Vanished

by Mary McGarry Morris

  “Bend lower,” he said. The rinse water trickled brown into the sink. “You gotta have a bath, Canny,” he said, turbaning her head in one of the motel towels.

  “Not in the same tub as them two!”

  “What’s wrong with them?”

  “I hate them!” she said, jerking her head so viciously that the turban hung lopsidedly.

  “You been having fun with them!” he said, straightening the towel. “I seen you! You been like a big sister,” he said anxiously.

  “I don’t wanna be a big sister. They’re mean, Poppy. Not mean ’cause they’re mad about something. But mean in their blood. ’Specially Kelly! Last night, she cut all the hair off Krystal’s Barbie!” Her mouth trembled and her eyes brimmed with tears. She rubbed her nose and sniffed. “How come we have to stay here, Poppy? I hate it here.”

  He held out his arms and held her close.

  “I can hear your heart beating,” she said, with her ear to his chest. “It’s so loud.… It’s going ba-boom! Ba-boom! Ba-boom!” She laughed. “I never heard your heart before.”

  “How come?” His eyes were closed. He didn’t dare open them.

  “You never hugged me this tight before,” she said in a muffled voice, then added, “You’re hurting me, Poppy. I can’t breathe.”

  He let her go and she drew back and watched him carefully, unblinking, her blue eyes clear and deep and solemn. She took a breath so deep that her ribs hooped out like barrel staves, strained and ready to burst. “Kelly said I’m not your real kid. She said Momma told her mother she got me from some gypsies.”

  He picked up Dotty’s hairbrush from the back of the toilet and ran his fingers through the tangle of reddish hairs.

  “Hey, Pops!” Jiggy Huller called from the driveway. “C’mere for a minute!”

  “Here,” Wallace said, holding out the brush. “Get all them snarls out.”

  Instead of the brush, she seized his wrist. “Poppy, did you get me from gypsies?”

  “Hey, Pops!”

  “Did you?” she insisted, her face pinched and as white as the toppling turban.

  “C’mon, Aubie!” Dotty was calling.

  “Tell me!”

  “No, dammit!” he said, pulling away and hurrying outside.

  Dust veiled the windshield. Huller’s truck sagged and sprang with each rut in the dirt road. Beside Huller Wallace sat straight as a pole, his head jiggling on his rigid neck like a dashboard doll. He kept blinking.

  Huller glanced at him over the wheel. “Dotty say any more about that guy last night? Callahan?”

  “Nope,” Wallace said.

  “Jesus, you’re quiet!” Huller said with a faint smile. “You remind me of this old guy in the cell next to mine. Never said more than one word at a time. ‘Yup, nope, huh, sure.’ And that was it. ’Cept for at night. He talked in his sleep—all night long. He’d have these whole, long conversations in all different voices. Some nights you’d swear there were ten people in there all talking at once. Kids’ voices and broads’ voices.” Huller shivered. “A real weirdo. Buzzer was his name. He set fire to his house and wiped out his whole family.” Now Huller laughed. “One night the bugger across the block got sick of the voices and he threw a lit rag in the cell and Buzzer woke up to find his bunk flaming under him and he just laid there staring up at the ceiling and never even stirred off the bunk or yelled or screamed or nothing. Just laid there while the clothes burned right off him. He died a coupla days after and they said he never said one word. Not one single word.”

  Huller glanced at Wallace. “You ever serve any time?”

  Wallace’s face was white. He was thinking of the man in the story and he was suddenly very scared. Huller repeated his question.

  “Nope,” Wallace said. He folded his arms over his chest and tried to look strong.

  “Dotty says you two been together five years. At first I thought you were her old man.”

  “I ain’t,” Wallace said, knuckling the flesh of his upper arm so that it bulged like a muscle.

  “And I thought Canny was her sister.…”

  “Where we goin’?” Wallace said, leaning forward. He peered intently at the winding road ahead.

  “Up to the old Bass house. Another coupla miles. Old lady Bass’s funeral was last week.” Huller looked out of the corner of his eyes at Wallace. “Dotty says you got a wife and kids.”

  Wallace looked out the side window. The trees blurred past in a stream of sparkling light. The sun felt hot on his face. Huller’s voice tumbled over him. “She said you and her just met on a road once, and five minutes later you were driving off in some guy’s truck together.” Huller snorted. “Course, half what that girl says, I take with a grain of salt.”

  They had come to a fork in the road. Huller hesitated, then bore left as if it didn’t matter which way he went. His voice lifted over the motor. “Like her being runner-up for Miss Florida and having to take a screen test in Hollywood … not that she’s not good-looking enough, of course. Just that her stories get so mixed up, I noticed, and changed, depending on who she’s talking to. Like last night … the things she told that guy Callahan. And then after, to me.”

  The truck had slowed to a crawl. Huller spoke quickly now. “This is big time, Pops. I need it straight. I can’t be screwing around. This could be big dough or a lotta years … or worse. How’d you get the kid? And where’d you get her?”

  “I dunno,” Wallace said.

  “What d’ya mean, you don’t know?” A wormy blue vein slithered up Huller’s temple. “What kind of answer’s that?”

  “I jest dunno,” Wallace said numbly.

  Huller’s eyes narrowed. “Well she’s not your kid then, or else you’d tell me. Right?”

  Wallace stared ahead over the dashboard. He could smell Huller.

  “So is she Dotty’s kid?” Huller asked, laying his arm over the seat. His fist was inches from Wallace’s face.

  “Ask her,” Wallace said.

  “I’m asking you,” Huller snarled.

  Wallace’s lips sucked back and forth over his teeth and he began to rock a little and his eyes batted frantically.

  Huller leaned close. “Well?”

  “Ask her,” Wallace said again.

  “I’m asking you!” Huller exploded.

  “Well don’t!” cried the little man miserably. “Jest don’t.”

  Huller studied him for a moment. He tapped his fingers on the steering wheel; then he wet his lips and smiled. He backed the truck down into a ditch, then shot forward back the way they had come, with that smile, that knife-flick of a smile, never once leaving his face.

  Alma sat up on the porch, soaking her feet in a bucket of sudsy water. Below her on the hard-packed dirt yard, Dotty sprawled on a blanket. When the truck careened into the driveway, she sat up in a quick wiggle of fastening her skimpy halter top.

  “Where’s all the stuff?” Alma hollered down to them.

  “We got waylaid,” Huller said. He climbed down from the truck and clasped his hands behind his head and straddled back in a long, powerful stretch.

  “What the hell do you mean, waylaid?” Alma yelled back. She lifted her soapy feet onto the porch floor and sat forward with her hands on her knees.

  “Me and Pops met these two broads and we got laid along the way,” Huller called back. At that, Dotty jumped up and swatted him. He covered his head with both hands and ran up on the porch past Alma, who reached out and whacked his bottom. Dotty took the steps two at a time and went at his back with a flurry of light jabs. “You’re awful!” she squealed. “Just awful, saying that about poor old Aubie.…”

  Huller grabbed her wrists and backed her against the house. Dotty’s laughter rippled down from the porch. Wallace watched from the truck as she squirmed and giggled and butted her head against Huller’s chest. “Help!” Dotty laughed. “Help me, Poppy!”

  “Leave her alone!” Alma called shrilly. She rose from the rocking chair and moved closer until she was behin
d her husband.

  “I said leave her alone, Jig. You’re hurting her.…”

  “Ya, Jig,” Dotty cried. “You’re hurting me!”

  “You crazy bastard! Let goa her!” Alma screamed as she grabbed a fistful of Jiggy’s hair. His head jerked back as, with a wounded bellow, he spun around, his thick hard arm meeting his wife’s swollen belly like a club. First, she doubled over, breathless and stunned; then she staggered back, her eyes rolling to whites, her arms poled out at her sides like sails as her bare feet skidded over the soapy puddles at the top of the stairs.

  “Oh … oh … oh … oh …,” she moaned with the thud she made on each step.

  Wallace was the first to reach her. “They was just foolin’!” he said, with a note of wonder. Streaming down her hairy white legs were bright red clots.

  8

  It was Alma’s third day in the hospital. The aborted baby had been a boy. Since Monday, Dotty had been at the hospital day and night with Alma. But now her sympathies had begun to wane. Alma’s whining was getting on her nerves, she complained now while Huller worked on his truck out in the front yard.

  Wallace couldn’t help but notice how happy Dotty looked. Her cheeks were flushed and her eyes glistened watery and bright as fever blisters. Her voice reminded him of churning water. The crazier life got, the better Dotty liked it. She thrived on turmoil and confusion. The thing about Dotty was, she could spin just as fast as the world could spin—outspin it, in fact, until, like the hummingbird’s wings, she was just a motionless blur of energy.

  “To listen to Alma, you’d think Jig didn’t give a damn! That she was the only one hurt.” Dotty lit another cigarette and sipped her coffee. Wallace was at the stove, frying her an egg. A few minutes ago, he had asked her if she wanted the yoke hard or soft. She still hadn’t answered, so he slid the spatula under the egg and lifted it carefully from the pan’s heat.

  “She’s so goddamn thick,” Dotty said.

  “Hard or soft?” he interjected quickly, the spatula still poised in midair. Dotty wouldn’t eat it if the yoke broke.

  “She doesn’t understand how it is for a guy. ’Specially a guy like Jig that keeps everything all locked up inside!” she said.

  Just then the truck started up. It rumbled close to the porch and the horn blew. Dotty jumped up from the table. “We’ll be at the hospital most of the day,” she said, pouring the rest of her coffee down the sink. She glanced toward the door. “In and out, that is,” she added. “Jig’s not very good at sitting still for a long stretch,” she said with a slow warmth that made Wallace look up quickly. The egg splattered down into the hot grease. Huller tooted again. Dotty was still talking as she ran around the kitchen, gathering up her pocketbook and her high heels, and, from the hanger over the bathroom door, Jiggy’s blue plaid shirt, which she had ironed late last night after Wallace had gone over to sleep in the cabin.

  “It’s her nerves more than anything else,” Dotty said, bending to fasten her ankle strap. “The least little thing sets her off. Last night it was how she was gonna have her sister move in here to take care of the kids. I told her how good you are with kids. Probably better, I said, than a real mother. And next thing I know, she’s mad at Jiggy, ’cause she thought he said something behind her back about being a bad mother. I told her you’re doing just fine and for her not to worry.” She looked up as the horn blared steadily.

  “Jesus Christ!” she hollered through the door. “I’ll be right out!” She turned back, hopping on one foot as she fastened the other strap. “So if she calls, you tell her that. How you and the girls are doing just fine.”

  Wallace froze. “She gonna call?” he gulped. Telephones scared him. He never said the right things on them. He either told too much or just went totally blank and couldn’t hardly say two words into the receiver.

  “I don’t know,” Dotty said, with a fixed look of warning. “But if she does, you better answer it, Aubie! If you don’t, she’ll think something’s wrong and she’ll send her little bitch of a sister over for sure then!”

  Huller hollered and Dotty ran outside. Wallace peeked through the door and as soon as he saw her climb into the truck, he took the phone off the hook and buried it under a pillow. He sat at the table and ate Dotty’s egg. Then he filled the dishpan with water and let the breakfast dishes soak while he picked up the girls’ toys. Every now and again he cocked his head and listened. In the distance he could hear the girls’ squabbling voices, high-pitched and wild as loons. After a while the telephone’s insistent buzz cut through the pillow and droned in his ears like an electric saw. He took a cushion from the couch and pressed it over the pillowed receiver and continued his chores.

  He hoped Alma didn’t send her sister over. He liked being alone with the girls. He liked taking care of them and picking up and cleaning the house. And now with all the grown-ups gone, the girls seemed to like him better. They seemed more relaxed, happier; more like little kids. Even Kelly had calmed down some. Last night after supper, they had all played hide-and-seek. Canny showed him how. He was the seeker and the girls were the hiders. By the end of the game, the girls got so daring they weren’t even bothering to hide, but would stand right behind him while he leaned against the side of the house with his face in his hands, counting, “97, 98, 99, 100.… Ready or not here …” And before he even got it all out, they’d swoop around his legs and tag home, screeching, “Allee, allee, umphrie!” Just thinking about it made him happy. “That was so much fun,” he said under his breath. “I never had so much fun,” he sniffed, and shrugged his shoulder against his runny nose. He put his hand to his chest, to the peculiar swelling that was his heart, and he pressed his fingers tight as if to contain it, to hold it in place, to keep it from getting too big.

  It was eight-thirty at night and Jiggy and Dotty weren’t back yet. The telephone was piled high with pillows. The little girls had been too tired after supper to play hide-and-seek. Wallace had been disappointed, but Canny promised they could play the next night.

  He dried the last supper dish and put it away. On the table were four glasses and a plate of sugar cookies. He poured lemonade into each glass, then stood back to see if he had forgotten anything. Paper napkins! Finding none in the cupboard, he folded squares of toilet paper, which he set next to each glass.

  The three little girls were in the living room. Kelly and Krystal sat on either side of Canny on the couch. They listened to her story as intently as Wallace listened from the kitchen.

  “So then all the princes came back again to the castle on their big white horses,” Canny said. “The king looked out the window and he said, ‘Hey, you guys, I told you! The only way you can marry the princess is if you find her.’ The head of the princes was on the biggest horse. He told the king how they …”

  “Wait!” interrupted Krystal. “What do you mean, the head of the princess? Is the princess already dead? Who cut off her head?”

  “Nobody cut off her head!” Canny laughed. “She’s not dead. She’s hiding someplace.”

  “Well how come her head’s talking?” Kelly wanted to know.

  “Not her head,” Canny explained patiently. “The head of the princes means the boss of all the princes.”

  In the kitchen, Wallace nodded. “Oh,” he said. “I get it.” He eased himself into a chair at the table and listened carefully.

  The princes had been riding through the countryside for twenty days looking for the hidden princess. They had encountered ferocious bears, crocodiles, man-eating flies, a crazy man named Herman who sliced off all the horses’ tails, and now, a dog that had just sunk his bloody fangs deeply into a prince’s arm.

  Wallace sat on the edge of the chair, his eyes rapt on the shaggy hulking beast on the other side of the screen door, where Huller’s dog lay, feigning sleep, his wet muzzle pulsing.

  “All the other princes kicked the dog and one even smashed a rock on the dog’s head.…”

  Wallace hunched over the table, his jaw tight, his nails
gripping his sweaty palms. The dog lifted its head and looked back at him.

  “Just then, the head prince saw something really weird on the dog,” Canny whispered. “He saw this big, long zipper up its back.”

  Wallace shaded his eyes and peered at the dog.

  Canny’s voice came in a rush. “‘Don’t hit!’ he told the other princes. But it was too damn late! They were all throwing rocks and sticks at the dog and one even took his sword out and stabbed it. And he unzipped the dog and sure enough … there was the princess.”

  Krystal gasped and Kelly laughed nervously. In the kitchen Wallace scratched his head.

  “Her head was smashed and her arm was broke and she had a hole right through into her heart.…”

  Wallace was confused. He tried to hear the rest, but Krystal and Kelly were arguing again. He called the girls into the kitchen for their dessert. When they were at the table, he asked Canny what happened to the princess.

  “Nothing,” she said, biting into her cookie. “She was dead.”

  His face fell. He bit into his cookie and thought a minute. “How come the dog was guarding the castle?” he asked. He looked puzzledly at Canny. “Didn’t the king know the dog was the princess?”

  “I don’t know.” Canny glanced at the two girls. “He just didn’t.”

  “Well it don’t make sense,” he said.

  Kelly smiled, enjoying Canny’s discomfort.

  “It was just a story, Poppy,” Canny said. “You know, a fairy tale.”

  “Yah, but fairy tales end happy everafter,” he said. “They’re s’posed to, Canny!”

  “Yah,” Kelly said. “That was a stupid story.”

  “Yah,” Krystal agreed. “And dogs don’t have zippers.”

  Canny squirmed in the chair. She looked as if she were going to cry.

  “Whyn’t you tell us another one, Canny? A nice happy one,” he said eagerly.

  “No!” she pouted.

  “C’mon, Canny,” he teased. “Tell the one I like. The one about the old witch and the frog.” He leaned forward and clasped his hands expectantly. “C’mon.…”