by Megan Hart
Her cell phone rang and she snatched it up, thinking it would be Sunny and realizing that was silly. Maybe Christopher. But no, it was Becka.
“Hey, girl, what up?”
Liesel had to laugh at Becka’s heavy-toned slang. “Working. You?”
“Like a mother-effing-dog. Like a DOG.”
They both laughed at that. Becka had quit her full-time job as a psychiatric nurse when Annabelle was born, because she’d said juggling work, child care and the house along with four small kids at home was driving her almost as crazy as the patients. Liesel knew Becka was full of it—she’d taken to staying home with her kids like she’d spent her whole life yearning to be Suzy Homemaker, complete with her own full-size version of the Easy-Bake Oven and Baby-Wets-a-Lot.
“We’re getting a new fridge,” Becka said. “I had to pull this bitch out and clean underneath it. My God, you know what sort of crap ends up under the fridge? You don’t even wanna know. Believe me.”
“What happened to your old fridge?” Liesel glanced at the clock and started typing in orders, glad she could multitask.
“Nothing. But Kent had a boner about getting ice and water through the door, so who am I to deny the man something he wants? And the new fridge, not gonna lie, is sweeeeeet.” Becka drew out the word. “I might make sweet love to it, that’s what I might do.”
Liesel snorted laughter, eyes on the screen, fingers tapping away as fast as she could go. “Um, ew.”
“So…that’s not why I called. I just wanted to check up, make sure everything in Casa de Albright was on track.” Becka paused. “Today’s the first day you left them home by themselves, right?”
“Yes.”
“No frantic phone calls?”
“No. Actually…” Liesel finished off one file and saved it, then opened the next. “I called home to ask Sunny if she could put some chicken in the oven because wouldn’t you know it, Rod needs me to finish up some things here.”
“Why don’t you just order dinner? Save yourself the trouble?”
“I thought about it, believe me. But Sunny’s kind of funny about eating.”
“What do you mean?”
Liesel paused, trying to think about how she could describe it without sounding as if she was a little nutso herself. “They taste everything before they eat it.”
Becka laughed. “Doesn’t everyone?”
“No. I mean…they taste everything before they eat it. Like it’s going to bite them back or something. They don’t like to eat when it’s not the right time. No snacking in between meals—”
“Wish I could get my kids to do that.”
“I know they’re hungry. That’s the thing. They’re hungry but won’t eat unless it’s the right time or the right things. They don’t eat candy. And yes,” Liesel said before her friend could interrupt, “I know that it’s better if they don’t eat candy. But isn’t it what kids do?”
“I know lots of parents don’t let their kids eat candy.”
“It’s not that she doesn’t let them. It’s that she looks at me like I’m insane when I offer them a cookie or, God, even a Fruit Roll-Up. She doesn’t come off as trying to be judgmental, but she is.”
“Most people think they’re right about things, that’s been my experience. And they want to make sure you think they’re right, too.”
Liesel rocked in her chair. “It’s not really that. It’s like she has all these secrets and we’re just not privileged enough to understand them.”
“Ah.”
Liesel sighed. “Yeah.”
“Listen…I was thinking about something. If you think Sunny needs to see someone, I can recommend some great docs who specialize in younger patients.”
It had occurred to Liesel that they all might need some sort of counseling, but honestly, she’d found the prospect so daunting she’d been unable to face it. “You think they need to see a shrink?”
Becka paused. “Yes. I think that it would certainly help them. At least a psychologist, if not someone who has experience in deprogramming.”
Liesel sagged in her chair. Deprogramming, God. “Yeah. Yeah, I think that would probably make sense.”
“How does she seem? Sunny.”
“Quiet. They’re all very quiet. The kids are amazingly well behaved.”
“Compared to my monsters, most kids are.” Becka laughed. “But honey, you know they had to go through a whole lot of stuff you can’t ignore.”
“I know.”
“So if you want me to recommend someone who can just talk to her a little…anytime…I can do that.”
“Thanks, Becka. Shit, I have to get this stuff done. I’ll call you later, okay?”
“Fine, fine, I have to finish scrubbing my kitchen floor. So glam, I can’t even stand it.” Becka paused again. “And Liesel, hon, be careful.”
“With what?”
“Just…you don’t know what sorts of things Sunny might do, that’s all. Oh, shit, there’s the doorbell, I bet that’s the delivery guy. Gotta run. Call me.”
Becka hung up before Liesel could say anything else. She ended the call and turned back to her computer, but the screen blurred and she had to blink rapidly to get her eyes to focus. She rubbed them, the clock her enemy.
What sorts of things might Sunny do?
For a second, Liesel imagined coming home to find her house emptied of every valuable, Sunny and the kids gone off on some wild adventure financed by Liesel’s grandmother’s silverware and her wedding ring, the one that had gotten too big and that she kept in her jewelry box on top of her dresser. Guilt instead of unease pinched her this time. She shouldn’t even think of such a thing.
She dialed again. This time, the phone only rang three times. There was a click, then silence.
Then, “Hello, Liesel.”
“Hi, Sunny, it’s—” She broke off with a laugh. “How did you know it was me?”
“The phone told me. I mean, it said it here in this little window. Your name.”
“Oh, caller ID. Of course.” Liesel felt dumb. “How are you doing?”
“We’re fine.”
Liesel waited a beat, but Sunny wasn’t forthcoming with anything else. She cleared her throat. “Listen, hon, I’m really sorry. I know I said I’d be home by four, but it looks like I might not be home until five. I left a couple packages of chicken breasts out to thaw, do you think you could put them in the oven for me? There’s a small box in the pantry labeled Onion Soup, you just put that on top with about a cup of water.”
Sunny hesitated but said, “I’m sure I could.”
“Great. I’m sorry to do this to you on your first day there alone, but I know you don’t like to eat too late. How are the kids?”
“Happy and Peace are playing that game you gave them. Candy Land?” Sunny’s voice had brightened. “Thank you, they like it very much. They want to know if they can have some candy now.”
Liesel chuckled, but ruefully, the conversation with Becka still fresh. “Don’t kids always want candy?”
“We don’t eat it,” Sunny said. “Candy’s very bad for our vessels.”
“Oh.” Liesel bit off her laughter. There it was again, that nonjudgmental judgment. She couldn’t tell if Sunny was assuming she was some wild, rampant sugar fiend, or merely stating a fact. “Well, I’m glad they like the game. And you’re okay?”
It seemed impossible to Liesel that Sunny could be anything like okay. Other than her outburst in Kmart, she’d barely shown any signs of grief. Christopher had said she didn’t even cry when she identified her mother, who’d been buried without anyone attending. Liesel was no expert on mourning, but it seemed a couple weeks was far too short a time to recover from losing everything you’d ever known.
/> “Liesel, I can put the chicken in the oven. Bliss needs her diaper changed. Is there anything else?”
Her mind had been wandering, but she was called back now by Sunny’s calm voice through the phone line. “Oh…yes. I have some salad fixings in the fridge, and you can pick a vegetable from the freezer to go with dinner. I have potatoes in the pantry, maybe you want to bake some of those?”
“Sure, okay.”
“Sunny, you have my cell phone number, right? In case you need anything.” Liesel didn’t want to hang up without some further reassurance that her stepdaughter was handling things.
Sunny read off the number Liesel had printed on the pad next to the phone. “Right?”
“Yes. That’s it. Thanks.” Liesel hesitated again. “Okay, well, I should be home by about five. Okay?”
“Okay,” Sunny echoed. Then she hung up.
No “goodbye,” no “see you later.” Liesel stared at the phone in her hand before setting it back in the cradle. She laughed, shaking her head. It was efficient, if not exactly socially savvy.
Then she turned to the folder Rod had left her with a sigh of determination.
Chapter 19
Each to his task and not to someone else’s, that was what Papa had taught them. Some do the shopping, some do the cooking. Some the cleaning. Some teach the children. Some, like John Second, handle the money. Some, like Josiah, deal with the blemished, making sure that everything is taken care of in the right ways so that they leave Sanctuary alone. Separation of duties means everyone works together to make Sanctuary a warm, welcoming and functional home, so long as everyone does what they’re meant to do and don’t try to do anything beyond what they’ve been assigned.
Sunny’s mother works in the gardens. She chooses the seeds that will go into the ground from a large catalog, and she writes their names on a list. She is supposed to give the list to Papa, but Josiah is really the one who takes it. He looks it over and uses a calculator to add up all the numbers in the catalog.
“Lots of tomatoes,” he says.
Mama smiles. “We use them for lots of things.”
“I like tomatoes.” Josiah shrugs and reaches to tap Sunny’s shoulder. “What about you, Sunshine? Do you like tomatoes, too?”
The truth is, she doesn’t like them raw in a salad or thick in a sandwich, dripping with mayonnaise. She likes ketchup, though. Spaghetti sauce, too. She nods.
Suddenly, the taste of tomatoes floods her mouth. Saliva squirts, bitter in her mouth. Her throat closes and she thinks she might choke on the flavor of it. That’s been happening a lot lately. Phantom tastes and smells that leave her stomach churning.
Mama doesn’t notice. She’s too busy talking with Josiah about the varieties of brussels sprouts and broccoli. Sweet corn. Sunny loves sweet corn, but even swallowing again and again, she can’t wash the taste of tomatoes from her tongue.
“You think you might like to help your mom in the garden?”
Sunny turns. She likes Josiah much better than his older brother. Josiah is kinder, for one thing. He laughs a lot. He plays the guitar sometimes. And…he has never touched her the way John Second touches all the girls. Josiah and Papa don’t get along very well, though. There’s not supposed to be shouting in Sanctuary, but there often is. Now Josiah’s staring at her with a smile on his face, his hair long to his shoulders, and Sunny wonders what it would be like to touch his hair. It looks like it would feel soft.
“Papa wants Sunny to share the light,” Mama says as she tucks the list neatly into the catalog and hands it to Josiah.
For a moment, Josiah’s brow furrows and the creases at the sides of his mouth get deep. “Of course he does. He has all the prettiest girls and boys doing that.”
Mama looks surprised, then pleased. She nods, looking Sunny up and down. “Then she’s perfect for it.”
The taste of tomatoes is back, harsh and thick and stinging. Sunny shakes her head against the flavor, but also in response to what her mother said. Sunny does not like going out into the world to peddle the pamphlets. She doesn’t like going in the van that smells of feet and sour breath. She doesn’t like being dropped off outside the malls or grocery stores or bank parking lots to stand with her sheaf of pamphlets, begging for a dollar or as much as they’ll give her to read Papa’s word. The blemished can be mean, sometimes even angry. They can be scary. But most of all, Sunny can’t stand being so close to so many things she’s not allowed to have and definitely is not supposed to want.
She’s not meant to avoid temptation, she thinks. It must be so easy for other people in the family to not look even once at the cases of pastry in the coffee shop and wonder at how they’d taste, or the short skirts and high heels blemished women wear and think how pretty they are. But it’s not easy for her.
“It’s why Papa chose you,” Josiah says to her later, when he catches her after dinner and walks down the hall with her, and something in the way he looks at her makes her tell him the truth even though it’s not time to make a report.
“Because he knows I…want? Things?”
Josiah has a nice smile, full of white teeth that have never rotted. “I’ll tell you a secret, Sunshine, if you lean in close.”
She does, heart skipping a little faster as she closes her eyes. She waits for him to press her to the wall or pull her into a room. To touch her. But Josiah’s only caress comes from his breath on her ear.
“We all want things,” he says quietly. “It’s not the wanting that weighs you down and keeps you from going through the gates. It’s when you know something’s not good for you, and you do it anyway. Not just once or even twice, but over and over again. It’s not doing the best you can for your vessel. That’s what ties you down, so you can’t fly.”
He steps back with another smile she can’t stop herself from returning. He’s not like his brother. Not one bit.
“You go out and you spread the light, Sunshine. It’s what you were meant for. Papa saw that, and I see it, too.” Josiah touches his fingers to her cheek for just a second.
She remembered that touch for a long, long time.
Of course, as it turned out, Papa had been wrong about Sunny being meant for leading anyone to the light. She’d failed miserably at selling pamphlets. She’d found her place in Sanctuary, though. Each to his task as Papa said, and not to someone else’s.
Hers had most definitely not been in the kitchen. Beyond her sneaking of food now and again, Sunny barely even set foot in the Sanctuary kitchen. She’d never had a need. Others had the responsibility of cooking the meals. All she’d ever had to do was be on time to eat them.
She should’ve told Liesel the truth, but had been too ashamed to admit it. There’d already been too many things she didn’t know how to do. Now the smoke alarm beat out its cry in a steady pattern, with the others in the house blatting out their own shrieks in counterpoint. When they first went off, Sunny had gone to her knees, hands clapped over her ears, certain the next sound would be Papa’s voice directing them all to go to the chapel.
That would’ve been better than what was happening now. Smoke, acrid and choking, poured from the open oven door. Inside, the chicken had become a blackened lump. The potatoes had exploded all over the inside of the oven. Sunny stood in front of it, one hand covered in a red rubber oven mitt, the other in front of her face, waving a tea towel ineffectually at the smoke.
Bliss, strapped tight into her infant seat on the kitchen table, added her screams to the sounds of the alarm. Peace had broken down into wrenching sobs. Only Happy had maintained any sort of calm, though his eyes were wide and frightened, and he tugged on the hem of her blouse.
“Mama? Why won’t it stop?”
“Hush, my sweetheart. Stand back. Take your sister away.”
Happy took Peace by the han
d and backed up a step. Bliss screamed louder, struggling against the straps of her seat on top of the kitchen table, but Sunny didn’t have time to comfort her. The grease that had collected beneath the pan of chicken flamed suddenly, and Sunny reached without thinking to grab at the pan. The pain was instant and intense, and she jerked her fingers back with a cry.
“Sunny! What the hell?” She hadn’t heard the garage door opening over the sound of the fire alarm, but now Chris ran into the kitchen.
He slammed the oven door closed, went to the stove and turned on the fan over the cooktop. He opened the double glass doors leading to the back deck and grabbed another tea towel. He stood under the smoke alarm and swung the towel back and forth until finally the alarm cut off.
He looked at her. “What the hell are you doing?”
She could still see flames inside the oven. Chris turned off the heat, but left the door closed. Tendrils of smoke seeped out from the vents, but not as much as had been pouring out before.
“I was cooking the chicken. Liesel asked me to cook the chicken.” Sunny’s hair had fallen into her eyes. She pushed it back and winced at the pain in her hand. Her fingers were blistered.
“Did you burn yourself?” Chris took her hand in his, not gently enough. “You need ice on that. Go run the water in the sink, cold as it goes. I’ll get some ice.”
He pushed a bowl under the spout on the fridge to get some cubes from the ice maker. The bowl shook, and the ice tumbled out onto the floor. He bent to pick it up and held on to the fridge-door handle for a second when he came back up. He blew out a breath.
“Here.” He gestured at Sunny with the bowl. “Sit down.”
She turned off the water and held her hand out in front of her to sit at the table, though she bent first to look beneath it. “You can come out now.”
