The Girl Who Wasn't There

by Penny Joelson

  Dad tuts, but he doesn’t argue.

  “Now, which should I make first?” Mom mutters, flipping through the pages.

  “I don’t know!” I tell her. “I’ll leave you to decide—I’m going on my walk. See you soon.”

  He is going out in the car. I can see the expression on his face as he kisses her goodbye. What can I do? While she is in the kitchen, I dare to search their bedroom for the window key. This is a huge risk, and my heart is pounding with fear as I search. But I cannot find it. I do find something—an empty notebook with a pen attached. I could write a note—but how could I get it to her? It is such a short distance, but I have no way to get a note to the house across the street. I tear a page carefully from the notebook and take the pen—just in case—and on my mattress, I sit and write the note. I am not used to writing in English, but I try.

  If she looks out of the window, I could hold it up but she would be too far away to read it. If I stand on a chair, I could push it out of the top window. If she was watching, she would see that I was trying to send her a message and come outside and pick it up. But maybe she is safer to stay inside—where he cannot get her. I stand by the window, the note tucked in my jeans pocket.

  Then I see Kasia’s front door open. She’s coming out—and I pull the note from my pocket, wave it in the window, hoping the flash of white paper will catch her eye. But she does not look up. She is walking away down the sidewalk. Maybe she goes to the park in search of me. But she does not turn right. She is going to the stores or somewhere else. She is out on the street and in danger.

  Maybe I am wrong. Maybe his threat was a pretense. Would he really do something so bad? I stay here, in the window, waiting for her to return, waiting and waiting even though I should be cleaning the floors. I want to see her come back safe.

  Then I hear a door bang and see across the street that the boy who lives next door to Kasia has come out. I wave the note once more. He glances up and sees me! I hold up the note, press my nose against the window, my mouth making the shape of “Help” over and over, though my voice stays silent. I dare not call.

  He looks puzzled. I stand on the chair—quickly, before he turns and walks away, I push the note out through the small window. He is watching! He is still watching as it flutters over the bushes near the front step. He hurries across, searching for the note on the ground. He is so close to the step.

  I hold my breath.

  He has the note! He walks away from the house as he reads it. Then he starts to run.

  28

  The weather is still hot today, and I feel sticky, but I’m glad to be outside, where at least there is a slight breeze. I was going to go to the park, but it’s too much effort to walk in this heat, and I decide to go to the café, where there is air-conditioning. I’m happy that I can do this now—choose to walk to one place or another. And I am walking a little farther each week, too, without feeling worse.

  The café is busy today, and I can’t get my usual table by the window. I manage to find a space with a partial view of the street. I sit and have a cooling pineapple juice and watch the people going past along the sidewalk. Everyone seems to be in a rush today. Being still so much of the time has made me realize just how much time people spend hurrying around, with never a chance to think. I have plenty of time to think—maybe too much.

  Then I see someone familiar. It’s Nav—walking past, like he’s on a mission. He’s wearing denim shorts and a dark green T-shirt. He pauses, taking a step back and glancing in at the window—looking at my usual table. Could he be looking for me? Probably not, though I wish he was. I wish he’d turn and see me, but he doesn’t. Seeing him this close makes me ache for his friendship. I decide I need to try one more time to make amends—maybe he’ll respond if I see him face-to-face.

  I hastily gulp down the rest of my drink and head to the door. In my rush, I knock a cup on the next table and some coffee spills over the top. By the time I’ve apologized and am out of the door, I can’t see Nav at all.

  The street seems eerily quiet now. It’s weird how that happens sometimes—one minute there are so many people and cars, and a few moments later, no one.

  I start to walk toward home, and then I hear a voice calling my name. Nav. Is it Nav? As I turn to see, a car screeches behind me. I look back sharply to see it swerving onto the sidewalk! Silver metal is coming right at me. I step back in horror, trip, can’t get my balance, and the car’s still coming.

  From behind, someone pushes me sideways so hard I go flying. And then I’m on the ground, I feel the sting as my hand scrapes the concrete. There’s a scream, a thud, and a surge of exhaust fumes that burns my throat as a roaring noise hits my ear. Then silence.

  I dare to open my eyes, try to lift my head, but my vision is fuzzy for a moment, and, by the time I can see, the car is a speck in the distance. I’m lying on the sidewalk. To one side of me I can see bare legs, brown skin. Someone is lying close to me, still—too still. I lift my head to see denim shorts, a green top, a familiar tousle of dark hair. Nav.

  “Nav!” I yell. “Nav! Are you okay?”

  I’m scared. He seems so still. I try to sit up, relieved to find I can move, and crawl nearer.

  “Nav! Nav!”

  Then my view is blocked. A woman is standing over me, and I see another kneeling by Nav.

  “What happened? Are you okay?”

  “A car,” I croak, “did you see? It went on the sidewalk. Nav—he must have seen it. He pushed me out of the way, and I think it hit him.”

  “You just lie still. I’m calling an ambulance,” she tells me.

  But I’m trying to sit up. “Nav! Nav!” I cry. “He isn’t moving!”

  “Please lie still,” she says. “My friend’s a nurse. She’s checking him out.”

  So I lie there, not moving—and we wait. A crowd gathers, but there’s no one I know. I’ve no sense of how much time passes—it feels like some kind of weird dream. The ambulance comes. The paramedic checks me over and helps me to stand. I am relieved to find that I can. I have cuts and grazes, bruises, but I am okay.

  “I saw what happened,” I hear someone say. “It was going straight for the girl. That boy leapt in and pushed her out the way.”

  They have a blanket. They’re putting it over Nav. Is he dead? Are they going to cover his head?

  “Nav!” I yell.

  “Hey, hey—he’s unconscious,” says the paramedic.

  “Will he be okay?”

  “Let’s just get you both to the hospital,” she says firmly. “I want you to be checked over thoroughly and then the police are going to want to talk to you.”

  I hadn’t noticed the police until now, standing back talking to the other paramedic.

  I don’t think I need to get looked over, I feel fine, but I don’t argue because I want to go with Nav in the ambulance. I struggle with the seat belt as Nav is strapped to the stretcher. I pull out my phone to call Mom as the ambulance starts up and I tell her to tell Devi.

  Mom gasps and swears in Polish. “I’ll be there as quickly as I can,” she tells me.

  I watch Nav all the way to the hospital. He doesn’t move or wake up, and when we arrive he is whisked away. My legs give way as I try to stand, so they bring a wheelchair for me. I’m sure my legs aren’t injured, but they are throbbing, and I know I can’t walk another step today.

  I am brought to the emergency room, still trying to process what happened. Hit-and-run. That’s what it was—deliberate—the driver came straight for me. But why?

  * * *

  Mom is in tears when she arrives, and I tell her what happened. I am checked out—and have to explain about my ME when the doctor wonders why I am finding it hard to stand. They say I can go home, but I want to wait, to find out if Nav is okay.

  “Devi will keep us informed,” Mom tells me. “Let’s get you home.”

 
An officer asks me questions before we go—not that I can tell him much. The car was silver. It came right at me. That’s all I know.

  I tell the officer about the silver car I saw out of the window that time, the man who seemed to drag the woman into it. But he says that silver is a very popular color for cars, and it’s not likely to be connected. Of course, they never found any proof of an abduction, so it’s not really any help.

  * * *

  It feels like hours before Devi calls to say that Nav has woken up. He has severely bruised ribs and a concussion, they’re not sure how bad, but he can’t remember anything about what happened.

  “They’re keeping him overnight,” Devi tells me, “just as a precaution, because of his head. If it all goes well, he should be able to come home tomorrow. I told him what I know, and he’s asking for you. Demanding to see you!” she says. “I didn’t know you two had made up.”

  “We hadn’t, but he saved me,” I reply. “He saved my life. Can I come and see him?”

  “Tomorrow,” says Devi. “Wait until he’s home. I think it’s best for you both to rest today. You and Nav have been through a terrible ordeal,” she says. “I hope the police manage to track that car down and get that idiot off the road.”

  “Yes,” I say. “I hope Nav is okay. Tell him I’ll see him tomorrow.”

  29

  The next day I feel a little battered after being flung to the ground, but I’m relieved that apart from that I don’t feel too bad. As I get dressed, I hear a car and look out to see Nav getting out and walking awkwardly up the path with Devi. I want to go next door right away but Mom insists I give him an hour or so to settle back home.

  Later on, Mrs. G. lets me in. “Are you okay, Kasia?” she asks. “I am so shocked by what happened—so relieved that you and Nav are both alive and not badly hurt. Nav is in the garden—you can go to him.”

  “Is he out gardening?” I ask.

  “No—resting outside and admiring his handiwork. The garden really is looking wonderful.”

  Nav is sitting on a plastic chair, facing the garden. He turns his head slightly and grins as I come outside. It’s that old familiar Nav smile from before, and it warms my heart to see it. I realize just how much I’ve missed him. Devi said he couldn’t remember what had happened with the car, and I wonder for a moment whether he’s also forgotten what I said to him—how I upset him. I’d be glad if he had forgotten that.

  “You’ve transformed it,” I say, sitting down beside him and waving my arm toward the flowerbeds.

  “Not bad, is it?” He beams. “Needs a lot of water in this heat, though. It’s a shame Nani doesn’t have a sprinkler system.”

  “Oh, Nav—you saved my life! Thank you!” I can’t help blurting out.

  “S’all right,” he says, looking a little embarrassed.

  “You were nearly killed,” I say. “It was very brave.”

  “It’s all a blur,” he tells me. “I don’t even remember where I was going.”

  “That car coming at me—it’s another weird thing,” I say, “like the girl across the street. She’s real, you know? I spoke to her.”

  “The girl across the street,” he repeats, looking puzzled.

  “You remember I told you about her—and we knocked at the door, but no one answered? I kept seeing her in the window, but she never came out, and then I saw her at the park. The people there, they say she’s their niece, helping out with the baby, and that she’s eighteen, but she always looks terrified, and I’m certain she’s much younger than that. I’ve been worried about her all this time,” I tell him.

  “That girl… My brain’s trying to tell me something,” he says, rubbing his head. “It’s a memory, something to do with yesterday, to do with that girl. I’m trying to think—I’m sure it’s important, but I can’t remember…”

  “Did you see her?” I ask him. “She sometimes looks out of the window. You saw her once, remember—you told me.”

  “The window?” he repeats. “The window.”

  I can see he’s thinking hard. I want to press him I’m desperate for him to remember. But I try to be patient. I look at the flowers, listen to a bird singing.

  “It’s no good,” he tells me. “I’m sure it has nothing to do with that car that came for us, anyway.”

  Devi sticks her head out of the kitchen door. “Just putting your clothes from yesterday in the wash, Nav—I found this in your pants pocket. There’s something written on it—I don’t know if it’s important? Anyway, here it is, in case you want it.”

  Nav takes the piece of lined paper and examines it. “I’m not sure what this is,” he says shrugging. “It doesn’t look like my writing.”

  He pauses, then looks up suddenly. “Hold on, I remember!” he says. “Kasia, it’s coming back to me. It wasn’t me who saved you, it was the girl—the girl at number forty-eight!”

  “What do you mean?” I ask, wondering if his head injury might be more serious than anyone thinks. He isn’t making sense.

  “I came out to go to the store for Nani,” he tells me. “I was about to cross the street when I heard a tapping sound, and it was the girl at number forty-eight, at the window. She was mouthing something frantically, but I couldn’t make out what. Then she dropped a piece of paper out of the window—and it was this note.”

  He gives it to me. I read it, feeling goose bumps break out all over me as I see what it says. “Kasia—you in danger. They want hurt you.”

  “How did she know? I don’t understand,” I say, partly to myself and partly to Nav. “How did she know it was going to happen?”

  “What you told me about the girl—have you done anything that could have made the couple there suspicious?”

  “No—well…yes, maybe,” I admit. “I’ve asked the woman about her a few times—and when I spoke to the girl near the house, she hurried off as if she was scared of being seen. Maybe they did see.”

  “Maybe they were worried about what she may have told you. They wanted to shut you up,” says Nav. “The girl must have heard what they were planning.”

  “And she scribbled that note,” I say, “and threw it out.”

  “I know I panicked when I read it,” says Nav. “I’d seen you go out, and I just ran up and down the street looking for you. When I finally saw you, it was almost too late. I was only just in time. I only got to you because she warned me.”

  “You both saved me,” I say, shuddering.

  “There must be something seriously wrong in that house,” says Nav.

  “I’ve been saying that all along,” I tell him. “It wasn’t the man’s car, though.”

  “Maybe he got a partner to do it,” says Nav. “His car would have been too obvious. We should call the police. It was attempted murder!”

  “But she said no police. She was terrified. They’re dangerous people, aren’t they? We’ve seen that today. We need to be very careful. If we speak to the police, we may make things worse for her.”

  I turn the crumpled paper in my hand, staring down at her words. Then I see on the other side, she has written in tiny writing: “Help me please.”

  “Look,” I whisper. “She does want help. She’s asking us.”

  “Show me.” Nav takes the paper and peers at the writing.

  “We have to do something,” I tell him. “She got a message to us—now we need to get one to her.”

  It did not work. I tried and I failed—I failed so badly. Now two people are harmed, maybe dead. That poor boy—I sent him into danger. What was I thinking? I heard the car, the screech, I looked out—and I saw, far along the road, the two on the ground. That poor girl Kasia. Is she dead? I could look no more.

  I am panicked. I cannot stay here with these mad people who will kill a girl on the street for trying to be friends with me—for caring. I must leave.

  She is out. I am alo
ne with baby. I put their clothes in the washing machine. This is what she was wearing yesterday.

  I saw her put the window key in her pocket. I feel for it frantically, but it is not there.

  The washing machine whirs and I go upstairs, taking baby with me. I will search once more for the window key. It must be somewhere. I know she has the front door key with her, but I believe the window key is here in the house. I must be brave. I search their room—every corner, every container.

  I think it is nowhere. But then I find it. The tiny silver key glints at me from a small clay pot, a pot shared with pennies and paperclips. This is it. This must be it. I can open a window and I can go—I can leave.

  I feel an urgency—I should not wait. But I cannot leave the baby here alone. I will have to take him with me. But no—he is not mine to take! She does not deserve him. She does not care for him like I do. He is safer with me. He will want to be with me. Then I must get not just myself, but the baby out of the window—and I will need the stroller, too.

  I must move fast, and carrying him will be slow and difficult. They could come back at any time. I put baby on the floor, where he kicks his legs and watches me. I turn the key in the front downstairs window. It turns. It clicks. Now I could open it—I could open the window wide and be out.

  But where would I go? Kasia, the girl, she is maybe dead or in the hospital. Where can I go? I have no one, nothing. They will find me and bring me back—punish me.

  Baby has started to cry. I turn the key once more, locking the window. I put the key back in the pot, beneath the pennies. I sit on the floor hugging the baby, and, as I sob, he puts his chubby arms around me.

  30

  Nav and I wait the next day for the man and woman to go out. We are next door, and Nav is watching from his window but being careful not to be visible. The man goes first at half-past eight, but the woman is still there at 10 a.m.