“I wouldn’t be tossing Mrs. Chandler’s apple in the air,” I warn, looking to see if she’s around. She isn’t. “It’ll break if you drop it, and Mrs. Chandler seems pretty attached to it. She was dusting it earlier and looking at it like she’d never seen an apple before.”
He reaches down and picks up a couple of Kevin’s rubber balls from a box on the chair.
“She is attached to it,” he agrees, and just like that he starts to juggle the apple with the two rubber balls. “Don’t worry. I’ll be careful. Know what I learned about juggling?” he asks. His voice jiggles when he talks.
“That you shouldn’t talk while throwing a glass ball in the air?” I answer.
He laughs, never missing a beat or a ball. The balls make a soft ffftt-ffftt sound as they hit his hands. The glass apple makes a higher, more breakable sound.
“I learned that life is like juggling.”
Yeah. Juggling from one house to another, I think but don’t say.
“I learned that to juggle work and money”—I gasp as he catches the glass apple in the bend of his elbow while still juggling the two remaining balls—“takes a good head and a keen eye for detail, but family—”
I suck in air and hold my breath, throwing my hands to my ears and pressing hard against them. He flips the apple in the air and catches it, holding it up in one hand while juggling the two rubber balls with the other. I let go of my ears.
“Family is like glass,” he says, never taking his eye off the apple. “A family is strong, but fragile. Something to protect and defend. Something to care for and take care of.”
He catches all the balls and slowly puts the glass one back in the bowl, and then he leans down to look at me. “In this family, every member takes really good care of the others. And that includes how we feel about you. We think you are like a crystal ball that has come into our lives for a reason, and we will do anything and everything that it takes to protect you.”
A hot tear falls on my arm. Others build up on the rims of my eyes, waiting their turn to fall. Mrs. Chandler walks in and just looks at us.
“Is everything okay?”
“Everything’s great,” Mr. Chandler says, dropping the rubber balls into a box on the chair. “We were just talking about family.”
“Can I call Anna?” I blurt.
Mrs. Chandler’s lips just slightly curl up, raising my hopes. “Actually, I talked with Mrs. Craig today, Sara, and Anna had a little setback, so no, you can’t call her yet. But she did have one bit of good news that she asked me to share with you, and that’s that Anna put Abby back together by herself today.”
“She did? That’s great. That has to have earned her some points. Not many, maybe, but some, don’t you think? It has to tell them that Anna might be getting better.” They let me ramble without interrupting. “Were all the parts in the right places?” I look up at Mrs. Chandler.
“Not quite, but close. One step at a time, Sara. One step at a time,” she answers.
That afternoon we go to see Dr. Kitanovski again. She really likes my drawing of Daddy.
“Who is this beside your papa?” she asks, pointing to a smaller shape.
“It’s a shadow,” I explain.
“And who is this shadow that stands all by itself by your papa?” she asks.
I look again and see that she’s right. Daddy and his shadow don’t touch.
When I look again, I see me.
I didn’t know a person could hold so much crying inside, and when I let it all out, it is like water rushing from a broken faucet. Sometimes I can’t breathe, I cry so hard, and Dr. Kitanovski rocks me, saying strange words. She never asks me to stop or be quiet. She just lets the river of tears flow.
When I finally stop, she reaches over and grabs the white stone. “Did you think more about the white stone?” she asks.
“Kind of,” I lie. “It’s not rough like the others. It’s smooth. Clean.”
She sets the white stone down, and grabs the other two. “So, if this is how you see yourself, and this is how others see you, what might the white one be?”
I thought about Ben, and how no matter what I do, he never judges me. Maybe the white stone is non-judging, but what’s that in a person?
“A non-judger?” I finally spout, rapidly running out of ideas.
She smiles a faraway smile, like something I said has triggered a thought. “A non-judger. I like that, Sara. Now picture this non-judger. What does that non-judger look like?”
“A tree,” I blurt.
Her eyebrows shoot up. “A tree! Interesting. Why a tree?”
“I can be anything around a tree and it doesn’t judge me. It just sits there and listens. It doesn’t answer back, yell, make fun of me, cry, laugh . . . and it doesn’t run away. It just sits and sways and stays,” I add.
Her smile deepens. “Your non-judging tree I like.” She hands me the white stone. “Keep this to remind you of it. And if you can’t find a tree to sit under, talk to the stone and tell it your worries. See if you don’t feel better.”
“Are you sure?” I take the stone in my hand. It feels cool, and when I slip it into my pocket, it clinks against Ben’s penny.
“I am sure.”
* * *
September proves to be another month of getting used to things, including a new school where I feel lost without Anna, a new house, and the Chandler house rules: shoes off when entering, put one toy away before taking out another, wash your hands, no elbows on the table when eating, no talking with food in your mouth, say “please” and “thank you.”
Every afternoon before supper, Kevin and I have to “take a walk on the wild side” and pick up after ourselves. And something else new is coming up: My first birthday without Anna is just around the corner.
“Sara,” Mrs. Chandler says one morning while pouring herself a second cup of coffee. “Now that you are settled, we need to do something about your not being able to read very well.”
I stop midgulp, letting a pool of orange juice just sit in my mouth. She knows? That means that the school will know soon, then the kids in my class. Faking it has become an art. I have everyone fooled. It’s easy to become invisible in school. Sit in the back row and keep quiet. Get someone else to answer for me. Now what?
“Ben Silverman called. He’s volunteering at the library, teaching kids and adults how to read. I was wondering if you wanted to go work with him.”
“Ben? Really?” Suddenly everything looks better.
“Shall I take that as a yes?”
I nod, eager to see Ben again.
“The first class is at two o’clock this afternoon. Think you can get your chores done in time to go?”
It isn’t going to take hours to clean my room. The closet will fit most of it. I nod.
By one thirty, she gathers her purse and keys. Hesitating at the door, she looks back, like she’s forgotten something. “Nobody mentioned anything about bringing books. Of course, it’s at the library, so I guess they have plenty to choose from. Still, if there’s anything you want to take to read, better grab it now or forever hold your pizza.”
I grin, not at her joke, but because there is something I want to take. I shake my head because I have it in my pocket, and I close the door behind us. If only Anna could come too. Then Ben could teach us both to read.
The library is full of muffled voices, shoes padding against the floor, and books being shuffled from shelves to tables. It has a smell like no other building. A dusty, leathery-book kind of smell. It’s probably the cushy chairs I’m smelling. Whatever it is, I like it.
Mrs. Chandler and I wind our way through stacks of books to the back room. “I’ll be waiting right here, or nearby. When you’re done, just look around. You’ll see me.”
“Don’t you want to come in and meet Ben?”
“We’ve already met—foster-parenting classes,” she explains with a little wave of her hand. She then disappears behind a row of books.
I open the door and grin.
<
br /> Ben stretches his arms wide. Never has a hug felt so good. I plaster my face against his shirt. He smells like laundry soap. A scruff of whiskers scratches my cheek when he kisses me. His whiskers smell like bacon. I breathe in a deep whiff of him and hold my breath, not wanting to let go.
“You don’t mind that I called Mrs. Chandler and asked if she couldn’t convince you to join the program?” His brown eyes sparkle.
“Me? Mind?” I can’t stop grinning at him.
“Well, then! We’d better get started. Is there something special you want to read? A favorite book? A song, perhaps?”
Mama’s letter pokes against my side. Ben studies my face. “Ah. I think there is something, yes? But you are afraid to show it to me?”
I nod and look out the window. People might see. We might get caught. The letter might end up lost or read by someone else. Mama might get caught and sent to jail.
Thoughts leapfrog all over the place.
Ben follows my gaze and looks back at me. “I have an idea,” he whispers, pulling a book from the table. “Come over here by me and sit so that we are across from the window, looking out.”
I pull a chair up beside him and sit down.
“Now, this something that you want to read. Put it here between the pages. If anyone from outside looks in, they’ll think we’re busy reading my magic book.” He turns the cover toward me.
“The Magic Journey!”
Ben laughs. “You remember it?”
“How could I forget?” I unpin my pocket and carefully spread Mama’s letter out on the table, then start to put it in Ben’s book and stop.
“Your book is empty! What happened to the pictures? The stories?”
Ben smiles, closing the book around Mama’s letter.
“You made up all these stories, didn’t you, Ben? They were never in The Magic Journey.”
“They were right here”—he taps his head—“and now they are here.” He pats my head and opens the book to the page where I put the letter.
“Ah! This must be a letter from your mama, yes?”
I nod.
“And judging by all these wrinkles, you have had this letter a very long time?”
Again I nod.
Ben thinks for what feels like forever. Is he going to turn us in—me and Mama’s letter? Finally, though, he puts his arm around my shoulder and clears his throat. “Okay. Let’s start with the first line. Can you read any of the words?” He points a thick finger at the first word.
“ ‘My dear Sara and Anna, this is a—’ ” I pause.
“Dif-fi-cult,” Ben says, sounding out the word.
“ ‘Difficult letter to write,’ ” I say carefully, then stop, since those are as many words as I know.
“Very good!” Ben gives me a little squeeze. “See there? You can read a little. This is good. This is very good.”
“Can you read the rest of it to me?” I whisper.
Ben nods slowly. “I can, and I will. Then together we will read it, word by word, and you will know your mama’s letter by heart. Along the way, we will learn things. Are you ready?”
My head nods yes, but my stomach knots up. It’s not so sure.
Ben’s deep voice pulls Mama’s words from the page and plays them against the air like one of Daddy’s sad songs. My heart beats fast, so fast I think it might break.
As he reads, I try to picture Mama writing the letter. Is she sitting by a window, watching us from somewhere close by? Is she far away and remembering us in her thoughts? I search my own memory and see her long fingers wrapped around a strand of hair, blue veins standing out against her pale skin.
A memory tears at me. I try to push it away, but it comes back. Mama’s biting her lower lip and squeezing me and Anna so tightly against her that I feel like my shoulders might crack. Our heads are touching, and she’s whispering something.
I close my eyes and try to hear Ben, but another sound is smashing against my thoughts.
Bam, bam, bam.
I wince and try to push it away again.
Splinters of wood jump through the door like claws. I watch the wood crack under the pressure of an ax.
“I know you’re in there, Rosie. Don’t hurt my girls.”
The voice is Daddy yelling at Mama, but he doesn’t sound like himself. He’s mad at her like he gets when he’s been drinking.
Bam. Bam.
The sound is hollow through Mama’s hand pressed against my ear.
“You are angels,” she chants. “Angels flying up to heaven. Look how beautiful you are, dressed in white.”
My face is pressed so tight against her chest that I can’t breathe. The hard, cold toilet pushes against my back. We are squeezed between the toilet and the tub. The house offers no other hiding place.
“God sees you and is smiling,” Mama whispers. “He’s smiling because my girls are coming to see Him.”
Crack. The wood splinters.
My lungs burn from not being able to breathe.
Let me go, Mama. Let me go.
“See Him, Anna? Sara? God loves you.” She kisses the tops of our heads. I push hard, fighting for a breath, but I can’t get away from her tight grip.
At the last crash of wood, a door to my memory opens, spilling out secrets like a flood of light from a refrigerator. Was Mama trying to hurt us? And Daddy, was he trying to save us? I take a sudden breath and jerk.
Ben is holding me. He’s not reading Mama’s letter anymore. He’s hugging me. “Breathe, Sara. Breathe. It’s all right. Cry. Let it all come out. You’ll feel better.”
I look around. I’m not an angel. I’m at the library. I’m with Ben. I can breathe. I gasp for breath, coughing.
His deep voice helps me relax. When I’m calm, he smooths the paper out slowly, stroking it like he is stroking a cat. Then he picks it up in his big hands and quietly clears his throat. I sniff loudly, and he reminds me again to breathe in deep and to let the air out slowly. Then he starts the letter over again, and I hold on to Mama’s every word:
My dear Sara and Anna,
This is a difficult letter to write. I am going to go away for a while. I know that running away isn’t right, and I hope you will someday forgive me. I am leaving because everything I do is wrong, or so it feels like to me. I’m scared. Scared that I’m not a good mom. Scared that I can’t protect you from all the things a parent is supposed to protect her children from. And so I run, hoping to give you a chance at a new and better life.
I sit here at my window, Sara, listening to a mockingbird sing one beautiful song after another, and for a moment, it’s like having you here singing to me. I smile just thinking about you. Don’t ever stop singing.
And Anna, I know you are hurting. I hope that someday you’ll find the sweet person tucked away inside of you. You might think she’s not there, but she is. One day you’ll find her. I just know. Take care of one another.
I love you.
Mama
For a long time Ben and I don’t say anything. Carefully, I fold up Mama’s letter and put it back in my pocket. It turns out Rachel Silverman was right. It isn’t my fault Mama left. She loves us. She thought she was somehow saving us. She was just scared and didn’t know what to do.
“Sometimes,” Ben says, his voice husky as he gives me a bear hug, “when we have not learned how to take good care of ourselves, we can’t take good care of our children. This is how it was with your mama and papa. They love you and Anna with all their hearts. Of this I am sure. But they do not know how to take care of themselves, and because of this they do not know how to take care of you. You still miss them, yes?”
I nod, biting my tongue to keep from crying. “I let them down,” I whisper.
Ben looks at me hard. “Let who down?”
“Mama. Daddy. I should never have gotten us caught. If I had found us a better hiding place, then Anna would be with me now, and Daddy could come home.”
Ben shakes his head. “Maybe he would come home for a
short time, but what about the next time he makes a mistake? And the next? How long were you to go on hiding like this? No, Sara. This is not your doing. You are a good daughter and a good sister and a good friend.”
When he says “friend,” I think about Lexie and how hard it is to be a friend. “I don’t know how to be a friend,” I whisper. “I’ve never had one or been one.”
Ben smiles. “Ah, but you do know. You have been my friend for a long time now, yes? And it is time for you to meet kids your own age to become friends with. You will make someone a very, very good friend. I just hope they will be as good a friend to you.”
I look at Ben, searching his face. “I did something else, too.”
“What is this new something that is tearing you up inside?”
I swallow hard and take a deep breath, hold it, then slowly let it out. “I wished Anna would go away, and then she did. Now I might never see her again.” I let the dreaded secret out.
Ben stares at his big fingers, then looks at me. “Breathe, Sara. I am going to tell you this, and you must believe me, yes?”
I nod.
“You could have said, ‘Anna go, Anna stay,’ and it would not have made one little bit of difference. None at all. It is your parents and the court that decide these things. Your parents made a poor choice. The courts took over. As for Anna, she hurts so much that she wants to hurt others—”
He pauses and pulls me back onto his lap. His chin comes to my shoulder. “She was hard to take care of all the time, yes?”
I look away. How did he know?
“Do not use energy to punish yourself for a feeling anyone would have. Use it instead to explore and learn new things.”
“But what about Anna?”
A soft tap on the door announces that our time is up. Outside the window, a boy waits his turn to learn to read. Ben gives me a small squeeze, and I go across the room to open the door.
“Same place on Wednesday?” Ben says, mostly to Mrs. Chandler, but also to me to remind me that I will be seeing him again in a few days.
“That sounds wonderful,” she answers.
Ben bends down and whispers close to my ear. “Do you still have the penny?”
I nod, patting the pocket that holds Ben’s penny, the white stone, and Mama’s letter. He slips his big hand into a pocket and pulls out a small magnifying glass.
Sara Lost and Found Page 13
