Lost Innocents

by MacDonald, Patricia

  “Sure, if you want to,” said Heather. But she didn’t smile.

  Karla settled herself into the seat, tamping her straw on the tabletop to unwrap it. “Did you hear about that girl from Perpetual Sorrows?” she asked.

  Heather frowned. “What girl?”

  “The one that was missing with the baby.”

  “Oh, yeah,” said Heather.

  “They found her. Your father was on TV.”

  “Is she okay?” Heather asked.

  “No,” said Richie. “She’s dead.”

  “Oh, God,” said Heather, closing her book. The three sat in silence for a moment, stunned at the idea of someone their own age, in their own town, meeting such a fate.

  “I heard they questioned Mr. Blake about it,” said Richie. “Your dad brought him in.”

  Heather’s face flamed. She wished that the cafeteria floor would open up and swallow her. “That’s stupid,” she said.

  “Why? He’s a perv,” said Richie. “You said so yourself.”

  Karla gave Richie a warning glance. Heather picked up her book and opened it again.

  “What are you reading?” Karla asked pleasantly.

  Heather had to look at the book to be able to answer the question. “Algebra,” she said. She peered at Richie, who was popping the top of his soda can, avoiding her gaze. Then she looked at Karla. “How come you two are being nice to me?” she said.

  Richie looked up innocently, as if hurt by her question. But Karla did not bother to feign innocence. She slipped her straw into her milk carton and swished it around.

  “You must have some reason,” Heather said stubbornly.

  “Can’t we just be nice?” Richie protested.

  Heather made a face. “Don’t try to jerk me around. I’ve been jerked around enough. First you walk me to school. Now you’re sitting with me. Everybody knows I’m some kind of leper because of this thing with Mr. Blake.”

  “Okay, Heather. You’re right. Well, we are being nice,” said Karla. “I mean, we don’t mean you any harm. I promise.”

  “But you want something.”

  Richie sighed and began to eat his pizza.

  “Sort of,” said Karla.

  Heather felt her heart sink. Even as she insisted to herself that she knew it, she had entertained a secret hope that maybe, maybe these two beautiful people wanted, for some reason, to be friends with her. It wasn’t a big letdown, because she’d only had the morning to hope for it. Still…

  Karla placed a small, perfectly formed hand on her forearm. “Look, Heather. I’ve known you for most of your life, right?”

  Heather nodded, temporarily unable to circumvent the lump of disappointment that was lodged in her throat.

  “I believe you, Heather. Well, I mean, sort of.”

  Heather shrugged, as if this were what she’d expected.

  Richie leaned across the table. His fine green eyes regarded her earnestly, and Heather felt her stomach swoop. What must it be like to have a guy like this really like you? she wondered.

  “Look, Heather, I know everybody thinks Mr. Blake is a cool guy and all, but I don’t think so. He gave me a D last term and it kept me off the football team.”

  “Did you deserve it?” Heather said sarcastically.

  “I missed a test because I was out with an injury from practice. He wouldn’t let me make it up. He said it was an automatic F.”

  “Why didn’t you just bring a note?” Heather said dully.

  “I did bring a note. But he said if I was that weak, I didn’t belong on the team anyway. He’s a bastard.”

  “Why didn’t you tell your mother or the principal?”

  “Yeah, like you did,” said Richie.

  Heather sighed. “But why? Why did he do it?”

  Richie made a face and squeezed his Coke can until it started to dent. “I think he was trying to get to Karla,” he said.

  “Oh, come on,” said Heather.

  “Really. He asked me all these questions about her. He said how she’d probably want to help me make the team.”

  “He wouldn’t do that,” Heather protested. “He doesn’t…”

  “Doesn’t what? I thought he forced you into it for a grade.”

  Heather shrugged. “I don’t want to talk about it,” she said.

  “We were really hoping he was going to get fired for what he did to you,” said Karla.

  “Yeah, well, me too,” said Heather.

  “He probably would have if you hadn’t kept changing your story,” Karla said severely. “Why did you do that? Why didn’t you show up in court and all?”

  Heather stuck her jaw out and stared at the tray. She felt her face flaming, and she wished that they would just go away. “Never mind,” she said.

  “You liked him, didn’t you?” said Karla.

  “No,” Heather whispered.

  Karla and Richie exchanged a glance. “The thing is, Heather, I’ve heard rumors about him before,” said Karla. “Nothing definite. Just talk, you know….”

  Heather snorted derisively. “Try and prove it.”

  Karla leaned toward her and gripped her arm. “That’s what we want to do,” she said. “We want to get him, and we think we know a way. We have an idea, anyhow.”

  Heather’s heart suddenly hammered with excitement and something weird. A kind of hopefulness. She hadn’t realized, even all during the court thing, how much she really wanted to get back at him. The decision to accuse him out loud, in public, had been more like a moment of madness than anything else. She had never realized that it would go so far. But now that she had made such a total muck of it, and everybody else looked at her like a fool—now she realized her mistake. She gazed in wonderment at these promising new allies. “You do?” she said.

  “Yes,” said Karla. “Would you like to help?”

  Chapter Fourteen

  Paulina Tomczuk looked at her watch and frowned. She had been hunting for Ellen for over an hour now, but she’d had no luck. It was frustrating. She could be anywhere. Paulina had already tried a few of the places she thought she might find her her — the greenhouse where she got her plants,the few stores where she infrequently shopped. She had slowly trolled through the busy streets and parking lots of Taylorsville, but there was no sign of Ellen’s red Jeep.

  I’m a cook, not a detective, she thought irritably as she turned into the gates of the cemetery where Kenny had been laid to rest. The gloomy, windswept expanse was silent and empty. Dry leaves drifted across the still green lawn, coming to rest against the stark, gray markers for the dead. Paulina drove through the winding roads of the graveyard, stopping for a moment to look down at the plot where the child was buried. They had chosen a spot beneath a dogwood tree, which was lovely in the spring. Now, in the October gloom, its bare branches reached out plaintively, protectively, over the headstones, like a mother’s arms.

  This time of year the Mr. H was always worried most about his wife. Right around the birthday. The birthday was always the toughest. Paulina thought that Ellen had seemed all right on the birthday. Almost as if she weren’t thinking about it. She had been preoccupied and jumpy, which seemed to worry Mr. H more than if she had been weepy. Paulina was beginning to agree with him.

  Not that she was any expert on mental problems. Paulina had raised four children who were all healthy and normal, thank God; likewise her grandchildren. But they had never had to suffer what Ellen had. It was not something a woman just got over. Anyway, when she got to work this afternoon, and Mr. H called, there was no sign of Ellen anywhere. He said he’d been calling on and off all day, to no answer, and he sounded just about frantic. She knew why—Ellen hardly ever went out, and when she did, it was usually after hours of deliberation and she was back in no time. Paulina had agreed to drive around and look for her. She had removed her apron, climbed into the car, and here she was, an hour later, and no luck.

  “I’m not a mind reader,” she said aloud. She was annoyed. Annoyed that she had been sent on
this assignment and annoyed that she had failed. “I’m not a detective,” she declared to the inside of her car.

  Maybe she’s back home by now, Paulina reasoned. Maybe I just missed her. And I have a pie to finish for supper, she thought ruefully. I’m going to head back, she decided.

  Just as she was turning out of the cemetery exit, Paulina had an inspiration. The vet. Ellen was so concerned about those new kittens—perhaps she had gone to the vet for something. One more try, she thought, swinging the car in the direction of the River Road. A few minutes later, a glance at the parking lot of the vet’s clinic told her that this was not the answer, either.

  “I’ve got to start my pie,” she said aloud. She couldn’t just drive around all day. Paulina glanced at the statue of the blessed Virgin that rode on the dashboard. “You’re going to have to look out for her, Holy Mother,” she said as she drove along the winding River Road. No sooner were the words out of her mouth than she spotted a flash of red alongside the shoulder. She slowed down and pulled up behind the red Jeep, which was parked at a lopsided angle. Paulina pressed her lips together anxiously as she got out of her car. There was no one anywhere in sight. The car was empty.

  “Mrs. H,” she cried. “Ellen.” Except for the crackle of leaves and the plaintive cry of birds, the woods were quiet. Black skid marks were visible on the road, and a curl of rubber from a tire rested in the brown grass up ahead. “Ellen,” Paulina cried again. She whirled around when she heard rustling in the bushes behind her.

  When she didn’t see anyone, she assumed it must be an animal. Then, from the trees, she heard the crunching sounds of someone moving through the ground cover and a soft, muffled sob. Paulina was not an exceptionally brave person, but she felt a sudden, fierce determination on Ellen’s behalf. She started into the mass of evergreens that bordered the road. She had taken only a few steps into the trees when she saw her.

  Ellen was on her hands and knees, crawling along the ground.

  “Mrs. H,” Paulina cried. She ran toward her, branches and vines catching at the ankles of the half stockings beneath her double-knit pants. Her low-heeled, navy blue shoes were not meant for trudging through the woods, but she plunged on toward the frail woman on the ground ahead of her.

  Ellen looked up, and Paulina could see that she was frantic. She raised her arms like a child, and Paulina reached for her with her large hands, still powdery white with traces of flour. “What in the world?” Paulina cried.

  “I’ve been looking for the kitten,” Ellen said, grasping Paulina’s hand.

  Paulina looked at her in complete confusion. “What kitten?”

  “The one I gave to the little girl,” Ellen said earnestly.

  It took Paulina a few moments to realize what her employer was talking about. “Well, what makes you think it would be here? Don’t they still have it?”

  Ellen clutched at the sleeves of Paulina’s car coat. “The kitten ran away. Nobody looked for him. He’s too little. I was the one who gave him away. I should never have given him away. I’ve been looking and looking. I have to find him…”

  Paulina knelt down in the leaves, ignoring the brown bits of leaves that clung to her pants, the mud that stuck to her shoes. She could not make much sense of what Ellen was saying, and it frightened her. What was she doing out here, crawling around in the woods? Mr. H had been right to be worried. Paulina put her arms around the narrow shoulders of the fragile woman and stroked her wild, graying curls. “It’s all right,” she said. “The cat will be all right. You have to come home now.”

  “You don’t understand,” said Ellen, shaking her head. “This happening right now. It’s a sign. I’m being punished.”

  “That’s nonsense,” said Paulina. “Come along now. We’d better get back.”

  Ellen nodded. Paulina tried to think how she was going to tell this to Mr. H. It was not hard to see this as some kind of mental…crisis. She dreaded to see the look on his face when he heard about it. Not for the first time, Paulina wished that her employers had a strong faith to turn to for comfort. She had always found refuge in her prayers, the beads of the rosary like a lifeline in her arthritic fingers. Paulina began to pray now as she took Ellen’s arm and pulled her up, supporting her weight as they headed back through the evergreens.

  Although Donna and Johnny Wallace’s neatly kept bungalow was filled with people, there was little noise above the sound of the TV, which was running continuously. The kitchen counters were laden with food, wrapped in foil and Saran Wrap, and every available seat was filled with an aunt, an uncle, or a cousin. Johnny Wallace was having a beer, because it was the only way he could think of to calm his nerves. Johnny leaned against a kitchen counter and stared vacantly ahead while his older brother sat at the kitchen table and talked at him, trying to analyze the situation optimistically.

  In her bedroom, Donna Wallace sat on a bed piled high with stuffed animals, still wearing one of Johnny’s shirts over her nightgown, Pound Puppy slippers on her feet, clutching a fist full of soggy tissues in her right hand. She gazed at a photo of Justin on the bedside table. The picture had been taken as Justin was being nuzzled by his grandmother’s dog. The child was crowing with delight.

  Donna Wallace knew what she had to do. They had heard the news about Rebecca almost simultaneously on the phone and on the television. In the days and hours since Justin’s disappearance, the crowd at her house had not thinned. Her angry relatives had shouted the reporters away and refused to let anyone get near her. But there was no way Donna could shake off her duty now. Depositing the tissues in the bedside wastebasket, she stood up on shaky legs. She took off the flannel shirt, pulled the nightgown over her head, and dressed carefully—a clean blouse and dark slacks. Then she put on trouser socks and real shoes. Not running shoes. Not for this.

  When she was dressed she looked in the mirror. Her face was white, with patches of gray under her eyes. She brushed a streak of blush across each cheek. Carefully she applied lipstick. Her hair was hopeless. She did not even bother. When she opened the door to her room a crack, her cousin Rose, who was standing outside like a sentry, looked in at her suspiciously.

  “What is it, hon?” Rose asked.

  “Tell Johnny I’m ready to go,” she said.

  “Do you really think—”

  “Just tell him, Rose,” said Donna.

  Rose lumbered away from the door and returned in a few minutes with Johnny. He slipped into the room, holding Donna’s parka. “You’ll need this,” he said.

  Donna looked at him and saw that he had shaved. She nodded approvingly and touched her hand to the skin on his face.

  “We’ll go out the back,” he said as she pulled on her parka. Her arms and shoulders seemed to ache, as if she had a fever.

  “Okay,” she whispered.

  “Ready?” he asked, meeting her gaze with his own strong gaze, and she was glad, once again, that she had married him. She nodded.

  Johnny took her hand, and they sneaked out the back door.

  Behind them, they could hear people arguing in the living room. The day was raw, and Donna shivered, even in her parka. Johnny gripped her hand tightly, and they walked across the small backyard, through the two backyards adjacent to it, passing rusty barbecue grills and plastic children’s riding toys. Fortunately no one on their block had a chain-link fence. They arrived at the familiar patio of Sandi Starnes’s little house, the green-and-white webbed lawn furniture still sitting outside, many of the webs frayed and broken. The patio umbrella in the middle of the white table was down and looked gray and moldy.

  Johnny and Donna exchanged a glance, and Donna nodded. Johnny tapped on the sliding doors of the patio, which had the curtains drawn from inside.

  A large, surly man came to the sliders, pulled back the curtain, and glared at them. Then he looked slightly confused as he recognized the Wallaces. “Could we come in?” Johnny asked.

  The man turned from the sliders, dropped the curtain, and spoke gruffly to someone
inside. Donna and Johnny stood shivering on the patio, looking up at the gray sky.

  There was movement near the windows, and then Sandi Starnes pushed back the curtains. She opened the sliders. Her whole face was red from weeping.

  Donna felt her heart turn over in her chest. “Sandi,” she said.

  “Hello, Donna,” said Sandi.

  For a moment Donna thought that she would not be able to speak, that she would just stand there, frozen on that patio, like some cement statue. Then, suddenly, the words came tumbling out. “Sandi, you may not even want to speak to us ever again and I wouldn’t blame you if you didn’t, but we just heard about Rebecca and we had to come…and say…and say…” The end of her sentence was lost in sobs.

  Johnny cleared his throat manfully and took up where his wife had faltered. “And say how we are really sorry and really…ashamed that we thought…or ever said that maybe Rebecca…” He swallowed hard. “Who was always such a good girl.”

  Donna turned away from the door, hiding her face in her hands, but Sandi, wearing only a little gray cardigan sweater for warmth, stepped out on the patio and put a hand on Donna’s shoulder.

  Donna turned and looked at the older woman, her eyes fearful but willing to take whatever blows might come her way. “You must hate me,” she said miserably. “I hate myself.”

  Sandi shook her head. She felt a strange stillness inside. Compassion, even, for these two. Who’s to say, she wondered, what I might have thought if that baby had been my Rebecca? You think crazy things. You think the worst thoughts in the world. Usually it doesn’t turn out to be anything. Someone stopped for an ice-cream cone. Someone forgot to call. There was a flat tire. Usually all those fears were for nothing. You made up all these horrible scenarios in your head, and then all at once the door opened and your precious child was standing there, bright and heart lifting as a rainbow. And then you started hollering because they made you worry so.

  Sandi gazed at Donna and Johnny. They looked so vulnerable standing there, like children themselves. But they were not children. They were the terrified parents of a missing baby.