“Not too too much,” I replied, pouring more syrup into the glass.
“But too too much is good!” she exclaimed. Her brown eyes were big and almond shaped and quite serious. “Daddy and Mommy let me have as much as I want!”
“Well. You’ve got it made, then,” I said. “My mommy won’t let me have milk or chocolate.”
Or beef. Or any soda pop with artificial sweeteners. Actually, the list of things my mom wouldn’t let me eat was longer than the list of things that I could. Ever since the accident and then our move to Coconut Key, the rules I had to follow would have given a kindergartner a rash. Compared to me, Sasha was pretty much living it up.
I had to do my homework before I watched TV.
I was not allowed to get into a car being driven by anyone who hadn’t had their driver’s license for a full decade.
I had to be home by ten thirty on the weekend and in bed, lights out, by eleven on a school night.
And blah, blah, blah…
Because life was so dang dangerous now, unlike the incredibly safe and bucolic good old days of the twenty-teens, or whatever ancient but perfect decade Mom had grown up in.
“Skyylarr!” Sasha brought me back to the present.
“Sorry,” I said.
“What’s wrong?” Sasha’s eyebrows wrinkled up. Her expression of concern made her look way older than a nine-year-old. But she acted way older than a nine-year-old too. Sometimes Sasha was an old, wise person in a little girl’s body. But unlike some kids who had older sisters and were nine going on sixteen, Sasha still embraced her inner five-year-old and liked being babied.
“Nothing,” I said cheerfully as I handed her the glass.
She took a long, luxurious sip before grinning up at me. She had a serious milk mustache and she knew it. She pretended to twirl it with one tiny finger—exactly the way her dad did when he was joking around. “Yumbo!”
I giggled. Sometimes she acted like a wise, old person…and sometimes she was her extra-goofy father’s daughter.
“Okay. Big sips and then bed.”
“Big sips, tooth brushing, and then bed!” Sasha reminded me.
“I stand corrected.”
She drained the glass and then carefully returned it to the sink, making sure that it was rinsed out and set perfectly in the dishwasher before padding deliberately down the hallway to the bathroom.
It was pretty crazy—I had never met a neat-freak nine-year-old before, but Sasha was borderline OCD about certain stuff. It just added to the overall cuteness, though. She was as tiny as an elf, seriously small for her age, with little stubby pigtails and eyelashes that went on for miles. But her elfin appearance hardly matched her little-professor attitude.
I wished I could adopt her.
Or, better yet, I wished Sasha’s parents would adopt me.
“You’ll tuck me in?” Sasha called after she’d brushed her teeth (carefully, of course, complete with milk-mustache removal) and climbed into her bed.
“Of course,” I said, going into her room.
“Thanks a bundle,” Sasha replied cheerfully, curling up underneath her pink bedspread. She held her favorite teddy bear close, placing the soft, downy fur underneath her chin before smiling up at me.
I lifted the covers around her, patting the sides with painstaking precision, just the way Sasha liked it. “I’ll be in the living room doing my homework if you need me.”
“Like if I have a nightmare or something.”
“Like if you have a nightmare or something,” I agreed as I looked around at the immaculately organized bookshelves, her neatly arranged toys—her massive doll collection the little room’s centerpiece. She owned about a trillion old-school dolls, with big glassy eyes and frilly clothes. All of the beautiful brown-skinned dolls were front and center, with the blonds and the redheads at the bottom and in the back. They sat in perfect rows—typical Sasha organization. “But I bet you won’t have any nightmares tonight.”
Sasha looked over at the window, with its chiffon curtains, and I went to double check that it was locked—something Mom had trained me to do long before I was Sasha’s age. Outside, the night was dark and silent.
“Or if I just get scared or something?” Sasha asked as I checked to make sure her collection of night-lights was on.
“Or if you just get scared,” I answered.
Sasha sat up. “Unless you want to stay and watch my dollies dance!”
I gently pushed her back down. This kid was a procrastinator when it came to bedtime, because she was so afraid of the dark. She’d make her dolls perform an entire Broadway show if it meant I’d stay in her room a little bit longer. “I’d love to see your dollies dance,” I replied. “But it’s time for bed now, so we’ll have to play with them another day.”
“No!” Sasha shook her head fast and sat up in bed again. “They don’t dance during the day! Only at night!”
I pushed her down again, this time sitting beside her on the bed and pinning her down with the blankets. “Well, maybe you’ll have a good dream tonight about your dollies dancing. That way, you won’t have any time for nightmares.”
Sasha belly-laughed. “But you don’t get it!” she exclaimed through giggles. “They don’t dance in my dreams. They dance before I fall asleep! Like this!” She wiggled out from beneath the covers and sat up once more, letting her head loll forward, her arms outstretched like a puppet on strings as she shifted her body back and forth.
I laughed, mostly because the idea of those dolls dancing like that would’ve made Calvin freak. “Wow. That’s amazing. I wish I had dolls that danced around my room at night. But it’s late.”
“I’ll show you next time,” Sasha said, her eyes suddenly solemn.
“Okay,” I said, “but right now, it’s time for all little girls and dolls to stop dancing and start sleeping. Because tomorrow you have to be up early for school.”
“Ew!” Sasha said, her nostrils flaring.
“I know. School is ewwy.”
“No, no. Eeeeew. What’s that smell?”
I sniffed the air and the stench hit me. Like something had died and then come back to life just so that it could die again and double the stink. I mean, it was intense.
“Oh my lord, Sasha, for real? Did you just fart?”
Sasha had her hands over her nose, looking like she didn’t know whether to laugh or throw up. “Nuh-uh!” she exclaimed, her voice muffled through her fingers. She burrowed her face into her teddy bear and made a groaning sound, like breathing the air was physically painful.
It was. My eyes were literally watering. “Well, it wasn’t me!” I exclaimed, gagging before I covered my own nose and mouth with my hands. “Good God! You are never getting too-too chocolate milk again, woman!”
She laughed.
The awfulness was fading, but I was still thinking about maybe hurling—or at least offering a dry heave or two to the Gods of Terrible Odors—when Sasha initiated a tickle war.
“Don’t!” I warned her, trying to catch her hands, but the gasping breath I took was filled with fresh, clear, un-stankified air, and I immediately recovered.
Before long, the two of us were hysterical, a jumble of arms and legs on Sasha’s bed, giggling and out-tickling each other until finally we lay there exhausted.
“It’s gone,” Sasha said. “The smell is.”
I turned my head to look at her. “Thank goodness. You’re nasty.”
She giggled. “You’re nasty!”
I stood up, fixed the girl’s covers, and planted a big ol’ kiss on her forehead. “Go to bed,” I said.
“Good night, Sky,” Sasha said.
“Good night, Sash.”
I didn’t realize it then, but I should have said good-bye.
—
Things went south fast, starting late on Monday ni
ght.
I’d gone to bed at my usual time, but I’d fallen asleep quickly and immediately had one of my crazy, super-detailed dreams.
This one started out pleasantly enough.
I was on a highway. It was a long, two-lane deal…a place that looked familiar, but I wasn’t sure why. And it was foggy. So much fog that I could barely see five feet in front of me as I drove.
Ooh. I was driving. Way cool.
I think that’s when I suspected I was dreaming. In real life, I hadn’t gotten my driver’s license or even a permit. It was just one more thing I resented about my mother. Everyone else my age had gotten their licenses, but after everything that had gone down in Connecticut, Mom didn’t think it would be “a good idea” if I got mine.
Anyway, in the dream, I was driving, and I was trying to keep my eyes focused because it was so hard to see a thing with all the fog. Trees whipped by in my peripheral vision, and a light drizzle smeared the windshield.
Suddenly, the car slowed down despite my insistent foot on the accelerator. A light was flashing on the dashboard, and I saw that it was the gas gauge. I was running on empty.
There wasn’t a soul in sight.
The car puttered to a stop, and the rain started to come down faster and harder, tapping like angry ghost fingers on the glass.
I could hear myself breathing. And I realized I was scared.
Blip. Blip. Blip. Blip.
It was a noise outside the car, something in addition to the rain. My breathing quickened, and I pressed the lock button on the inside of the door.
The noise got louder, an insistent little chirp that reminded me of a hospital heart-rate monitor. It was just a beeping sound, but for some reason I couldn’t stand it, especially with the dripping of the rain. I shuddered, and the goose bumps on my forearms tingled.
I pressed my hands against the cool rubber of the steering wheel and looked down at my lap.
Why was I wearing a dress? I never wore dresses. This one was white with little blue diamonds. It reminded me of those horrible hospital gowns doctors gave their patients to wear in the emergency room, like the gown I’d worn when…
I looked up again, and there was a face at the window.
I jumped and smacked my hip against the emergency brake.
Contorted through the rain-smeared glass, the face was pale, ghost-like. I could see dark hair, an open mouth, dark eyes…as dark as holes.
Panicked, I tried to start the car again. It sputtered and stalled.
The face leaned in, and I recognized it! Her!
Sasha? I called, and suddenly I was desperate to open the door to let the girl in.
Why was she standing in the pouring rain, on the highway in the middle of the night?
Sasha! I called out again, and finally pushed the door open.
But Sasha had already begun to walk away from the car. Somehow, she was moving so fast and had gotten so far away from me. I just wanted to get her inside where she would be warm and dry. I wanted to get her away from whatever she was walking toward.
And then, just as fast, I was out in the middle of a field, and the sun was shining. I was still in that stupid hospital gown, and Sasha was gone. It was just me and a flurry of monarch butterflies…and the woman.
The woman.
Who was she?
Across the field, I could see her. Silver hair and a hat that covered her face. I felt okay for a second. For just a second.
And then I was in a room, and there was screaming, and there was blood, so much blood, and I was covered in blood, and I could smell it—
BOOM BOOM BOOM!
I woke up, gasping, flailing for the lamp that sat by my bed. The sheets were saturated with my sweat.
I turned on the light and sat up, breathing hard. My heart beat wildly in my chest.
BOOM BOOM BOOM!
“Holy crap!” I shouted, because the sound hadn’t come from my dream. Someone really was knocking on our front door.
Correction: someone was pounding on the front door.
BOOM BOOM BOOM!
And apparently they weren’t going to stop until somebody answered.
I lunged out of my bed, tugging my oversized nightshirt down so that it covered more of my legs. I felt sick from waking up so quickly, my nerves beyond shot from the horrible nightmare.
“Sky?” My mom stumbled out of her room and met me in the hallway, her eyes a mixture of grogginess and concern. Her terrycloth bathrobe was snug against her body. She crossed her arms over her chest, as if fending off a chill. Her hands were tucked into the robe’s oversized pockets.
“It’s okay, Mom,” I said, and hurried down the stairs.
I could see the silhouette of a petite figure through the door’s stained-glass panel.
BOOM BOOM—
I flung the door open, even as Mom descended the stairs behind me.
It was raining in real life, and the woman standing in the doorway was absolutely drenched. It was Sasha’s mother. And she was sobbing.
“Skylar!” she said. “Lord help me!”
“Carmen?” I said disbelievingly. “What’s wrong?”
“Mrs. Rodriguez?” my mom asked, pushing me slightly to the side in the doorway. I felt a twinge of irritation. “What’s going on?”
Carmen Rodriguez wrung her hands in the doorway, her long, dark hair sticking to the sides of her face in the rain. She wasn’t wearing a jacket, and the storm had brought the normally balmy Florida temperature down quite a few degrees. I shivered, imagining how chilly she must have been.
“Have you seen her?” Carmen gasped, her voice shrill with panic. She shifted her focus to me. “Sky! Tell me you’ve seen Sasha! Tell me you’ve got my baby here, and she’s safe!”
Now Mom was looking at me too, but I shook my head. I hadn’t seen Sasha since I’d babysat last night. And I still didn’t quite understand. “Sasha’s gone?”
Carmen’s face crumpled, and she raised her hands to the sky as if imploring God himself to bring the little girl back. I swallowed hard as images from my dream popped into my head. Sasha walking so quickly from the car…how I hadn’t been able to catch up with her.
“I tucked her into be-e-ed tonight,” Carmen hiccupped, “and when I woke up to get ready to go to work, she wasn’t there!”
As Carmen collapsed into my mom’s arms, sobbing hysterically, I looked over my shoulder at the huge grandfather clock that stood beside the staircase in our entryway. It was four o’clock in the morning.
In a typical, allergic-to-emotion move, Mom hugged Carmen awkwardly, with only the top half of her body touching the shorter woman.
I glanced over their heads, trying to figure out where Sasha might have gone. Many of our neighbors were standing in their doorways as well, craning their necks to get a better look at the scene. Some people were wandering around in pajamas and with umbrellas. Others carried flashlights. I could smell brewed coffee. Apparently our door wasn’t the first that Carmen had pounded on.
I didn’t see Edmund, Sasha’s dad, but then again, I wouldn’t. He worked the night shift as a security guard at the fish market. Sasha and I had always laughed at the idea of fish needing a guard. Of course Mom had killed the funny by telling me—out of Sasha’s earshot—that these days, in the part of town over by the fish market, people were so hungry they’d rob the place at gunpoint if the guards like Edmund weren’t there, actively on patrol.
“We’re going to find her,” my mom said, patting Carmen’s rain-matted hair. “She can’t have gone too far.”
“Who knows how long she was missing before I woke up?” Carmen sobbed. “It could have been hours! Oh my God!”
I felt sick. Why had I dreamed about Sasha? I never had nightmares. True, I’d always dreamed vividly, but never like this. So why Sasha? And why tonight?
Vague
ly, I remembered a night several years ago when my friend Nicole and I called the Psychic Hotline and talked to a lady with a phony Jamaican accent who made us giggle uncontrollably. I wasn’t exactly a firm believer in fortune-telling or prescience or whatever you wanted to call it.
Still, it was an awfully strange coincidence.
And it was Sasha—who was squirrelly enough at bedtime to require three night lights and a teddy bear. Why in the world would she wander out of her house in the middle of the night?
Instinctively, I knew that she hadn’t wandered anywhere. She had to have been taken. But who would do such a terrible thing?
Hoping I was wrong, I dashed upstairs to throw on some sweatpants and to get a scrunchie for my unruly hair. I grabbed my phone while I was at it, intending to call Calvin so he could help with the search.
As I clattered back downstairs, the image from my dream—of Sasha walking down the highway—popped into my head. I cleared my throat and tried not to remember.
Carmen was gone, no doubt to continue searching for her daughter in the rain and the dark.
My mom had already put on her raincoat. “We’re going to the Rodriguezes’ house,” she informed me.
I stopped short. “Shouldn’t we be searching in other places?”
Mom shook her head. “It’s possible that if Sasha did wander off, she’ll come home eventually. Someone should be there, in case she does. Plus, who knows? There’s always the possibility that she’s hiding somewhere. In the…dryer…or…”
“The dryer?” I said incredulously. Mom was ridiculous. Yes, Sasha was tiny, but she was a nine-year-old girl, not a cat.
“It’s called holding down the fort,” Mom replied, jingling her car keys worriedly. “Let’s go.”
Just then, my phone rang and I saw that it was Calvin. “Neighborhood watch just called. Have you heard?” he asked. Neither one of us bothered to say hello.
“Yeah. We’re heading over to Sasha’s house now,” I told him.
He was excited. “Did they find her?”
“They totally didn’t,” I said, “but according to my mother, Carmen might not have looked hard enough, and we just might find Sasha hiding in an empty appliance.”
Night Sky Page 2
