Sara Lost and Found

by Virginia Castleman

  “I’ll talk with the court, I promise, Sara. I give you my word. You have to trust me on this.”

  “Give me your word? Trust you?”

  “You want what’s best for your sister, don’t you?”

  “You lied to us!” I shout, and I cry and cry until no more tears will come. Why am I blaming Mrs. Craig? Wasn’t I the one who wished Anna would go away? Of all the trillion and one wishes I made, why is this the one that came true?

  Looking down, I spot the missing arm from Anna’s doll on the floor of the car. I pick it up and slip it into the side pocket of my duffel bag. Somehow, some way, I will get it to her. My foot hits against something stiff packed inside the duffel bag. I open it. Ben and Rachel had put a photo of me and Anna and them in a frame. I hug it, rocking back and forth.

  I’m sorry, Anna. I’m so, so sorry.

  Mrs. Craig pulls over to the curb and stops the car. She twists around and looks at me. I’m waiting for her to scold me about telling Anna to run, but she doesn’t even mention it.

  “Sara, I feel terrible. I didn’t want you to have to see that. I have so many kids I am trying to place that sometimes I have to do as much as I can in one trip, but I never meant for you to go through that. Anna was going to have to go to Maple View no matter what. She bites people, Sara. She needs to learn how to deal with her anger and pain in a different way.

  “You, on the other hand, need a family. Parents. People who will love you and take good care of you.”

  Her voice is a distant hum. She sighs and pulls away from the curb. Trees whip past, each one marking a distance that is farther and farther away from my sister and Daddy, and from the hope of ever seeing either of them again.

  I touch the lucky penny. There’s no luck in it. Maybe I should just throw it out the window. I raise my arm, but something makes my hand stay closed tightly around it.

  The drive to my new foster home feels like it takes forever. I want to throw up, but I fight the feeling off.

  The car finally slows. I focus on the buildings around us, trying not to think about how I let Daddy down, first by getting us caught, and now by letting them take Anna away. I should have been paying more attention. Hadn’t I promised Mama I would watch her? It won’t happen again, I promise, Mama. I’ll get her back. You’ll see. You can trust me, Mama. I give you my word. But in my head, Anna is screaming, Words get broken! And she’s right.

  When Mrs. Craig pulls up to a familiar intersection, I frown. My heart beats faster as she drives through the MacMillans’ old neighborhood. I frown even harder when she turns down the street where they’d lived.

  “Are the MacMillans still here?” I ask, pressing my face close to the window to search for Sneaker.

  “No, they’re gone,” she answers, pulling into a driveway two doors down from where the MacMillans lived. “Their house is being rented now,” she adds.

  They should have named the street Foster Kid Row.

  CHAPTER 19

  “THERE’S OFTEN A SOMEWHAT AWKWARD period of adjustment,” Mrs. Craig explains to Edith Chandler, my new foster mom, as Dan Chandler, my new foster dad, unloads my bag. “Especially with the older ones. They know so much more about what’s happening to them.”

  We stand like planted trees in the front yard. I keep my distance, but I can still hear them.

  “Did you—” Mrs. Chandler glances at me and back at Mrs. Craig.

  “Yes,” Mrs. Craig answers, handing her the flowers. She glances over her shoulder at me and lowers her voice. “She’s quite upset.”

  Quite upset? I didn’t get to say good-bye or see inside the residential center. Does Anna have her own room? Are there other kids in the room with her? What if she wets the bed? Who will hide her sheets?

  Questions pile up in my head until I feel like breaking something. I bet it’s how Anna feels every time she pulls Abby apart.

  I watch Mrs. Craig get into her car, and rest my head against a tree. It feels good to have something to lean against. To me, Daddy is like a tree. Strong. Tall. But in truth, Ben is the real tree.

  Daddy is more like a bird, singing his songs, flitting from one place to the next—needing the tree more than the tree needs him. Not that being a bird is a bad thing. It’s just harder for birds to stick around.

  Why can’t people be more like trees?

  I glance at the Chandlers’ house. It has oatmeal-colored walls with same-colored bricks all around the front. Big windows. I like windows. And it has a big porch all around the front, lined with flowers. Lots of flowers.

  Not bad.

  The For Rent sign on the MacMillans’ house has been taken down. I scan the trees and bushes for a sign of Sneaker. I see a cat sitting under a hedge, but it’s not Sneaker.

  “Did you know the MacMillans?” I ask, walking over to Mrs. Chandler.

  She grins. “Sure, we knew the MacMillans. Not real well. They moved out a couple of days ago, the day before a new family moved in. From what I understand, the new family is leasing the place until the sale is final. They have a girl who looks to be about your age. Maybe you can run down and meet her tomorrow.”

  I breathe a sigh of relief, secretly glad the MacMillans have moved. After he stole all my stuff, the last person I want to see is Pablo.

  “Kev, come meet Sara,” Mrs. Chandler calls. A boy runs toward us.

  I eye the little runt warily, though I have to admit he’s kind of cute.

  Kevin looks at me wide-eyed. “Are you going to be my sister? My friend Joey says you’re not a real sister. Are you?” His eyes are blue, like mine. He seems big for a six-year-old, but his spiked, sun-bleached hair standing up on end might be why.

  “Do I look real?” I ask.

  Kevin grins and punches me to test how real I am.

  “Ow!”

  “No punching, Kevin,” Mrs. Chandler calls out.

  But Kevin seems happy with the results of his test and dances around me. “Wanna see your room?” He stretches out his hand. When I take it, it feels small and sticky and not one bit like Anna’s.

  “Hang on a sec.” I turn to Mr. Chandler. “Do you have the number for the place Anna’s in? When can I call my sister?”

  “Uh—” Mr. Chandler glances uncomfortably at Mrs. Craig heading for the car and then walks past us, carrying my bag. Mrs. Chandler clears her throat, looking to Mrs. Craig for help.

  “Not just yet, Sara,” Mrs. Craig says, getting into her car.

  “Remember, we talked about that. She needs time. . . .” Her voice fades as she closes her door, gives me one last look, and then waves.

  I don’t wave back. When her car disappears around the corner, I turn to Kevin. “Is that your cat?” I point to where the cat had been.

  Kevin looks where I’m pointing and shakes his head. “I can’t have one. They make Mom sneeze. Those are strays.”

  Strays? My heart leaps when a couple of kittens peer out from under a bush next door. A quick scan tells me the bad news. None of them is Sneaker.

  “Come on in, Sara. Let’s get you settled,” Mrs. Chandler calls from the porch.

  The day is a blur of activity and emotion. Kevin doesn’t want to leave me alone, which, in some ways, is annoying. He’s always underfoot, and I get a little mad at him for it. But in other ways, he takes my thoughts off Anna, and how scared she must be, and how empty and lost I feel without her.

  Kevin has so many things to show me. The dragon costume he’s planning to wear for Halloween. Do I want to see it on? Books, books, and more books I can’t read. Do I want to read them to him? A race-car set. Do I want to race him? A tool kit. Do I want to build a robot? His new “I Spy” memory game that we play six times in a row before his parents finally rescue me.

  “Sara’s not a sitter, Kevin. She’s a sister. Sitters have no choice but to play with you. Sisters do.”

  I like that. Having a choice, I mean. I also like my new room. It has pretty yellow wallpaper with tiny green, pink, and purple wildflowers on it. Dark wood aroun
d the doors and windows make the room feel warm and safe. Everywhere you look there’s wood. Ben would love it here.

  Only one thing is missing.

  Anna.

  CHAPTER 20

  I’M UP EARLY THE NEXT morning, though I’m not the first. Plates clank in the kitchen. When I head downstairs, I can hear my foster mom softly singing to herself.

  “Oh, you beautiful doll, you great big beautiful doll. Let me put my arms around you. I can never live without you—”

  “How do you know that song?” I demand. It’s the one Daddy sang to me the night before he never came back.

  “Well, g-good morning to you too,” Mrs. Chandler answers, frowning slightly. “Let me guess. You don’t like that tune?”

  “I hate it.”

  “Then I won’t sing it again,” she says, drying her hands on a towel. “Did you sleep well?” She carefully folds the towel and sets it on the counter. The sun pours through the window, and I get a good look at her. A twirl of dark curls fall around a thin, pretty face. She’s taller than I am, probably the same size as Mama. So what? Mama has a pretty face too. It doesn’t mean anything.

  “No. I didn’t sleep well.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that.” She walks over to me, bends down, and brushes my bangs out of my eyes. “Did you have bad dreams?”

  “I don’t dream.” I pull back.

  “Well, we’ll just have to fix that, now, won’t we?” She draws me into a hug. Her hair smells like strawberries. Anna would have spit on her or bitten her arm.

  I pull away and look around, missing Anna so bad. I should never have wished her away. When I wished it, I didn’t mean forever. Just for a little while. Long enough for a good family to want us.

  “I have to go,” I say the minute she releases me.

  “Go? Go where?” Her voice pinches to a high note.

  “Out.” I start for the front door.

  “You don’t mean outside?” She stands up. “I mean—you haven’t even had breakfast yet.”

  “I’m not hungry.” My stomach rumbles loudly at the smell of toast. I breathe in deep and swallow, letting my breath out slowly. Like eating paper towels. It’s just another way I fool my stomach into thinking it has been fed. With the smell locked into my memory, I can call on it and bring up the scent anytime I want it to help fill me up.

  Toast. Coffee. Daddy. It doesn’t matter what I whisper. The scent will always be there.

  “You should ask me first b-before just t-taking off,” she stammers. “Or at the very least, tell me where you want to go.” She twists her hands.

  “Daddy Dan” walks in and looks back and forth between us. I take a good look at him, too. He’s tall and lean, like Daddy, only his hair is black as a shadow, and his sideburns are silver. His cheeks look like they’ve been carved in stone. His eyes are warm, brown, and smiling.

  Mine aren’t. “Where do I want to go?” I answer hotly. “How about to the place where Anna is? They shouldn’t have split us up. They said they wouldn’t. Grown-ups lie, lie, lie.”

  Mrs. Chandler wilts. Daddy Dan keeps busy by peeling an orange he’s taken from the refrigerator. “Not all grown-ups lie, Sara,” he says. Peel. Peel. Peel. “In my line of work, there’s an expression, ‘Innocent until proven guilty.’ ”

  I stare at him. What more proof does he need? “They lie,” I say flatly.

  “The story I heard was that Mrs. Craig said she might have let you go in with Anna, but—”

  “We ran away. That was then. But that doesn’t give her the right to break her promise. She said we would stay together.” I squirm, anxious to leave. “You could have taken both of us.” I glare at them, wondering what the excuse will be this time.

  To my surprise, Mrs. Chandler starts to cry. Daddy Dan goes over to her and hugs her, but when he looks back at me, the look in his eyes is disappointment.

  So what if my words hurt? Lies hurt too. Mrs. Craig should never have lied. It grows so quiet, I can hear the clock ticking in the living room down the hall.

  Mr. Chandler breaks the silence. “She needs help, Sara. Anna needs—”

  “I’ve heard all about what Anna needs, but everybody’s wrong. Anna needs me.” I feel tears pricking my eyes.

  He holds out a section of orange. I hesitate, then snatch it from his hand.

  “You can go to the end of the block and back,” he says, opening the door. “We’ll wait to eat breakfast until after you get home.”

  Home. I squeeze past him. They think this is home? My real home is on Elm Street or with the Silvermans. Not here.

  “Whatever,” I say, banging the door behind me. I need air, not arguments.

  “Let her go,” I hear him say through the door. “She misses her sister. It’s going to take time.”

  When I look back, I see them hug and feel a tug. Not a steal-something kind of tug. Worse. A this-hurts tug. It should be my real Mama and Daddy I watch, hugging each other. But the way Mama and Daddy got close wasn’t with hugs. The way they got close was with words. Hurtful words. The very thing that ripped them apart.

  I don’t need them. I don’t need anyone.

  CHAPTER 21

  A COUPLE OF DOORS DOWN I spot a red-haired girl setting up a table, putting pitchers and cups on it. I slow my pace. Now what? Meet the new neighbor girl Mrs. Chandler talked about? A sign above the stand says something I can’t read, but the number on it says 50¢.

  A boy who looks like he might be her brother—same reddish hair—pokes up from under the table and plops some cups down.

  “Hiya!” the girl yells, running over to me with sandals on her hands instead of her feet. “You must be the new girl we heard about. I’m Lexie. We’re new too. We just moved here. What’s your name?”

  I stop and stare.

  “Want a Tropical Thirst Quencher?” she says before I can answer. Not that I was going to.

  “Juice,” she says, pointing to the pitcher. “It’s fifty cents, but for you, we’ll call it a quarter.”

  “I’m not thirsty,” I lie, fingering the penny in my pocket. Really, though, my throat is so dry that I can hardly swallow.

  Lexie shrugs. “You can have a cup for free if you want.”

  I barely taste the juice going down.

  “This is my brother, Skeeter.” She sees my face and it’s like she reads my mind or something. “He likes bugs,” she explains.

  “Oh.”

  Skeeter turns as red as his hair.

  “So, what’s your name?” Lexie asks again.

  “Samantha,” I blurt. It just kind of pops out.

  “Samantha! Omigosh. Really? What a kawinkeedink. Did you hear that, Skeeter? Her name is Samantha. My best friend’s name is Samantha!”

  Kawinkeedink? What kind of a word is that?

  “Best friend? That’s nice.” I look behind her, wondering what having a best friend would be like. My eyes catch something moving in the bushes. Sneaker?

  “We moved here from Riverside. It’s this city in Southern California. I wish Samantha were really here. Not you. I mean, don’t be hurt or anything, but I was talking about the other Samantha, my best friend.”

  And I wish Anna were here, I think but don’t say. “Got any cats around?”

  “Ta-ha!” It’s a strange little laugh. “Dozens! Strays all over the place.”

  Someone pulls up in a car, pays fifty cents, and buys some juice. “Back in a sec,” Lexie calls over her shoulder. I thought she was talking to the people in the car, but when they drive away, I realize she was talking to me.

  When she leaves, Skeeter and I look everywhere but at each other, fishing for something to talk about. He has freckles the size of small pebbles all over his arms and face.

  He stares down at one of his shoes like it might run off, then darts another look at me. “You like bugs?”

  It seems like a strange question, but I nod.

  “Me too. I just found a treehopper!”

  “I used to live here,” I blurt, no
t having a clue what a treehopper is.

  “Here? You mean in Oakview?”

  “No. Here in your house.” I watch a look of amazement slide over his face.

  Lexie comes out carrying another pitcher of juice. Skeeter runs over to her. “You’re not going to believe this, Lex. She—” He looks at me, frowning. “What did you say your name was again?”

  “Sara—mantha,” I say, almost forgetting myself.

  “Saramantha used to live here! In our house!”

  Lexie stares at me, finally speechless. “You used to live in our house?” A strange look passes between them.

  “The stinky sheets!” they cry in unison.

  “They aren’t mine!” The words tumble out as heat rushes to my face. “They’re my sister’s.” I catch myself too late.

  “You have a sister? How old?” Lexie asks, perking up.

  “Twelve,” I mumble. Some holes are hard to crawl out of.

  “Twelve years old and she wets the bed?”

  “Leave her alone!” I yell. “She can’t help it.”

  Lexie and Skeeter exchange looks. “Wait here,” they order, running toward their house, hollering, “Mom, Mom!” like the place is on fire.

  Yeah, right. Hang around for them to say mean things about me and my sister? I don’t think so. I have a cat to look for.

  When the door closes behind them, I turn toward my new house and, to my surprise, a small black-and-white cat pounces out and grabs at my shoe.

  “Sneaker!” I scoop her up and hold her close. “It’s you. It’s really you! You’re alive. You’re okay!”

  I press my face into her soft coat. “Let’s get outta here so I can tell you about Anna—it’s so sad, Sneak.” She purrs against my chest, smelling like cat food.

  Before I get ten steps away, footsteps thunder down the porch stairs behind me. I don’t turn around.

  “Hey, where’d she go?” Skeeter calls.

  “There she is.” Lexie sees me before I can duck behind a tree. “Samantha! Wait! We have something for you! Hey. What’s she holding? Stop her, Skeet! She’s got Poof!”