“You have four brothers?” I gape up at Sal. I’m paired with Manny, who’s tried to bolt across the street in front of cars twice so far. Once to see a puppy up close and another time to get away from his brother’s teasing. His hand is sweaty in mine.
“Yup.” Sal slouches along the interlocking-brick sidewalk, hardly lifting his Nikes. “Two older and two younger. Maybe that’s why I like kids. We all have to take care of each other since my mother works a lot.” He’s carrying two-year-old Fatima, who’s fallen asleep on his shoulder.
“I only have one brother, and sometimes he makes me doubt the future of the human race.” I tighten my grip on Manny’s slippery hand as we approach an intersection with overhanging trees.
Sal laughs. “He can’t be that bad.”
“You don’t know my brother.” I roll my eyes.
“Sal’s mama cut my hair,” Manny brags.
I lift Manny’s baseball cap, check out his short-cropped black curls and give him a thumbs-up.
Manny beams.
“Your mother did that?” I glance at Sal.
“She’s a hairdresser,” Sal says, “so she cuts hair at the shelter once a month.”
“Wow! Five kids and she still has time to volunteer? That’s generous.”
“It’s nothing.” He shrugs, but he’s grinning.
Up ahead, Casey checks both ways before she crosses the street with her four-year-old charge from the preschool room.
“I see the park!” Manny’s hand slides free of mine and he bolts.
“Manny, stop!” I shriek. I reach with my good hand for the back of his shirt and miss. A large hydro truck is rolling toward the four-way stop in front of us.
Then Sal’s long arm stretches out. He grips Manny’s shoulder and pulls him back. The truck screeches to a halt.
“Hold up there, soldier.” Sal’s voice is steady. “Wait for your partner.”
He doesn’t scream or even lecture Manny. Fatima is still asleep on his shoulder.
“Good reflexes, Sal.” I try to keep my voice calm like his.
The truck rumbles through the intersection.
“If you like that, you should see me bowl sometime.” Sal’s bronze eyes meet mine.
“What?” I grab Manny by the forearm, hoping Sal isn’t asking me out.
“Bowling. You and me. After your hand is better.”
“Uh, I don’t know how to bowl,” I say, even though Dad used to take Joel and me regularly. I turn my back to Sal, my chest suddenly constricting so that I can’t breathe properly. I can’t date Sal. Or anyone. Not right now. Maybe never. “Let’s cross together,” I tell Manny.
“I’m going on the swings first.” Manny leans toward the park, dancing across the intersection on his toes.
“Just stay away from the road,” I say.
The playground has four swings shaded by trees, and two adventure sets with multiple slides and overhead bars. In the nearby pond, geese and ducks paddle close to shore, probably hoping the humans will ignore the signs that say not to feed them. The grassy area between the pond and the playground is littered with goose droppings and picnic benches. Beyond the pond is the forest, with walking paths through it to neighborhoods with fancy four-bedroom homes and double-car garages.
The kids cut loose as soon as their shoes touch the sand of the playground. I run my fingers over the quarter-inch stubble on my head and veer away from Sal, my chest still tight. The urge to shave again is strong, even though it will be hard to do with my broken right hand.
Rachel gets a game of tag going with some other girls. Jonah pushes Manny on the swing, and I follow Casey, who’s peering into a patch of tall grasses near the edge of the pond.
“What are you doing?” I ask.
Casey crouches low to peek under a bush. “I’m looking for Monty,” she says.
“Oh.” I savor the sound of her voice; she’s only been speaking for a few days. “Well, he—and his friends—might be hard to find.”
“Why?” She tucks her messy brown hair behind her ears and squints up at me.
“He can travel pretty far. He might be a long way from here.”
“Like where?”
“I don’t know. How about we look around to see what other creatures we can find? We’re bound to find something—maybe a frog or some worms.”
“Okay.” Casey nods. “But no bees. They scare me.”
“No bees. I promise.”
Casey spots a purple-and-brown butterfly with yellow-tipped wings, but it flies too high for us to see it up close. I rustle underneath some wide leaves and find a couple of snails.
“Take a look at these,” I say. “They have yellow racing stripes.”
Casey scrunches up her nose.
“Come on. Snails are cool.” I try to remember interesting snail facts. “Did you know their eyes are on the end of those little stalks?” I point to one eye, and the snail retracts it. The other snail is already tucked inside his shell.
“He doesn’t like to be poked.” Casey frowns.
“Sorry, snail.” I bow to him.
“His name isn’t Snail.” She brings her face closer to him.
He extends his eye stalks, as if he’s curious.
“What is it?” I smile.
“I don’t know.” Casey glances down the path that snakes around the east side of the pond to the forest.
“Can we go see the geese?” She points to two giant Canada geese that are waddling onto the shore, tails dripping water.
“You have to ask Jia.”
Casey runs over to Jia, who’s sitting on a bench and watching the rest of the kids play. Fatima sits on her knee, blinking sleepily in the sunshine. Sal is at the twirly slide, catching toddlers at the bottom and setting them upright on wobbly legs. I arrive to hear Jia say, “As long as you can see me, Casey. And take Tori with you.”
Casey and I walk the path beside the pond, hand in hand, heading toward the forest. We pass a mom with her kid on her hip and the dad pushing an empty stroller. When we near the geese, one starts honking loudly and tossing its head.
Casey covers her ears. “Why is she doing that?”
“I don’t know. Maybe to protect her mate?”
“Or she could be asking for food.”
“Could be.” The surface of the water is coated with feathers, and there are several nests among the nearby shore plants. “My friend came here yesterday to feed bread to the geese, even though you’re not supposed to.”
“Why can’t we feed them?” Casey asks.
“It’s not good for them. They need to eat natural food, not human-made things.”
“Oh.” Her face falls. “My dad used to take me to feed the geese.”
Her father. The one who abused her mother and likely Casey too. “Oh,” I echo, not sure what to say. I suppose she has some good memories of him as well.
Both geese extend their necks and honk some more. When we don’t offer any food, they waddle farther down the path to the edge of the forest, near where other people are walking.
Casey follows them. I glance back at Jia, who I can just see through the scattering of trees.
“That’s far enough,” I say, catching up to Casey.
The geese stop, and so do we. Casey pulls out some nearby grass and tries to interest the closest goose with it.
I glance toward the forest and notice Mr. Manicure heading along the path toward us. He’s swinging his arms and carrying a plastic Wonder Bread bag full of crumbs.
I frown and turn toward the pond, hoping he won’t notice me.
“Tori!” He stops beside us, crowding too close. “It looks like we have the same idea today.” He grins, showing his perfect white teeth. “Do you want some of my bread?”
“You shouldn’t feed the geese,” I say, even though I promised myself I wouldn’t talk to him. “It’s bad for—”
I stop abruptly when I notice that Casey has dropped the grass at her feet and gone rigid. Her chin has retreated into her nec
k, and the whites of her eyes show as she gapes at Mr. Manicure.
“What’s wrong, Casey?” I kneel down.
She’s speechless. My creep-o-meter goes off the scale. I glance toward the playground—I can’t see Jia anymore—and then up at Mr. Manicure.
His forehead has knotted, and his eyes are filled with malice. “Tell Carita she can go to hell,” he practically growls at me before he grabs Casey around her middle and takes off at a run toward the forest.
Casey screams—a piercing wail that jumpstarts me.
“What are you doing? Let her go!” I shriek, sprinting after them.
Casey’s sunhat falls off her head. The geese honk. I latch onto the back of Mr. Manicure’s shirt with my cast hand, even though it hurts like hell, and land a few punches to his kidneys.
“Jia! Help!” I yell, even though she’s probably too far away to hear.
I get in a few more hits. He staggers sideways. I grab Casey’s ankle, holding fast. He regains his footing and rips her from me. Then he shakes me off, knocking me backward into the pond.
Casey! I swallow water. Gag. It’s freezing. The bottom oozes muck. I thrash around to get my footing, desperate to help her.
My hand gropes the shore. I pull on some weeds to get myself upright.
I gasp for air, coughing and sputtering, wiping my eyes like mad. I kneel. Water streams off me.
“Casey!” I shout, glancing up and down the path. My teeth chatter. My chest thuds.
Casey is nowhere in sight.
FREAK
to explode with panic
Seconds pass like hours. I stand at the edge of the pond, rigid.
Call 9-1-1. Tell Jia. Find Casey. My brain fires off thoughts, but my body refuses to react. Inside, I’m screaming, thrashing, punching holes in the sky.
How could this happen?
The sky is a cheerful blue. My clothes are covered in muck and feathers. My shorts drip water down my legs. The Velcro straps on my cast have come loose.
I pick up Casey’s sunhat and hold it to my chest.
Jia. Go to her.
I force my feet to move.
My shoes squelch with every step.
Jia. I need her.
I break into a run, desperate to tell her the horrible thing I let happen, desperate for her to fix it.
I slip on wet goose poop and slam backward onto the brick path.
I arrive at the playground smelling like goose crap and pond scum.
My mascara must be smeared down my cheeks.
More than one mother gives me a fearful look, as if I’m the monster, but there are bigger monsters than they can imagine.
My skin feels raw. I stumble toward Jia.
She’s watching Jonah swing across the overhead bars. When she sees me, her smile wilts.
“Tori, what happened? Where’s Casey?” Her eyes dart to the pond and back to me.
I open my mouth.
Gone, I want to say. Let me tell you what happened. We need to find her.
Instead, a wail comes out. I dive at Jia and bury my face in her shoulder.
“Tori, talk to me,” she begs.
I can’t breathe.
Minutes later, I’m sitting at a picnic table, Casey’s sunhat in my lap. The hydro truck is back, parked outside the playground fence. It’s lifting a worker in an orange hard hat with the hydraulic arm. How can hydro wires matter right now?
Francine has run down the path to the forest, looking for Casey. Sal has gathered the rest of the kids in a tight knot near the slide. Fatima propels a yellow tractor over a sand mound that the bigger kids are building. Sal watches us anxiously. When he finds out how I let Casey get taken, he won’t want to go bowling with me anytime soon.
“The police will be here soon.” Jia’s face is in mine; straight black hair, freckles across her nose, pleading eyes. “What did he look like? Tori, please focus.”
“Um, he’s tall. White. Short brown hair. And he’s clean.” My head spins. The clouds race by. The treetops bend in the wind.
“What do you mean?”
“He’s always well dressed. Today he’s wearing a collared shirt. White with blue stripes. Pressed pants. Manicured hands.” Then I remember the important detail. “He lives across the street from the backyard of the shelter.”
“He’s a neighbor?” Her forehead wrinkles.
“Yes. The corner house with the blue front door.” I marvel that I can remember such details right now. “He was mowing the lawn this week.”
“Are you sure?” Jia looks puzzled.
I stand up, still holding Casey’s hat. “I should have kicked the back of his knee. It would have made him fall.” I mime a kick. “I thought he was creepy. He…felt wrong. I should have told you about him.”
“Tori, this isn’t your fault. But I need you to concentrate. Tell me everything that happened.”
“We can’t let him hurt Casey. We have to—”
Just then Francine returns, shaking her head. “I couldn’t find her.”
A moan rises from deep inside my chest.
I let the tears come.
I’m repeating my story to two police officers when Peggy arrives in a rusty four-door. She skids to a stop beside the squad car and runs across the grass toward us. Rita—Casey’s mom—is with her.
In the playground, the kids from the shelter stare at us while Francine and Sal try to distract them with sand toys. I sink lower on the picnic bench and wipe my eyes with the tissue Jia gave me, but the tears keep falling.
“Tell us everything.” Peggy’s eyes flash. She grips Rita’s elbow as if she’s trying to prop her up.
I’ve let them all down.
Jia sits beside me and holds my hand while I start my story from the beginning again. My soggy tissue is black with mascara. I clench it in my good fist.
One cop writes down everything I say. He’s big like Dad, his uniform bulging with muscles. I watch the sunlight hit the fine pale hairs on his arm. The other cop—a small woman overloaded by the gear strapped to her belt—studies me. I avoid looking at Casey’s mom. I don’t want to see the despair in her eyes.
When I finish, they decide that Jia, Francine and Sal should take the rest of the kids back to the shelter with a police escort. The female cop also radios for a search-and-rescue unit and a patrol car to visit the house with the blue door.
Jia hugs me before they leave. “It’s not your fault,” she says again, but I know she’s wrong.
Sal stays focused on the kids. I’m sure he hates me for what happened. I hate myself for it.
A goose near the pond honks, and I’m instantly mad at it. “If only we hadn’t gone to see the geese,” I say.
But no one’s listening.
Peggy is deep in conversation with the police. Rita’s chest heaves with heart-wrenching sobs.
The terrible moment by the pond replays in my mind like a horror movie that won’t stop.
“There’s one more thing.” I sit up. “The man who took Casey—he said something about Carita.”
Rita turns to me. Her eyes are red-rimmed. Her tears have gummed up her eye makeup, which is on both eyes this time. “I’m Carita,” she says. “Rita for short.”
My skin prickles. My broken hand aches. “He said”— I pause, not sure how to say it—“Tell Carita she can go to hell.”
Rita gasps like I’ve slapped her. “It was Stewart. I prayed it wasn’t—”
“Who’s Stewart?” the female cop asks.
“Her ex-husband.” Peggy frowns.
“But he lives across the street from the shelter,” I say.
“That’s not possible.” Peggy shakes her head.
“He must have found us somehow, maybe pretended to be a neighbor.” Rita’s hands tremble. “He’s a good liar. Too good. Oh, Casey-Lynn!” She looks up at the sky, where gray clouds have gathered.
I swallow hard.
“Listen to me, Rita.” Peggy’s tone is urgent. “Do you have a photo of him on your cell phone?�
��
“No. I erased them all. I don’t want a photo of that man—”
“I can get one.” Peggy is on her cell phone in seconds. “Hello, Nathan? I need you to pull Rita Foster’s file. Find the photo of her ex-husband, Stewart Foster, scan it, and send it to my phone. Hurry!”
Moments later, Peggy shows me an image of Casey’s father on her phone. “Is this him?”
“Yes.” I clench my jaw. How could I have let this happen?
Rita rocks back and forth. “Oh no, oh no, oh no, oh no…”
“Try to stay calm.” The female cop puts an arm around Rita and slowly lowers her to the picnic bench.
I leap up to give them space.
The cop sits. “We need you to answer a few questions. Can you do that?”
Rita nods. Her chin trembles. Fear lives in her eyes.
“Did your husband—”
“Ex-husband,” Peggy pipes up.
“Did your ex-husband ever attempt to abduct Casey-Lynn before?”
“No.”
“Has he ever assaulted her or attempted to assault her?”
Rita shakes her head. “He only came after me. I think”—she shudders—“it’s me he wants to punish.”
“Why would he want to do that?”
Peggy interrupts. “He has a history of domestic abuse, and there’s a restraining order against him. He didn’t want them to leave him for the shelter.”
The male cop nods. “Does he have joint custody of your daughter?”
“No. I was granted full custody of Casey-Lynn last month. His lawyer said he was moving to California. I thought he’d already gone.”
I still can’t believe he’s not a neighbor.
“Will you be putting out an AMBER Alert?” Peggy sets her hands on her hips and sticks out her pointy elbows. “I’ve heard the first three to five hours after an abduction are the most crucial in recovering a child.”
“That’s not up to us to decide,” the male cop says. “Certain guidelines need to be met for an AMBER Alert—”
“But we’ll make a request to initiate one,” his partner continues. “And I promise you that we’ll do everything we can to get Casey back.”
So will I. My eyes well with tears again. I won’t stop until she’s found.
Punch Like a Girl Page 8
