True Places

by Sonja Yoerg

  The lights were a hundred yards away. The vehicle had turned a few degrees toward her. She didn’t shout; the engine noise would drown out her voice. Her foot slid into a hole and she fell sprawling. Her ankle had twisted. Choking back her cries, she got to her feet and limped toward the lights, which had swung toward her again.

  Closer now, she shouted: “Hey! Hey!”

  The vehicle was twenty yards away. The headlights illuminated the area separating them. Suzanne ran.

  Someone inside shouted, “Watch out!” and blared the horn.

  Movement in the shadows on her right. A pair of eyes shone white. Suzanne gasped and angled left, lunging for the passenger side of the vehicle. The door opened and Professor Reiner pulled her inside. Tennyson was behind the wheel holding a flashlight. He swept the beam to the side. A hyena faced them, ears forward, mouth open, eyes wide.

  Tennyson sounded the horn again. The hyena loped off and cast a glance over its shoulder before dissolving into the dark.

  Professor Reiner said, “Are you all right?”

  Suzanne nodded and covered her face with her hands. Shame flooded her.

  Tennyson shifted into drive and swung onto a faint track. “You are fine now, miss. You are truly fine.”

  She nodded again, for his kindness. But the utter panic she had felt would never leave her. Betrayal, solitude, and terror would be linked inside her forever.

  CHAPTER 13

  Rappoport, the social worker, came into the hospital room and took a seat on the couch under the window. Iris was coloring in the intricate outlines of a flower and didn’t look up. She had gone through three books in two weeks and had decided that wherever she ended up, coloring books were a new survival necessity. She hated so many things about being in the hospital—being trapped, feeling weak, the horrible food, the stale air, the constant stream of people, the noise—but she could detach from it by coloring or listening to the iPhone, or both. She had discovered that the colors and patterns she chose depended on what she was listening to. This intrigued her. She’d never had a choice of what to listen to before except by moving closer or farther away from a bird, a stream, or a rustle in the undergrowth. Here it seemed people controlled not only sounds but images and smells and light, leaving Iris dizzy and confused. So much was possible with switches and swipes, but how was it better?

  Her heartache had gotten worse because Ash had been scarce. She couldn’t depend on him the way she had in the forest, and it saddened her to the point of suffocation. She couldn’t talk to anyone about him; she didn’t know where to begin. In the woods, Ash was obvious and everywhere, like the warmth of the sun. Not here. Ash didn’t belong here, and this was the surest sign that she didn’t either. She couldn’t think and she couldn’t be useful. Her senses didn’t line up with the physical world the way they ought to, as if the light she needed was from a part of the spectrum that had been filtered out somehow, leaving her cold and in the dark.

  Rappoport was talking, telling her how the information Iris had given them about her family had led to dead ends. Iris was about to ask what that meant, then figured it out on her own. Ends that were dead, like her mama and daddy. She didn’t like to ask questions of Rappoport or anyone else unless she had to. The less she knew about this world, the better.

  Rappoport sighed. “Because we can’t find any of your relatives, we need a family to take care of you.”

  “I can take care of myself.”

  “I know you’re independent, Iris, and I admire that. But we have to follow the laws. Until you’re old enough, you’ll need to live with someone.” Rappoport leaned forward, her elbows on her knees. “You know you can’t go back to living by yourself in the woods, don’t you?”

  Iris nodded. After she had tried to leave the hospital, Nurse Amy told her she couldn’t disappear into the wilderness even if she could find her way there, which she wasn’t sure she could, and even if she was strong enough, which she wasn’t. People would look for her, bring her back. But this was the first Iris had heard about going somewhere else. For all she knew, she would just be moving from this bed to another one, trading one cage for the next. It was easy inside the cage; she was taken care of, fed, kept clean and warm, but all the comfort in the world couldn’t blur her desire to return to the life she’d left behind. Frustration, longing, and despair gnawed at her insides, and she took refuge in the coloring book.

  Iris could feel Rappoport’s eyes on her. Iris continued coloring.

  “Do you want to talk about how you feel about joining a family?”

  Rappoport had asked her how she felt about things before. It sounded like an invitation to talk, but Rappoport was already straightening the papers on her lap, something she did as she got ready to leave. She was always in a hurry. Iris thought there must be other children Rappoport needed to see in this hospital or maybe in a different one. But it wasn’t just Rappoport. Everyone was in a hurry, which didn’t make any sense, considering food was simple to get, no one had to make a fire to keep warm, and water flowed through the buildings, ready wherever you needed it. Iris could not figure out what people did all day, since they didn’t have to hunt or collect food and firewood. She would’ve asked Rappoport or Nurse Amy or Suzanne about it, but they always seemed to be halfway out the door, in their minds anyway. Iris hadn’t seen a single person completely absorbed in what they were doing.

  She wondered if they slept or just kept on checking their phones all night. What exactly did they do on their phones? They weren’t listening to the sounds of the forest, she was sure of that. She was anxious about what people were doing with their time, with their phones, in the cars, and under the rooftops she caught glimpses of out the window. She worried it was something bad, or evil. Her parents had hidden from other people, had kept Iris and Ash away, too, and Iris couldn’t help but think they’d done the right thing. This was a very disturbing place. She wanted no part of it, despite the clean white sheets and warm running water. This built-up world was like honey, smooth and sweet on her tongue—until the bees attacked.

  “Iris?” Rappoport leaned forward, impatient. “How do you feel about living with a family?”

  If she didn’t answer Rappoport, the woman would leave. She was, after all, extremely busy.

  Iris exchanged a pencil the color of bluets for a deep-red one that reminded her of an orchard oriole. In a couple of months, the orioles would fly north and return to her woods. If she was there, she might spot one sneaking between branches, hop by hop, giving itself away by a tremor in the leaves and a flash of color more black than red.

  She fought back tears, not wanting to cry in front of Rappoport, who would only ask more questions, want Iris to explain, all the while glancing at her watch. How could Rappoport understand? How could anyone? Iris focused on her coloring, making it neat, choosing colors she knew from her world, colors that spoke to her, colors that evoked sights and sounds and textures and emotion. The colors harmonized within her, melting together like the lazy babble of a stream, the flutter of the wind in the trees, and the excited warble of a bunting.

  Iris soothed herself with these thoughts, lost in color and sound and joyful meaning. When she finally looked up, the seat under the window was empty.

  CHAPTER 14

  All Brynn wanted to do was grab something to eat and binge-watch Scrubs . But no, her parents practically arrested her when she came in the door after swim practice.

  “Family meeting at five, remember?” Her mom used the voice that sounded exactly like the reminder calls from the orthodontist’s office. It pissed Brynn off even more than usual because yesterday her mom had missed the swim awards ceremony. Totally blown it off. Most Improved didn’t rate, apparently.

  Her father was holding a glass of wine and a huge plate of cheese and crackers, plus olives and artichoke dip. Bribery, mom-style.

  Brynn snagged two crinkly black olives. “Just text me the minutes when it’s over, okay, Daddy?”

  He smiled at her. “Sorry,
pumpkin. Attendance is mandatory.”

  She swung her backpack off her shoulder and let it drop with a thud.

  Her mother pretended not to notice. “I did mention it this morning.”

  Brynn cut past her into the living room. “Let’s get this over with. I’m wiped out.”

  Reid was lounging on the good couch, the comfortable one, taking up all of it with his giraffe legs. He didn’t look up from his book but moved his legs to give her space.

  “Thanks.” Family meetings didn’t happen often, but it was usually kids versus parents, despite all the talk of “the family unit” and “pulling together” or some other such crap. If she couldn’t get her way by twisting her father’s will, Reid was likely to be her only ally.

  Brynn pulled out her phone from the pocket of her sweatshirt and texted her friend Lisa.

  BRYNN: Family meeting. Call SWAT team if I go dark.

  LISA: Your mom made snacks, right?

  BRYNN: Yup. She’s so extra.

  LISA (via Snapchat; Lisa wearing a short skirt, patterned tights, combat boots, and a tiny cornflower-blue tank, her long dark hair pulled into a messy bun on the top of her head): For tonight?

  Brynn arranged a look of exaggerated lascivious delight on her face, took a photo, and sent it to Lisa on Snapchat.

  “Brynn, can you put away your phone, please?” Had her mother always had that voice? If so, that would account for why Brynn was constantly stressed. Listening to that for fifteen years would be like being stuck in a room with chalkboard walls and fifty-seven psychotic cats.

  BRYNN (via text): No one gets out alive. (Munch’s The Scream emoji)

  Her father put the cheese plate on the coffee table. Brynn put a pile of cheese and olives on a napkin, crossed her legs underneath her, and settled in.

  Reid turned his book upside down on the arm of the couch. Their father flinched. He was OCD—not officially, but close enough—which was okay with Brynn, since she appreciated things done the right way, too. The fact that their father failed to call Reid on the book abuse violation meant the topic of Sharing Time had to be serious. As if she didn’t have enough to deal with.

  Her phone vibrated. She inched it out to peek at the screen. Ophelia. Blindly and with one hand, she texted, Later, bb , and slid the phone back into her pocket.

  Her mother clapped her hands together, rested them on her knees, and leaned forward. Like a kindergarten teacher. “We have important news. Both of you know about the girl who was living alone in the woods.”

  “We know all about Iris, Mom,” Reid said.

  “Well.” She glanced at their father before spitting it out, and in that one look Brynn understood he was not totally on board with whatever this was. That meant it was going to suck worse than she thought.

  Her mother went on. “The police haven’t been able to find any of her relatives, and now that she’s ready to leave the hospital, she needs a family to live with.”

  Brynn shook her head. “No, no, no, no, no, no—”

  “Hear your mother out.” Her dad gave her a look.

  “She has unusual needs, so finding the right family isn’t straightforward. Plus, Iris knows me already.” Her mother hesitated. “She doesn’t really trust anyone. She’s been taught not to. But she seems to trust me.”

  Reid said, “Don’t you have enough to do, Mom? You haven’t exactly got a lot of free time.”

  “For awards ceremonies, for instance,” Brynn said.

  Her dad nodded. “Your mother said she could make it work. We’ll all have to adjust a little.”

  Brynn groaned and pulled her knees up so her parents couldn’t see her texting Lisa in her pocket.

  BRYNN: Wild child is moving in. FML

  LISA: !!!

  BRYNN: Your couch is comfy . . .

  Her mother looked nervous. She knew this was a ridiculous idea. Brynn had never known anyone who had a foster kid living with them. It was the kind of thing people did because they were too religious and wanted to save the world, or because they needed the money. It wasn’t something people who already had money did. People with money who gave a shit about this sort of thing raised money, not sketchy kids.

  Brynn said, “Why are you doing this to us?”

  Her mother sighed like she hated air. “Because Iris needs somewhere to live. She’s only sixteen.”

  “But it’s not your problem.”

  “You’re right. I could turn my back on her and let her go to strangers.” She stared at Brynn, waiting for it to sink in, as if she’d said something monumental. “But that seemed wrong. And your father agrees.”

  Brynn said, “Do you, Dad? Because you’re pretty quiet over something that’s about to ruin our lives.”

  Her dad shrugged. “I’m not going to pretend I don’t have reservations. But she’s a terrified kid who needs help. And she has a lot to learn about modern life.” He spread some dip on a cracker and gestured with it. “Think of her as an exchange student.”

  “Seriously?” Brynn sank farther down into the cushions. “This is a disaster. I’ll never be able to have anyone over here again. You guys won’t be seeing much of me, you know that, right?”

  “Brynn . . .” Her mother shook her head.

  Her mother wasn’t taking her seriously. What else was new? It made Brynn furious. Her mother talked about respect all the time, how she wanted more of it, but she didn’t show her own daughter much. Her mother always knew better, always made the right call, and Brynn was just some dumbass kid. “Maybe that’s what you want, Mom. You don’t like the kids you have, so you thought you’d get another one.”

  “Brynn, that’s absurd.”

  “Is it? You’re always trying to control me, make me someone I’m not.” Brynn pointed at her brother. “And you do the same thing to Reid.”

  Reid sat up straighter, but his voice was dead calm. “Defending me. That’s a new twist.”

  Brynn said, “Well, you need help, that’s for sure. Freak.”

  “Stop it, Brynn!” Her mother was halfway out of her chair. Brynn covered her head with her arms as if her mother were going to hit her, which she had never done. Whenever Brynn stood up for herself, whenever she was honest, she sensed her mother’s rage snaking under the surface, about to leap out, so Brynn instinctively defended herself. There didn’t have to be actual violence for her to feel like it was present and real. Brynn wanted to smack her mother or pull her hair practically every day and assumed her mother must feel the same, at least occasionally. One thing she’d learned pretty quickly once she became a teenager: adults aren’t all that adult.

  Her father put his hand on her mother’s shoulder and stuck her back in her seat. “For God’s sake, calm down. All of you.”

  Reid was just sitting there, calm as could be, probably meditating in secret. It was so rude. Her dad was awesome and put up with more than he should from her mother and Reid. Her father’s disappointment in Reid was something Brynn had sensed long before she had understood it. A couple of years ago, she’d heard her father talking to another dad after she’d won a big race. “I’m so proud of her,” he’d said. “Daughters are the new sons.” She knew then that her role was to be her father’s joy, his favorite, and anything her mother or Reid did to interfere with that was unacceptable. Her dad hadn’t blown off the awards ceremony. He always showed up when he could shake free from work. And whether he actually showed up or not, he treated her like an adult, unlike her mom, who acted like Brynn was still a baby. Either that or on the verge of becoming a delinquent. Her mom didn’t trust Brynn to be in charge of her own life. It was insulting. But her dad appreciated her maturity and didn’t constantly judge. He was the best and deserved the son he dreamed of having, even if it happened to be a daughter.

  Her father sighed and finished his wine. “Maybe another teenager is not exactly what we need.”

  Her mother’s voice was low and steady, but the way she strung out her words meant she was furious, as if the sentence were a ticking
bomb that she had to figure out how to disarm before she got to the end. “Aside from the fact that we’d already come to a decision, Whit, the truth is Iris needs help and we are more than able to help her, so we should stop and think about her, the situation she is in, instead of ourselves.”

  Brynn looked pleadingly at her father. “Daddy . . .”

  He lifted his hands and turned to her mother. “You’re right. I’m sorry. We have decided. Assuming we get the official approval, Iris is coming to live with us. I know how strongly you feel about her and, given everything you do for all of us every day, we should have your back.”

  Her mother smiled and reached for his hand. “Thanks, Whit.”

  Brynn turned away in contempt. Her mother didn’t even have a real job. Sure, she ran around all day, but it wasn’t as if she had to. Other moms worked. Her mom kept herself busy, and now she wanted to take on a random stranger as a side project. Her dad was letting her mother have her way because he couldn’t say no to her. He was too nice.

  Reid picked up his book. “Personally, I think Iris sounds intriguing. Is she going to go to school with us?”

  Brynn hadn’t thought of this. Her brain lit up in flames. School was the one place where she had control over her life. “Not happening.”

  Her mother said, “Not for a while. She has a lot of adjusting to do.”

  Brynn stood up. “I’m done. This whole thing sucks.” She stormed out before her mother could say another word.

  Upstairs, Brynn showered, wrapped her hair in one towel and her body in another, and retreated to her room, door closed. She pulled a half dozen outfits from her closet and laid them neatly on the bed, matching shoes and boots to each one. The process calmed her. Colors, textures, styles, levels of provocativeness all had to be meticulously balanced. It might only be a lacrosse game, but presentation was everything. She tried on the first outfit: her favorite skinny jeans (why had any other kind ever been invented?), gray suede booties, and a fluffy white sweater with a wide, low neckline. She stood in front of the full-length mirror on her closet door and turned first one way then the other, considering. Her legs were too long. With the white sweater, she resembled a Q-tip. She tore off the sweater, tossed it on the floor (so unlike her except when angry) and put on a pale-blue J.Crew button-down shirt she’d worn just once, leaving the top buttons undone so the lace edge of her push-up bra was just visible. Better. She texted Lisa a photo of her reflection.