The Hungry Season

by Greenwood, T.

  Mena thought about that word, home, about what that meant. She thought about the empty rooms in their bungalow back in San Diego, about the dusty shelves and unplugged appliances. She remembered watching the house disappear in the side view mirror as they drove away. Like Alice and her mother, they had also run away.

  “It won’t be for long,” Mena said, though she had no idea. “I’m sure you’ll be able to come back soon.”

  Alice looked at her and smiled sadly.

  At first Mena thought it was just the wind rapping against the kitchen window. Or it could have been the incessant hammer inside her brain. But when Alice looked toward the door, her eyes wide and terrified, Mena realized that someone was, indeed, knocking.

  “It’s probably just Finn and Sam,” she said, reaching out for Alice’s hand. She figured Sam had forgotten his key.

  The knocking was louder now, rapid and furious.

  “Hold on,” she said, rolling her eyes and squeezing Alice’s hand. She stood up and went to the door. But when she opened it, she was startled to see it wasn’t Finn at all. Not Sam either, but a girl.

  She was wearing a thin sundress, and there was blood on her face. Dirt on her knees and arms. Her glasses were scratched and sitting crooked and low on the bridge of her nose. “Can you please help me?” she said. “I just hit a dog with my car.”

  That fucking dog, Mena thought.

  “Are you hurt?” she asked the girl, ushering her into the house and helping her sit down at the table.

  The girl was visibly shaken, her eyes darting about the room. But she shook her head. “I don’t think so. But we have to find the owner. The dog needs to get to a vet,” she said.

  “It’s still alive?” Mena said, handing the girl a glass of water.

  She drank the water in several gulps and then set the glass down on the table. She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, like a child. “Can you give me a ride to my car?”

  Mena didn’t know how to convince the girl that everyone would be better off if the dog was dead.

  She was wringing her hands, clearly really, really upset. She kept wiping her face, and she was trembling.

  “It’s okay,” Mena said. “It’ll be okay.”

  Mena didn’t want to leave Alice in the house by herself, so they all piled into the station wagon. The girl sat up front to navigate, and Alice sat in the back.

  Now, the girl is quiet as they make their way through the rain to where she says she hit the dog. Mena is grateful not to have to make conversation anymore. She is exhausted, and her head is still pounding. She just wants to get home and go to bed. She should have waited for Sam to get back to help her.

  The windshield wipers leave muddy streaks on the windshield. The rain is coming down hard now, too fast for the wipers to keep up. They drive about a mile and then she sees a Volkswagen Bug tilted into the same ditch she dumped the wagon into.

  “This it?” Mena asks.

  “Yeah,” the girl says. Her voice is trembling, and she keeps wringing her hands.

  “It’s going to be okay,” Mena says. She lets the wagon idle. “Should we check to see if the dog is still alive?” she asks.

  The girl looks nervous. She nods but makes no move to open the door.

  “Do you want me to check?” Mena asks.

  The girl nods again.

  Mena opens the wagon door, and the rain hits her hard. She jogs to the Bug, which is cockeyed in the road. She can’t hear anything, no animal sounds, but it’s too dark to see underneath the car. She runs back to the wagon and opens the door. Finn had taken their only flashlight to camp out last night. “Do you have a flashlight in your car?”

  “In the glove box,” the girl says.

  Mena goes to the Bug and opens the door. The car smells terrible. She finds the flashlight in the glove box and clicks it on. The beam illuminates the inside of the car.There are candy wrappers and empty soda cans all over the floor. Dirty clothes and tissues. A banana peel and three empty strawberry baskets. The light sweeps across the mess. She sees what she thinks might be a blanket (good, she’ll need a blanket to wrap up the dog if it’s still alive), and she reaches under the seat to get it. But it’s not a blanket. It’s a towel. She yanks on the corner and pulls. Something is wrapped up inside it. She glances behind her to see if the girl is watching, but it’s too dark and rainy to see. Inside the towel is a stack of papers. Some sort of manuscript. She pulls the bundle up and puts it on the seat. It’s tethered together with about ten rubber bands. She shines the flashlight on the top page. In a huge bold font, it says: SMALL SORROWS: THE LIFE AND WORK OF SAMUEL MASON, by Dale Edwards.

  Mena gasps. It’s the girl. Jesus, it’s that insane girl who’s been writing Sam letters. It’s the girl who sent those awful pictures of Franny. Mena starts to shake, the pain in her head raging. What should she do? What the fuck is this girl going to do to her? Christ, she’s got to get Alice back to the house.

  She can’t let on that she knows who she is. She’s fucking crazy. Mena is trembling so hard now, she is having a hard time holding on to the flashlight. She shoves the manuscript back under the seat and gets out of the Bug. She takes a deep breath. Just act normal, she thinks. Think, think.

  She shines the light under the car and sees the dog. She grabs a broken tree branch from the side of the road and makes a big show of poking its body. She half expects the thing to come snarling and biting out from under the car. Nothing. It’s dead.

  “It’s dead,” Mena says to the girl.

  “What?” the girl mouths. The window is up and the wind is whistling like a teakettle now. The rain is pounding the dirt road. Mena feels her clothes soaking through; her whole body is shaking.

  Mena motions for the girl to roll down her window. “It’s dead,” she says again. Then it dawns on her: the dog’s owner is a cop. Thank God.

  “We need to bring him to his owner’s house.”

  If she can just get to the cop’s house, then she can tell him what’s going on. Who this girl is. She looks harmless but, Christ, she’s come all the way from Arizona in this piece of shit car.What could she possibly want from them?

  “Help me get him out?” Mena says, and the girl nods.

  “Can I help too?” Alice asks, reaching for the door handle.

  “No,” Mena says, her eyes widening. “Stay in the car.”

  Alice raises her eyebrows and cocks her head.

  “It’s okay,” Mena says. “I’ve got it.”

  Mena starts to suggest that the girl back the Bug up, but then worries she might try to run her over or something. She has no idea what she’s capable of.

  “Listen,” Mena offers. “Give me your key, and I’ll back the car up. Then you pull the dog out from under the passenger side tire.You’ll have to be quick though, because the car might roll back into the ditch.”

  “Okay.”The girl nods, reaching into her pocket for the key. She hands it to Mena.

  Mena gets back into the Bug and turns the key in the ignition.

  A male voice speaks out of the tiny speakers in the dash. “What do you do with what’s left when a life is gone? He doesn’t know, and so he simply catches her. Cradles her. Carries her home.” Thunder growls angrily, and Mena freezes.This is Sam’s novel. One of those Books on Tape her mother always listened to. She sees the hulking figure of the girl crouched in front of the car and thinks for a moment about ending it all here. She can almost imagine the way the tires would feel as they rolled into this girl’s soft body. She shakes her head; the headache is making her crazy, illogical. And so she simply, quickly, clicks the stereo off, revs the engine and throws the car into reverse.

  They manage to get the dog’s body into the back of the wagon, and Mena watches the girl. “I just need to get my bag,” she says, and goes to the Bug. Mena considers taking off, leaving her there, but she knows she needs to get her to the cop. Then everything will be okay. Mena watches her stuff the manuscript in a paper grocery bag. Mena doesn’t say a
nything to Alice. She doesn’t want to scare her.When the girl gets into the car again, Mena says, forcing a smile, “Ready?”

  But when they get to the cop’s house, the cruiser is nowhere in sight. All of the lights are out in the house. Mena’s chest heaves. What is she supposed to do now?

  “Ma’am, are you okay?” the girl asks.

  Mena looks at her, at her round face and smudgy glasses. She studies the pale skin of her neck. Her nails are bitten to the quick, cuticles ragged and bloody. She has a pale scar that travels down one cheek and squinty brown eyes.

  “What do you want with us?” Mena asks quietly.

  The girl looks startled, but then she smiles. Her teeth are crooked, a tangled mess of yellowed bone.

  Alice reaches across the seat and touches Mena’s shoulder. “Mrs. Mason, are you okay? Is everything okay?”

  “It’s okay. Everything’s going to be okay,” she says.

  The headache tears through her brain like lightning.

  The girl looks at Mena blankly, but her eyes start to fill with tears. When she bends over, Mena thinks she’s going to retrieve the manuscript she’s placed on the floor, maybe insist that she give it to Sam. Demand that he authorize this “biography” or whatever the hell it is.

  That’s when Mena notices the tattoo. It starts at the base of the girl’s neck and seems to cover the entire expanse of her back. A lot of it is covered by her dress, but it only takes a moment to see what this lunatic has done. This is the hour of lead ...

  “What the fuck do you want?” Mena screams, and pounds her fists against the steering wheel.

  The girl fumbles around at her feet for a minute, and when she sits up again, she is clutching a hunting knife.

  “I want to talk to Sam,” she says.

  Finn had found the shotgun under his bed when they first got to the cabin and he hid the box with Franny’s diary. He didn’t think much of it. His dad shot skeet at home on the weekends sometimes. When he brought it to his father, Sam rolled it over and over in his hands. “Just like the one I had when I was a boy,” he had said, smiling. Sam used to hunt pheasant with his dad, Finn’s grandpa, in the woods near Gormlaith back when he was a kid. Sam had propped it up against his shoulder, peered down the sight, and aimed the gun out toward the trees. “I haven’t been hunting in thirty years,” he said. Finn thought it was kind of stupid to get so sentimental over a gun, but whatever floated his boat.

  Now Finn gets the gun from the closet by the bedroom and runs to the kitchen where his father stashed the shells he’d removed from the gun. What kind of idiot leaves a loaded gun under the bed? he’d said. Finn wishes it were loaded now though, because he doesn’t know the first thing about how to load the shells.

  His father is outside, walking the perimeter of the house, looking for clues as to where his mom and Alice have gone.

  “Should we call the police?” Finn had asked.

  “Can’t,” his father said, shaking his head. “Not until we get rid of the plants.”

  Finn had almost forgotten about the plants lying in stinking piles under grass clippings and leaves. Jesus, what was he thinking?

  His father comes into the kitchen now, soaking wet and scowling.

  “Here, Dad,” Finn says, handing him the gun and the shells. He feels like he has to do something, to make up for being such a shit. “I’m sorry,” he says. And he is. For everything. If he hadn’t been such a screwup, none of this would have happened. For one thing, they wouldn’t be here. They’d be back at home in San Diego where they all belong. And if he hadn’t been cultivating the garden all summer, if his dad didn’t leave the house to destroy all the plants, maybe his mom and Alice wouldn’t be gone now. None of this would be happening. He’s a total fuckup, and he’s so, so sorry.

  His dad takes the gun and pulls the hood of his anorak up. “Stay here,” he says. “Do not leave the house.”

  Finn nods.

  His father slams the door shut, and Finn watches through the closed curtains as his silhouette disappears into the rain.

  He feels helpless and worthless and terrified. He thinks about Franny.What would she do if she were here? She would know exactly what to say, what to do. He listens for her, waits for her to whisper the answers, the promises that everything will be okay this time. But there is nothing but the sound of the wind rattling the windows in their panes. The sound of the rain pounding like fists on the roof. He is completely alone.

  He locks the door behind his father, knows he should do what his father says. For once. But if anything happens to his mother, his father will never forgive him. And if anything happens to Alice, he will never forgive himself.

  Sam can barely see the road in front of him.The rain is coming down in hard sheets now, watery guillotines. The road is slick, muddy under his feet. It’s hard to walk without slipping. He’s carrying the shotgun, ready. If Alice’s father took them in the car, chances are they’re long gone now, but something is propelling him forward. His gut tells him to keep going. He cannot bear the thought that anything has happened to Mena. He cannot lose her. He will not let this happen. He’s going to ask Magoo if he can borrow his Cadillac. He’ll find them. He has to.

  He squints against the wind and the rain, which is pounding against his jacket. He remembers the first time his dad took him hunting. It had rained then too. They’d come here, to Gormlaith, and camped out in the woods. His father had taught him how to hold the gun, how to aim, how to shoot. They’d spent an entire weekend traipsing through the wet forest. He’d shot his first pheasant that weekend. It was exhilarating. His father had patted him on the back, his large hand strong on his shoulder. Proud. Sam had never felt so proud. That night, they slept in their tent and Sam listened to the rain pelting against the canvas. The smell of the pheasant his father had cooked on the campfire, gamey and piquant, lingered in the air. Not even the rain could wash that smell away.

  When he gets to Magoo’s, all the lights are out, and the Caddie is not in the driveway. Shit. He’s probably at his daughter’s house in town. Next-door, Devin’s truck is not in the driveway either. Not even the Bookmobile Effie drives for the Athenaeum. He starts walking back toward the cabin, trying to figure out what to do.

  The cop.

  He’s going to have to just suck it up and go to the cop’s house. Pray he doesn’t discover the mountains of grass in the barn. He turns around and starts heading back the way he came. But just as he gets back to their driveway, he sees a pair of headlights coming up the road. He squints, shielding his eyes from the glare. And then he hears the sound of the muffler. He’d know that sound anywhere. His shoulders relax. They’re home. Maybe she just went out for something at Hudson’s and brought Alice with her. Maybe this was all a big mistake.

  Sam walks to the middle of the road in front of the cabin and waits. He peers into the windshield and raises his hand to wave. But then he catches his breath. He can see three figures through the glass. His hand tightens around the shotgun.

  When the car stops just short of him, he cocks the gun. Ready. His heart is thumping in his chest, which is swollen. He feels like he might explode.

  The driver’s side door swings open, and Mena gets out of the car, running toward him. “Sam, do something. Quick.”

  Sam aims the gun at the passenger side of the woody.

  “Get out of the car!” he yells.

  He’s got one shot. Exactly one shot.

  The passenger door swings open, but the guy doesn’t get out.

  “Get out of the fucking car!” Sam bellows, and peers down the barrel. He releases the safety.

  The figure that emerges puts its hands up.

  “Jesus Christ,” Sam says.

  It’s a girl. A pudgy girl in a sundress. Her hair is disheveled. She has a gash across her forehead. She is holding a knife in her hand.

  He keeps the gun cocked.

  “Who the fuck are you?” he asks. “Who the fuck is she?” he says to Mena.

  “Didn�
�t you get the note I left for you?” the girl says.

  “What note?” Sam says.

  “On your windshield,” she says. “I thought you’d be expecting me.”

  Mena is leaning into him, but she is speechless.

  “Who is she?” Finn asks. He has come out of the house now too.

  “I just want to talk to you,” the girl says. “To show you my work. I think if we can just talk about it, you’ll see.”

  “What the hell is she talking about?” he asks Mena. “Who the fuck are you?” he says again to the girl.

  “It’s me, silly,” she says, smiling. “Dale Edwards.” She lowers her arms and steps toward him awkwardly, looking as though she’s about to curtsy, still clutching the knife. Her head is bleeding. It looks like she’s been dragged through the mud. His grip on the gun tightens. “I’m writing your biography,” she says.

  Dale. Dale Edwards, the woman who’s been sending the letters. The one who sent those awful photos of Franny.

  “I need you to leave my family alone,” Sam says. Mena clings tightly to his arm.

  The girl’s face drops, and she scowls. She shakes her head. “I didn’t do anything to your family.”

  “What do you want from us?” Sam asks. “Why don’t you just leave us alone?”

  Her eyes are wild now, and she is shivering. “Can’t we just go inside?” she says.

  “Are you fucking nuts?” he says, stepping toward her, aiming. He wants nothing more than to shut her up. To make her disappear.

  Her lip starts to quiver and he takes a step closer.

  At this, the girl’s face snarls in anger. She looks like an animal. She is waving the knife wildly. “I know your secret. I know about Franny.”

  Hearing Franny’s name come out of her mouth turns his stomach.

  “You told the newspapers it was a heart attack, something wrong with her heart.” When she laughs, it sounds like a gunshot. And then her smile dissolves into a frown. “I believed it. We all believed it. But it was all a bunch of lies.You’re a liar!” she spits.