to sleep in Ned and Desiree’s room. He’d slept in Sarah’s bed from the first night.
Sarah helped the dog up onto her bed. She climbed under the covers. Ned gazed down at her.
“Want me to get Desiree to tuck you in?” he asked.
“No, that’s okay. You can do it.”
Sarah knew that Ned would like these words. She liked meaning them. She loved him, he loved her back. Him tucking her in was just fine. At home, it had usually been Daddy who’d said good night. She missed this ritual.
“Door open a crack?” he asked.
“Yes, please.”
“Good night, Sarah.”
“Good night, Ned.”
He took one last look at the painting he’d hung for her, and shook his head.
“That’s really something.”
Sarah was dreaming of her father. There were no words in the dream, just him, her, and smiles. The dream was filled with a simple happiness. The air trembled, filled by a perfect note stroked from a hand-made violin.
The note was an impossibility of perfection, a dead-on expression of all the things the heart could contain, and it could only be heard in a dream. Sarah didn’t know who it was that played it, and she didn’t care. She looked into her father’s eyes and smiled, and he looked back and smiled and the note became the wind and the sun and the rain.
The music ended when her father spoke. You couldn’t speak and hear the note. It had to stand alone.
“Did you hear that?” he asked.
“What, Daddy?”
“Sounds like…growling.”
Sarah frowned. “Growling?” She cocked her head and strained to hear, and yes, she could hear it now, a low rumble, like a muscle car idling at a stoplight. “What do you think it is?”
But he was gone, along with the wind and the sun and the rain. No more smiles, now. This was dark clouds and thunder. She looked up at the sky in her dream and the clouds growled, louder this time, so loud they shook her bones and—
Sarah woke up to Pumpkin, who stared at the door of her room and growled. Sarah stroked the dog’s head.
“What is it, Pumpkin?”
The dog’s ears twitched at the sound of her voice, but its eyes remained focused on the door. The rumble was becoming louder, a roar in the making.
The next sound Sarah heard sent the cold of space spiking through her, a cold that froze on touch, that took the w
armth at her core and turned it into a glacier.
“‘I never saw a wild thing sorry for itself…’” the voice said.
And the door to her room flew open.
And Pumpkin roared.
“Happy birthday, Sarah.”
I made myself tell it all when it came to my mom and dad. They deserved that. It’s where things began, after all.
I can’t do it with Desiree and Ned. I can’t. Not even in third person.
I think it’s enough that you know who they were, the kind of people they were, the goodness in them.
He killed them, that’s all you need to know. He shot Ned dead and he beat Desiree to death in front of me and he did it all because I loved them and they loved me back and because my pain is his justice, whatever that means.
If you really want to know what it looked like, what it felt like, then do this: Think of something ugly, the ugliest thing you can think of—like roasting a baby on an open fire—and then chuckle about it. Then realize what you’re chuckling at, and what that means, and you’ve taken a turn into what I felt like then.
He did it to open up a big blackness inside of me, to kill hope and to show me how dangerous it is for me to love someone. It worked. For a minute, while I was with Desiree and Ned, I thought I might get to be part of a family. I’ve never felt that way again.
But God…Desiree fought him. She fought him for me, for all the good it did her.
God…
I really need to stop saying that. I mean, come on, that’s one thing I learned for sure, that night.
There is no God.
He killed them and I watched and I died with them, but I didn’t really die, I lived and wished that I’d died, but life went on and I did the only thing left to do.
I called Cathy Jones.
I called her and she came. She was the only one who always came. She also believed me after that night, and she was the only one who ever did that too.
I love Cathy, by the way. I always will. She did the best she could.
The Face of Death Page 34
