Say That Again

by Sasson, Gemini

  Cinnamon stomped a hoof on the ground as I passed her stall. Clover snorted at me, big globs of horse snot spraying down on me. The horses and I had an agreement — I ignored them and they looked down their noses at me. Actually, I was smart enough to know if I annoyed them, they could flatten me with one good kick, so I stayed the hell away. I’d been stepped on once. Nearly broke a toe. That was enough. Besides, there was something about being in one of those confined stalls that didn’t sit well with me, although I could never quite understand why. I also had this inexplicable fear of horse blankets and being smothered by them.

  “Then who?” Hunter said.

  At the back door, they both scraped their shoes on the welcome mat before going into the kitchen. I slipped in just before Hunter closed the door.

  “Hector Menendez, that’s who.”

  Chuckling , Hunter helped her take her coat off and hung it on a hook. “Did he make her listen to Rossini, instead of Tchaikovsky? Or introduce her to the horrors of impressionism?”

  “I’m serious, Hunter.” Jenn grabbed a Diet Coke from the fridge and took a swig. “I think we may have rushed into this arrangement with him ... and maybe we should put a hold on it for now.”

  He shrugged his coat off and draped it over the back of a kitchen chair. But he didn’t sit down yet. “Where is this coming from, Jenn?”

  “Hunter, he could be a child molester, for all we know.”

  He slapped a palm lightly on the table. “Oh, come on, Jenn. That’s ridiculous. What on earth would make you think that? I know he was a little standoffish when we first went over to say ‘hi’, and he can be a bit of an oddball, but —”

  “A little standoffish? A little?” She set her drink down firmly on the counter, then glanced around to make sure Hannah wasn’t lurking close by. “He did everything but tell you to fuck off — and that’s only because his generation doesn’t have that word in their vocabularies. I mean really, Hunter, I didn’t think we’d have to agree that it was a bad idea to let someone that we hardly know watch our kids. That’s just common sense.” She put her pop back in the fridge, shutting it so hard the bottles in the door rattled. From the drying rack beside the sink she grabbed a spatula and waved it around. “Like what does he, or did he, do? Is he divorced, widowed, never married? I mean, he never really said. At least not that I know of. And is he Catholic, Methodist, a Druid? Republican, Democrat, Libertarian?”

  “Well, he’s a retired pharmaceutical chemist, I assume he’s widowed — and who cares what religion or political party he is? Seriously, you’re making a big deal out of nothing. And if you don’t have something to back it up, we need to drop it. Now.”

  Smacking the spatula down on the counter, she drew a deep breath. By now I was cowering under the table. I’d seen Mario lose his temper, and Mavis throw shoes at Scowler. It always started like this. I knew when to take cover.

  Jenn jabbed a finger at Hunter. “Don’t you ever tell me I’m overreacting, Hunter.” She took several more ragged breaths before sitting down. “While I was standing in line at the grocery during my lunch break, I grabbed a newspaper and started skimming the headlines. Buried on page seven was a piece about a bunch of kids who’ve disappeared from the Louisville to Lexington area over the past twelve years. Until now, all leads went nowhere: no suspects, no witnesses, no clues, no bodies. Yesterday they found the remains of a six-year-old girl in the woods less than two hours northwest from here, along the highway near Frankfort. They estimate someone had buried her in the hillside about four years ago.” Her tone went flat. “She had no clothes on.”

  Hunter didn’t say anything. He just went and put his arms around her shoulders from behind, resting his chin on top of her head. “That’s an awful thing to happen to anyone’s child.” His lips grazed the crown of her head. “But we can only protect them so much, Jenn. Bad people are going to find ways to do bad things. Meanwhile, if we don’t let ourselves trust anyone, we rob our kids of the chance to meet new people and get out into the world to experience wonderful things. You know, my mom used to shove me out the door and tell me to be back by supper. We didn’t have cell phones or GPS trackers. And our parents didn’t orchestrate every minute of our days with schedules and practices and play-dates. They just let us be kids.”

  Jenn peeled his hands away, got up, and paced to the door, then back, her arms crossed.

  “Jenn, she’s going to meet all sorts of people throughout her life. Most will be nice. A few will be mean. And I pray she never meets anyone who’s anything like the monster who hurt those missing children — but sometimes we just have to trust that everything’s going to be okay.”

  He waited until she met his eyes to speak again. “Don’t put suspicions over on Heck Menendez just because he’s new in town and we haven’t read his autobiography yet. My gut tells me this is a decent guy.”

  “I can’t, Hunter. You need to keep her away from him.”

  “Why? Give me a good reason.”

  Sitting, she studied her fingers, laced together on the table before her. “I talked to Nancy Schwartz at work this morning, the realtor who sold Mr. Menendez the house. She said he moved here from Frankfort.”

  Hunter looked like he wasn’t sure what to make of that morsel of information. “He never said anything about living there, but so what? You’ll have to give me something better.”

  “I checked online. There were two similar missing children cases that have gone unsolved from two and three years ago. Just outside of Frankfort.”

  Scoffing, Hunter shook his head. “So you’re judge and jury now, based on hearsay and a cursory internet search? Honey, you can’t —”

  Jenn shot up from her chair so fast it nearly toppled over. “Hannah can’t go to Heck’s anymore, Hunter! End of story. Don’t try to talk me down from this. I’m taking a leave of absence starting tomorrow.”

  Then she went from the room, stomping all the way to their upstairs bedroom.

  On my belly, I scooted closer to Hunter, concerned about him. I didn’t like that Jenn was upset, either. In the time I’d been with Hannah’s family, no one had ever acted this way — scared and worried and angry. It was like there was a cloud full of lightning hovering inside the house, charging the very air around it with electricity.

  Hunter scratched between my shoulder blades. “You think old Heck’s all right, don’t you, Echo?”

  Yeah, but what could I do to make things right? I’d say that humans are dumb, only they aren’t. They just over-think things sometimes. If only they’d trust their instincts. Listen to their hearts.

  Life’s really not as complicated as they make it. All you need is a little kibble, a warm place to sleep, and someone to rub your belly.

  And a squeaky toy. There is no joy in life without squeakies.

  While Hunter worked on unclogging the downstairs bathroom drain, I ambled into the living room in search of a quiet corner to curl up and nap in. What I found instead was Hannah, hugging a pillow as she sat in Hunter’s oversized recliner.

  She’d heard every word of her parents’ argument.

  chapter 26: Hannah

  It would be easier this way. Hannah didn’t want them to have to worry about what to do with her. She didn’t care if they’d be mad at her. They obviously hadn’t cared about her feelings when it was decided she’d no longer go to Heck’s every day, even though being there, watching Heck paint, and listening to him tell her about how to blend colors and pay attention to the light, had been such a source of fascination for her. It was like her whole world had taken on new meaning — and now that was being taken away from her.

  She knew exactly what she was going to do.

  Right before bedtime, she took her shoes off, added an extra pair of fuzzy socks, a sweatshirt, and another pair of jeans over the leggings she’d worn that day, and slipped her long, fuzzy nightgown over top. Then she climbed into bed, pulled the covers up to her neck, and waited for her father to tuck her in, just like he always did.


  The door latch clicked as Hunter turned the knob. Her face toward the door, Hannah watched through one barely open eye, her right one. She kept the left shut tight, to make it look as though she’d already fallen asleep.

  A square of light fell upon the floor, widening as Hunter quietly nudged the door open. The light from the hallway fell over Echo’s curled up form. The dog twitched an ear, yawning.

  Hunter lingered at the threshold, his face half-hidden in shadow. He watched Hannah so long, she was having a hard time staying still.

  Her heart twisted. She’d miss him. Terribly. But this was for the best. She may have been angry at her mom for forbidding her to go to Heck’s anymore, but she was just as disappointed that her father hadn’t come to her rescue and defied her mother.

  On bare feet, Hunter tiptoed to Hannah’s bedside, bent down, and laid the lightest of kisses on the crown of her head. In that moment, she almost threw her blankets off and wrapped her arms around his neck, eager to confess everything, but she resisted.

  Tomorrow, things would be better.

  For her. For Heck. For everyone.

  —o00o—

  Hannah hadn’t had any trouble waking up early. She was too afraid she’d oversleep. Besides, thinking had kept her awake most of the night. That and being hot because she was wearing three layers of clothes. Mostly, she thought of all the things that could go wrong. Her plan only went as far as how she was going to sneak away. After that, she was pretty much winging it.

  The pipes downstairs clunked and rattled as Hunter got in the downstairs shower. Just like he did every morning, Echo lifted his head, stretched, then got up and left the room. That was Hannah’s cue. She slipped from her bed and wiggled free of her nightgown. Inside the nightgown, she stuffed a long pillow, then placed it under her blanket, bunching it up until she was satisfied that it would look like she was still asleep underneath.

  She dug through the pocket of her coat, which she’d left draped over the back of her desk chair the night before. The letter crinkled as she unfolded it. She read it to herself one more time, to make sure it would make sense to whoever found it. She didn’t know how to spell all the words, but she’d done her best to write them like they sounded.

  Mom and Dad (and Maura),

  I am going were ware I wont be a problum. Heck wood never hurt me. He is my frend.

  Love you (still),

  Hannah

  P.S. Win I get a job, I will call you.

  She smoothed out the creases and put the letter on top of her desk. From under the bed, she dragged her backpack out. She had no idea how long two boxes of square cheese crackers would last her, but she didn’t have room to carry more. Unless ...

  Faustine’s topknot tangled in her fingers as she lifted her out. She gave her giraffe one last hug and put her on top of the nightstand next to her bed. She didn’t have time for long goodbyes. Anyway, in two weeks, she’d turn six years old. She didn’t need stuffed animals anymore. They were for babies. And she was old enough to take care of herself. She’d prove it.

  As Hannah turned to go, something on her desk caught her eye: the shell necklace Maura had given her in the hospital. She’d only worn it for special occasions, which meant not often, but she treasured it. It was a reminder that even when Maura was snotty to her or cranky, she still loved her little sister. Maura had taught her how to ride a bike and always shared her books. Most of all, Maura looked out for her. Hannah snatched the necklace from where it lay and tucked it in her coat pocket.

  Before going out the door, she paused beside her nightstand and looked at Heck’s penguin painting. She picked it up, then set it back down. No, she couldn’t take that with her, either. She didn’t want anything to happen to it.

  At the bottom of the stairs, she peeked around the corner. Echo was lying at the end of the hallway by the bathroom, his eyes closed. Good. She didn’t want him making a fuss and alerting anyone. Besides, he’d probably ask what she was doing and she wasn’t up for a conversation right then.

  On fuzzy sock feet, she stole across the kitchen floor, pausing just long enough to stash a third box of crackers in her backpack. As she wrapped her small hands around the doorknob, she took one final look around. It was the last she’d see of her house, but she didn’t regret leaving. By this time tomorrow, she’d be making all her own decisions.

  And maybe, a month from now, they’d give up looking for her and have a life free from the trouble of having her around.

  She grabbed her boots from beneath the bench beside the door, pulled the hood of her coat up, and went outside. It was barely light out. A fresh dusting of snow blanketed the ground. To the left, over by Heck’s house, a slice of pinkish-orange rimmed the far-off hills. Cold air stung her face.

  Her boots felt warm as she slid them on and pulled the zippers up, but she just as quickly realized how numb her fingers already were from the cold. She’d forgotten to pack any gloves. They were just inside the door, in a basket on the other side of the shoes.

  Her hand on the knob, she turned it slowly.

  Thump!

  Her heart catapulted into her throat. She snapped her head up to stare into golden eyes. Echo’s breath fogged the inside of the door’s window. He cocked his head at her.

  What are you doing out there?

  “Go away,” Hannah said between clenched teeth.

  Are you going somewhere? School, maybe? Can I come with you?

  “No, no, and no.”

  But I want to be with you.

  “Not today. Now get off the door before Daddy sees you.”

  He lowered his muzzle toward his chest, disappointment plain in his face. A tiny wrinkle formed between his eyes, as if he knew something was not right.

  Forget the gloves, Hannah decided. She turned and ran before she could change her mind, glancing over her shoulder to make sure no other lights had flicked on in the house and that no one was watching her through a window.

  The only sounds that morning were the frosty grass crunching beneath Hannah’s feet and her bursts of breath as she gulped in air so cold it hurt her lungs. At the garage, she went through the side door, leaving it open for a few moments while she oriented herself to the dark confines. Gradually, her eyes adjusted and she shut the door behind her.

  The tailgate of the truck was high, almost to her chest, but she’d scaled it before. Clambering up on the bumper, she lifted the handle. It clicked open. Before the weight of it knocked her down, she jumped back down. Carefully, she lowered the tailgate, hoping to slide inside, but there were two big metal boxes in the way and behind them a stack of feed. She knew she couldn’t move any of them. The only way in was over.

  Climbing onto the now open tailgate, she tried the handle on the cap. It turned easily, the window lifting with a gentle nudge. Once inside, she had a new problem: how to shut the tailgate.

  The window would be easy, but the tailgate was almost too heavy for Hannah to close from inside by herself. But more than that, there were other, bigger problems. Her arms simply weren’t long enough to sit inside on her knees, reach over the top, and lift it up.

  She hadn’t thought this part through. Although she’d sat in the back of the truck while riding the half mile down the road to Gramma and Grampa’s many times, her daddy had always closed the back for her. Now she had to do it on her own and it wasn’t nearly as easy as he’d made it look.

  For five minutes, Hannah tried every way she could think of to close it. Finally, she scooted over to the side where she could hold on to the edge of the cap. Fingers hooked securely, she leaned out and clamped her other hand over the top of the tailgate. With one great heave, she flipped it up and slammed it shut. So loud, anyone standing within a hundred feet of the garage — or even in the back of the house — could have heard it.

  Breath held, she listened for the stomp of feet, expecting someone to call out. They’d find her there, scold her, give her a long talk, and confine her to her room for months. Things would be worse th
an ever.

  Seconds passed. A minute. Nothing happened, thankfully. It was just Hannah by herself in the back of her father’s truck, like she’d planned. On her way to somewhere else.

  As quietly as she could, she closed the window of the cap. Then she burrowed behind the sacks of feed and coils of rope and veterinary supplies, where she curled up and waited, using her backpack as a pillow.

  While she lay there, her hand wandered to her pocket. She drew out the shell necklace and put it on, her fingertips running over the polished shells as she counted them, one by one — fifteen in all. Five, five, and five more.

  Thirty seconds later, she remembered she hadn’t eaten breakfast. So she opened one of her cracker boxes and counted out six crackers. She had to make her three boxes last. Just as she popped the fourth one into her mouth, she bumped her elbow on a plastic jug of iodine. The last two crackers in her hand fell, lost in the tangle of an electrical cord. Reluctantly, she got out two more, reminding herself to be more careful. She couldn’t waste any.

  Waiting was always difficult for Hannah. She had a hard time keeping her mind quiet. Harder still was trying not to move. If she moved, she’d make noise and if Daddy came in and heard her, her plan would be ruined. She’d gotten this far. She couldn’t risk discovery now.

  So she counted in her head, all the way up to a hundred. First by twos, then by fours and fives. She could do threes or sixes, or even sevens, but they wouldn’t fit neatly into a hundred. She’d either have to stop before that or go over, and that just wasn’t right. No one had ever taught her this. She had figured it out by herself. Tens and twenties worked, but they went rather quickly.

  She was on thirty-seven, counting backward by ones, when the garage door clicked and began to hum in its tracks. Daylight wedged inward from outside.

  A moment of panic gripped Hannah. What if her daddy opened the back and saw her? She hadn’t thought to cover herself. So she grabbed the closest thing she could find — the rope — and laid it on top of herself. It smelled like hay. And she was pretty sure there were bits of cow poop embedded in its fibers.