“Hey,” Margaret said.
“Hey.”
Both their mothers worked and didn’t arrive home until dinnertime. When Gennie had turned thirteen, her mom had decided she was old enough to stay home alone. Gennie liked the freedom and not having to ride the bus to her mother’s work, but sometimes she missed the time with her mom, especially the drive home when they would listen to music or chat about their day.
Since then, she and Margaret had often spent the afternoon together doing homework. That is, until lately. The boy had ruined their homework schedule. “No park?”
“Not today.”
Margaret had been quiet since English class. Gennie knew better than to press. Her best friend shut up tight if you asked too many questions. Since her parents’ divorce, Margaret hadn’t shared her feelings. Gennie wanted the old Margaret back. This new Margaret was hard and almost cold. Regardless, Gennie would never desert her. They’d been friends since they were first graders at St. Ann.
They passed the hardware store and waited on the corner for the light to change.
“Do you ever think the world would be better if you were never born?” Margaret asked.
Gennie glanced over at her, a flutter of shock in her chest. “I’ve never thought about it.”
The light changed. They crossed the street.
Stopping in front of the candy store, they peered at the display of truffles in the window. Mrs. Wilson, the shopkeeper, waved to them but did not invite them inside to try samples as she was helping a customer. “No samples for us today,” Margaret said.
“Maybe tomorrow,” Gennie said.
With reluctance, they walked away from the window and continued down the street. “My parents got married because they were pregnant with me.” Margaret spoke in a soft voice instead of the sassy tone she’d used so often lately. “I heard them arguing about it when he left. He said he would never have married her if it hadn’t been for me.”
Gennie wriggled her fingers inside her gloves, unsure what to say, as anger on Margaret’s behalf surged through her. It was bad enough that he had left without explanation, but to add cruel words on his way out the door? There was no way to explain his words away or make them better than they were. Margaret’s mother was kind but deflated, like a balloon a week after a birthday party, whereas her father remained buoyant. Underneath his charisma lurked a streak of cruelty.
Margaret slowed her pace. “Today, in class, I thought about how much better it would be if they’d had an abortion.” Gennie strained to hear Margaret over the roar of a passing car in need of a muffler. The driver shifted gears and sped up, spraying muddy water on the sidewalk a hundred yards in front of them. “Then, my mother could have married someone else. Someone who loved her.”
A wave of sadness swept over Gennie as she imagined her world without Margaret.
“Margaret Louisa, I would be lost if you weren’t here. Think if I was alone at St. Ann without you. I’d probably be best friends with Rosemary.” They giggled.
Gennie halted and grabbed her friend into an embrace. “Don’t think these awful thoughts ever again. I need you here with me.”
Margaret rested her head upon Gennie’s shoulder. “It’s hard to be a person sometimes.”
“I know.”
They walked in silence past the coffee shop where some of their classmates were standing in line for hot chocolates. Neither Gennie nor Margaret had money for two-dollar hot chocolates. They kept on walking.
“I don’t think about what it would be like if I weren’t here,” Gennie said, “but I think about how different our lives would be if my dad hadn’t died. I can’t stop thinking about it.” Five years ago, while on his way home from work, her father had been killed when a drunk driver swerved into his lane. “My mom’s still sad all the time. She doesn’t think I know, but I hear her crying at night.”
Margaret switched her backpack to her other shoulder and linked her arm through Gennie’s. “Yeah, my mom cries too.” They headed down the street in silence, avoiding the crack in the sidewalk outside the butcher shop. Bad luck to step on it.
A snowflake landed on Gennie’s nose. “Hey, it’s snowing again.” They were at the end of town. The road to Gennie’s house was to the right, Margaret’s to the left. “You want to come over?” Gennie asked. “You could help me think of some interview questions for Senator Murphy. My mom made some banana bread last night.”
Margaret drew a line in the snow with her foot. “Yeah. Sure. My mom’s going to freak when she hears you get to meet Senator Murphy. She always says you’re destined for something great.”
“That’s nice of her.” Gennie wasn’t sure what Margaret’s mother meant. Other than finding school easy, she was as ordinary as they came. She liked it that way. There was no reason to be anything but ordinary. They linked arms again and headed down the dirt road to Gennie’s home. Snow fell steadily now, fluffy flakes landing in their hair and eyelashes.
“I think I’m going to stop seeing Eugene,” Margaret said.
“Why?”
“He’s pressuring me to go all the way, and I don’t want to.”
“I think it would be best if you gave him the boot,” Gennie said.
“The boot? You sound like my mother.”
They laughed, their warm breath white in the cold air. When their laughter trailed off, Gennie heard the faint sound of a high-pitched cry. It sounded like a kitten. Gennie tugged at Margaret’s sleeve. “Do you hear that?”
Margaret’s eyes widened. “Is it a meow?”
“It’s kittens. Has to be.” Gennie scanned the area, searching for the source of the mews. Near a tree, a small box perched on top of an exposed trunk, like a teeter-totter. “There, by the tree.” She ran toward the box with Margaret at her heels.
Inside, two black kittens were curled together, their fur exactly alike, and their bodies squished together so they looked like one cat with two heads.
“Someone just left them here?” Gennie asked. “How could you leave a living creature in the snow?”
“What do we do?” Margaret asked.
“We have to take them home with us.”
“My mother will never allow it.”
“I’ll take them to my house. My mom won’t be able to resist them. She can’t turn away any animal, especially not a baby one. If she doesn’t want to keep them, we can find them homes. They can be adopted.”
Gennie leaned over the box, picking up one of the kittens. Its green eyes stared into Gennie’s. It mewed and mewed. Gennie stroked its soft fur and kissed the top of its head. “Don’t worry, kitty. We’ll make sure you have a good home.” She smiled at Margaret, feeling mischievous. “Hopefully it’ll be my home.”
**
To her surprise, Rick Murphy asked that Gennie come to his mansion for the interview. Over the phone, his secretary, Mrs. Woods, told Gennie that the senator worked from home on Tuesdays. They would send a car to fetch her after school. Nothing had ever sounded more exciting or glamorous.
Margaret and a few other students stood at the curb, waving to Gennie as the car drove away from campus. The driver, an older man wearing a black suit, said nothing after his initial greeting, other than to tell her it would be about an hour’s drive. It began to snow on the way. By the time they reached their destination, several inches had covered the ground. Flakes the size of nickels continued to fall. Gennie pulled her coat tighter around her middle as she slipped from the back seat of the town car and followed the driver up the slippery walkway. “Careful not to fall,” he said. At the front door, he rang the bell. “Mrs. Woods will take care of you from here. That’s the senator’s secretary.”
Mrs. Woods, tall and narrow, with eyes that snapped with intelligence, opened the door and introduced herself as the driver headed back to his car. Gennie struggled to remain composed as she followed Mrs. Woods across the foyer and through a grand living room to the back of the house. It was the biggest home she’d ever seen, with high ceili
ngs, white pillars, and thick tapestries hung over the windows. Every surface shone under a crystal chandelier. The air smelled of lavender.
At a set of closed double doors, Mrs. Woods asked Gennie to sit in a hardback chair. “This is the senator’s office. He should be with you shortly. I’m just down the hall if you need anything.” Her heels clicked on the hardwood floor as she walked away, disappearing inside another door.
Gennie took off her coat and hung it over the back of the chair. She waited, fidgeting. The chair was hard and cold. There were no windows in the hallway. Was it still snowing? Her Mom would worry if she were too late getting home. What were the kittens doing? Probably asleep near the heater, all curled up together. So sweet and cuddly, and she’d been right. Her mom hadn’t been able to resist them either. They’d named them Midnight and Moon. Given their jet-black fur, only one name made sense, but she didn’t care. The names belonged together.
Gennie doodled in her notebook, drawing cats and wishing she’d brought a book to read.
Thirty minutes later, Mrs. Woods brought her a glass of water and a cookie, setting it on the side table. “The senator shouldn’t be too much longer. He’s on the phone with Washington. He’ll spend a few minutes with you, and then send you home with his driver. The rest of the staff has gone home because of the snowstorm, and I’m afraid I must go as well.”
“Snowstorm?”
“Yes. We’ve had ten inches in the last hour, but don’t worry, the driver’s car is a four-wheel-drive, so he won’t have any trouble getting you home.”
Gennie thanked her. Adults always exaggerated about the severities of snowstorms. They lived in Wisconsin, after all. Weren’t they used to it by now? Anyway, it didn’t matter how she got home, just that she was here.
She shivered with excitement. The senator was talking to Washington. He was probably on the phone with the president. What an amazing life the senator must have. She wouldn’t take too much of his time. He had important matters to attend to. She would ask just three questions and be out of his way.
Gennie reached for the glass of water and took a sip to quench her dry mouth. The icy water made her teeth hurt. She picked up the cookie, then set it back on the plate, feeling too nervous to eat. Next to the plate, a purple orchid drooped in a graceful curtsy and tickled her hand. A painting of a seascape hung on the wall across from her. She stared at it, imagining what it would feel like to stand at the edge of the sea. Wisconsin had lakes, but no oceans. Someday she would visit the ocean. When she was grown and making money, she would take her mother there. They would have a picnic and swim, the sun warming their cold bones.
Finally, the double doors to his office opened, and Rick Murphy appeared in front of her. “Miss Banks?”
“Yes, that’s me.” She stood, her legs shaking. He was taller than she expected, with a barrel chest and wide shoulders. On television, he appeared handsome and charismatic, but he was even more so in person. There was an ease and self-assurance to his movements. This was a powerful man, and he knew it. He smiled, flashing white teeth, and held out his hand. She stared at it for a moment, unsure of what to do. Was she to shake his hand? She had so little experience interacting with men, she wasn’t sure. “Thank you for this opportunity.” She held out her hand, and he seized it in a tight grip, her entire hand disappearing in his large one. His nails, trimmed short and neat, were shiny like they had clear polish on them.
“Come on in. We can talk in my office. I’m sorry to have kept you waiting. When the president calls, one has to answer.”
The president! She knew it. Her stomach did a flip as she looked around his office. It was just as she’d imagined, masculine and conservatively decorated in greens and tans. A mahogany desk, the centerpiece of the room, was set in front of the large picture window with a view of the rolling yard, now covered with snow. Four cozy chairs were arranged around a round coffee table. A bouquet of red roses decorated the table. Fresh flowers in November? She couldn’t guess how much they’d cost.
“Please sit. I’m all yours. However, it’s after five, Miss Banks, which means I’m allowed a cocktail.” He crossed to the bar in the corner of the room and poured an amber liquid from a crystal, pitcher-type thing into a short glass. Was it whiskey? She didn’t know anything about alcohol. Her mom didn’t drink. After her dad had been killed, her mother had thrown away the few bottles of liquor he’d kept in the cabinet above the refrigerator. She never said why, but Gennie figured it was because a drunk had killed her dad.
There was Sister Maria, too, always going on about the evils of drinking. Teetotalers, girls, is the right choice to make. Booze leads to nothing but bad decisions.
Now, Senator Murphy sat across from her, lifting the material of his slacks as he crossed his legs. A hint of a tan sock showed above his black loafer. He wore a tan sweater that draped over his wide shoulders. The material was cashmere. She recognized it from the times she and her mother had window-shopped in the city.
She looked at her notepad; her were notes blurry and her were hands damp with perspiration. Do not drop your pen. Think of a question to ask.
“Were you really talking to the president?” she asked. This was not one of the questions she had on her list, but it was out of her mouth before she could stop it.
He smiled and sipped his drink, eyeing her over the rim of the glass. “Yes, I was talking to the president.”
“I can’t imagine.”
“It’s like talking to anyone else, except that he’s the most powerful person in the free world.” He smiled again, downing the rest of his drink. Rising from the chair, he pulled the sleeves of his sweater up to his elbows. “I think I’ll have another. My wife frowns on whiskey before dinner, but she isn’t here to nag me this evening.”
It was whiskey. She shivered, again. This was beyond exciting. It was so much more than she’d hoped for, seeing this hidden side of the senator who drank whiskey and lied to his wife. There was something almost intimate about their exchange thus far. Familiar and insightful, like she was his biographer. Yes, that was it. She felt like a real writer, privy to the inside story of this powerful man’s life. She sat up straighter, imagining herself as a reporter for one of the big magazines her mother sometimes read, the ones that gave detailed accounts of interviews with celebrities. She crossed her legs to seem more dignified, older. In her mind, she transformed into a sophisticated New Yorker. She wore a designer suit, high heel pumps, and her hair bobbed in the latest style. Sister Maria had told her to study him carefully, to take note of his every move and detail so that she could accurately portray him in her article.
“Where is your wife?” Real reporters probably asked questions not on their lists, depending on what their subjects revealed. She would do this too.
He poured another glass, larger than the previous. “She has a charity function tonight. A senator’s wife has many duties. A lot of them unpleasant.” His voice seemed gruffer than it had the moment before. Did alcohol make one’s voice lower?
She felt lost suddenly and glanced down at her notebook as he took the seat across from her once more. She would ask one of the questions on her list. When she looked up, he was staring at her. His nose and chin were sharp, like a fox. The hairs on the back of her neck rose. What had changed in the room? Something sinister had entered, like smoke from under a door. She uncrossed her legs, intertwining her ankles instead, and squeezed her thighs together under her plaid skirt. A man shouldn’t look at a girl like he wanted to eat her for dinner. Fear crept up the back of her spine.
“How old are you, Miss Banks?”
“Fifteen.” She averted her eyes, focusing them on the roses.
He’d finished his drink and set it on the table. No coaster. Her mother always made her use a coaster. “You like roses?” he asked.
“Sure.”
“I bet a lot of boys send you roses.”
“No, sir. My mother wouldn’t allow that.”
Senator Murphy stood, fiddling w
ith his belt. Oh, my God, what’s he doing? With a swift movement, he tugged his belt from his waist. It slid off his body like a snake. A silent scream started in her head. This wasn’t right.
She stood, ready to run, but she was too slow. He lunged at her and pushed her to the ground, covering her with his body, forcing her arms above her head. He tied them together with his belt. His breath, hard and fast, was hot on her neck and smelled sickly sweet, like cough syrup. Something pushed into her hip. Something hard. She screamed. He covered her mouth. “Be quiet, little one. I know what you want.”
**
When he was finished, he held her down as he tied her hands behind her back and gagged her with his tie, then blindfolded her with a scarf that he’d pulled from his pocket. She stumbled and almost fell as he dragged her out of the office and down the hallway. Seconds later, they were outside, the cold pressing against her bare legs. “I’m going to take you home myself. I sent my driver home.” He spoke in a soft, calm voice, as if they’d finished the interview and he was offering her a lift home out of the kindness of his heart. She heard the sound of a car door opening before he thrust her inside. It smelled of new leather and his cologne.
She sobbed silently as they drove. The spot between her legs throbbed. How long would it take to get to her house? Would her mother be there? What would he tell her? The car lurched to a stop but remained running. She had no concept of time. Cold air prickled her face. He was out of the car. Where were they? He wouldn’t let her out in front of her house. Of course he wouldn’t. He knew her mother might be there. She would see how Gennie looked and know that he’d done something to her. She held her breath, trying to stop crying, straining to see through the blindfold until she felt as if her eyes might pop out of their sockets. Nothing but blackness. Should she run? He yanked her door open. Frigid air rushed up her skirt. He grabbed her, forcing her out of the car, and then loosened the tie from her wrists. “You be a good girl and don’t tell anyone about this, you understand?”
Missed: Rafael and Lisa (Cliffside Bay Book 6) Page 28
