Emily, Gone

by Bette Lee Crosby

  “Want me to turn on the heat?”

  Vicki nodded. “After we get on I-24, pull into a gas station so I can grab a dry shirt.”

  “I can stop now—”

  “No, wait until we hit 24.”

  Vicki was chilled to the bone, but that wasn’t what worried her. Murphy had gone in search of work, but he’d not said where. He could pop up anyplace within a fifty- or sixty-mile range. She’d come this far to keep from losing Lara and wasn’t about to risk it for a dry shirt.

  Turning it off as though it was no problem, she gave her voice a lighthearted tone and said, “So apparently a lot has happened since we last saw each other. Fill me in on everything.”

  Once Angela began talking, she bubbled over with chatter of Kenny and the new house.

  “You’re gonna love Kenny,” she said with a grin. “He’s a big teddy bear, the kind of guy who’ll do anything for anybody.”

  She went on to say they’d met at a phone company party and fallen in love almost immediately. Vicki listened, nodding and smiling at one thing or another but saying little about her own life. There were only a handful of things she could say. So much of what happened during the past year had to remain hidden.

  In the middle of telling how they’d moved to Fairlawn because Kenny was made group supervisor, Angela laughed.

  “Listen to me prattling on about my life. What about yours? Now that you’ve got this precious little angel, you must have lots to tell.”

  Vicki gave a barely perceptible shrug. “Actually, I don’t. The year after you moved in with Patty, Dad made living at home impossible. He got rip-roaring drunk every single night, so I had to sleep with my bedroom door locked. That June he took a crowbar and tore the door off the hinges. I called you the next morning, but as usual you weren’t there, so I packed up my things and moved in with Russ.”

  “But you never called back to tell me what happened. Why?”

  Vicki could feel the resentment she’d held on to for the past three years bubbling up in her throat. “If I’d told you about Dad, would it have made a difference?” she asked cynically.

  “Of course it would. You know I’d do anything—”

  “Well, you didn’t,” she cut in. “A dozen times I asked if I could move in with you, and you kept telling me you still hadn’t found a place. After seven months of asking, I figured you just didn’t want to be bothered with a kid sister, so I stopped calling.”

  “But if you had told me about what happened with Dad, I would have understood; I would have somehow found a way—”

  Vicki turned and glared at her sister. “You already knew what Dad was like!”

  “I knew what he was like with me, but he was never that way with you.”

  “Yeah, that was before you left. Once you were gone he came after me. Not the first five or six months, but afterward. He started with little things, putting his arm over my shoulders with his fingers drooping down on my boob, saying what a good daughter I was, talking about how a man without a wife gets lonely.”

  Angela gasped. “Shit! I’m sorry, Vicki, so sorry, but if you’d told me—”

  Vicki’s answer was quick and bristling with bits of anger. “I didn’t want your pity! After our trip to Paducah I was hoping you’d want me to live with you because we had fun together, because I’m your sister!” She pulled in a deep breath, then added, “Because you loved me the same as I loved you.”

  “I did love you! I still love you! I called you for months afterward. Not once but dozens of times, and you never returned my calls.”

  “I was angry. I figured if you could live without me, I could live without you!”

  “That’s why you didn’t return my phone calls?”

  Vicki nodded. “It might sound kind of petty now, but back then it was a really big deal to me. I felt like I didn’t have anybody but Murph.” The moment his name popped out, she regretted it. She resolved to be more cautious. No last name. No ties to a daddy who wasn’t really a daddy.

  A look of sadness settled on Angela’s face, and it was a long while before she spoke. “I’m truly sorry, Vicki,” she said. “I’ll make it up to you; I swear I will.”

  They rode in silence for several minutes, then, looking to find a subject less painful, Angela asked when Lara was born.

  Without a moment’s hesitation Vicki said, “February 5.”

  After that she started telling how she’d loved being pregnant and how having a baby made her feel fulfilled as a woman. All the emotional details were there: little facts that would wipe away any doubt of Lara being her child. And although she told of the baby’s birth, she never once mentioned the exact time, place, or hospital where it happened. She also never mentioned that the first Lara came into this world with her eyes closed and her heart no longer beating.

  Angela glanced across the seat at the baby. “She’s small for seven months, isn’t she?”

  “A bit. It’s because after that first month my milk dried up, and she’s not too keen on formula.”

  Lies had begun to come easy for Vicki; first it was one thing, then another. Now she could pull a believable story from the air without a moment’s hesitation.

  Angela reached over and tickled the baby’s tummy. “Well now, Auntie Angela will just have to fatten you up, won’t I?”

  Lara giggled happily.

  With a stop so Vicki could change into a dry shirt and a second one for lunch, it was after four when they pulled into the driveway. The midsize Cape Cod with a wide porch and dormers overhead had a lamp aglow in the front window.

  “Great, Kenny’s home.” Angela leaned on the horn, gave two short blasts, then jumped out of the car, motioning for Vicki to follow along. “He’ll bring your things in.”

  As Vicki climbed out and stood looking at the house, a wave of nostalgia swept over her. If she allowed herself to think about it, she could imagine this to be the house Murph spoke of when he was sketching out a plan for their future.

  Before they got to the end of the walkway, the door opened. A man with broad shoulders and a bright smile stepped out. He came toward them, gave Angela a quick kiss, then turned to Vicki.

  “You must be the sister I’ve heard about!”

  Bypassing the handshake Vicki offered, he wrapped his arm around her shoulders, gave her a warm hug, then reached for the baby.

  “Allow me,” he said as he took Lara from her.

  There was something about the way he hoisted the baby into his arms, a gentleness that for a moment made Vicki want him as her husband. Countless times she had wished, even prayed, that Murphy would take the baby in his arms. She knew that if he had held Lara and felt the tiny hand wrapped around his finger, he would have fallen in love with her and given up any thought of ever letting her go.

  That evening as they gathered around the dinner table, the conversation was light and lively, jumping from one thing to the next. The two sisters laughed at how on the last trip they’d taken together, they had walked up and down the streets of Paducah, looking at the houses and choosing which one they’d buy if or when they had the money.

  “We had big dreams,” Angela said with a grin, “but barely enough cash for bus fare home.”

  “Back then we thought we’d live next door to one another, have babies at the same time, and let the kids play together the way we used to do,” Vicki said. “But look what happened. We totally lost track of each other, and if it wasn’t for your roommate, I would have never found you.”

  “Now instead of next door, you’ll live in the same house,” Kenny said with a chuckle. With a twinkle in his eye, he added, “And before too long, Lara may have that playmate you were wishing for.”

  Vicki glanced at Angela’s belly and gave a nod. “Are you . . . ?”

  With a pale, almost regretful smile, Angela shook her head. “Not yet, but we’re working on it.”

  Long after dinner was over, they sat in the kitchen and talked.

  “Don’t think I’m here just to freel
oad,” Vicki said. “I plan to look for a job to pay for our board.”

  “There’s no need,” Kenny replied. “Angela’s working part-time now, but once we’ve got a little one on the way she’s going to stay home and be a full-time mama. She’ll be looking for some company, and it’ll be nice for you girls to spend time together.”

  Later that evening, when they were alone in the bedroom, Kenny noticed the pinched look on Angela’s face.

  “Is something wrong?” he asked.

  She hesitated a moment, then gave a shrug. “I don’t know. I’m sort of worried about Vicki. She seems so thin and . . . well, frail. At dinner tonight, she hardly ate anything. A few bites, but that was it.”

  Kenny tossed his T-shirt onto the back of the chair, then turned. “Maybe it’s just anxiety. You know, the stress of going off on her own.”

  “Maybe,” Angela repeated, “but Vicki can be pretty strange. Sometimes she acts playful and devilish, but inside there’s a tornado raging. With her, you never know what’s up until it’s too late. For three years she didn’t return my calls and never even told me she was angry with me.”

  “Well, yeah, that’s a bit strange, seeing as how you’re sisters.”

  “The thing is, when Vicki tells a story, what you get is her version of the truth. I have a feeling that’s what she’s doing with this guy who’s supposed to be Lara’s daddy.”

  “Why don’t you come right out and ask her about him?”

  “I did, but the only thing she’d say was that it didn’t work out.”

  “Could be there wasn’t much more to tell.”

  Angela raised a doubtful eyebrow. “Un-uh. I know my sister. The way she skirts around any mention of this guy is extremely odd.”

  “She’s probably had a rough time and doesn’t want to be reminded.”

  “Maybe. But if he’s Lara’s daddy, it seems she’d be going after him for child support.”

  “She probably will; give her time.”

  Angela shook her head. “She’s not. On the drive home she said flat out that she wants nothing more to do with him. She’s not going to tell him where she is or let him see Lara.”

  “Not wanting child support is strange, but she might have her reasons.”

  “She does,” Angela said sadly. “He’s supposedly roughed her up a few times.”

  “Did she tell you that?”

  “Not the details, but she indicated that was why she wanted to get away . . .” Angela’s words trailed off, almost as if she’d decided some things were better left unsaid.

  Kenny climbed into bed, and she followed him, the look of concern still stuck on her face. Moments after he snapped off the lamp on his side, she sat up and clicked hers on.

  “I’m not finished talking.”

  “Oh. Okay.” He propped himself up on his elbows. “What else?”

  “The clothes Vicki brought for her and the baby, that paper bag you carried in, is all there is.”

  The look of concern on her face spread to Kenny’s. “She probably shipped some stuff—the crib, high chair, the rest of . . .” The remainder of his words trailed off when he saw the way Angela was shaking her head.

  “There’s no crib. The baby’s been sleeping in bed with Vicki and her boyfriend.”

  “For seven months?”

  “Yep, that’s what she told me.”

  A stretch of furrows popped up on Kenny’s forehead. “That’s crazy. The kid needs a crib. She also needs to have a car seat, a high chair, and a decent stroller. That thing Vicki has is older than I am.”

  “I think money’s a problem.” Angela thought back to their earlier conversation and added, “Knowing my sister, she’s not going to ask for help, no matter how bad things are. She thinks if somebody does something to help her out, it’s because of pity.”

  “It’s different with us; we’re family.”

  “Doesn’t matter. Vicki sees things the way she wants to see them.”

  “Maybe she’s just embarrassed because the kid’s daddy is a deadbeat.”

  Again Angela shrugged. “Possibly, but whatever the truth of the situation is, she’s keeping it to herself.”

  Kenny hesitated a moment, shook his head, then said, “If your sister can’t afford those things, then I guess we’ve got to help out.”

  “That’s pretty much what I was thinking.” The pinched look on her face gave way to a smile. “Do you think I should take Vicki shopping or just go buy the things Lara needs?”

  “Take her shopping, but be careful you don’t make it look like charity.” Kenny lowered his head back onto the pillow. “After what you’ve said about your sister, I don’t want her to think we’re doing it out of pity. Say you’re buying the things because before long we’ll need them ourselves anyway.”

  “Hopefully we will,” Angela said, then she grinned and snapped off the light.

  Before the heat of the light bulb had cooled, her nightgown was lying on the floor, and she was kissing Kenny’s face.

  “You’re gonna be the best daddy ever,” she whispered.

  FINDING MINNIE

  Duck Tail Trail was a long and winding road with five small houses spaced a half mile apart. Minnie Gray’s house was at the far end. From the outside it looked as if the place were deserted. The grass was six or seven inches high and the curbside mailbox stuffed full of mail and circulars.

  When Wilson pushed the doorbell, there was no echo of chimes. He tried again, came to the conclusion the bell wasn’t working, and rapped against the door. A dog barked. He knocked again, this time heavier, his knuckles cracking hard against the wood. Seconds later a male voice hollered, “Hold on, I’m coming!”

  A thump. The sound of footsteps. When the door swung open, an old man with steel-gray hair peered out from behind the screen. Ignoring the sheriff’s uniform Wilson wore, he gave a squinty-eyed look of suspicion.

  “I ain’t in a mood for listening to any sales pitch.”

  After two days of dead-end answers, Wilson was running thin on patience.

  “Carl Wilson,” he replied. “Hesterville sheriff. I’m looking for Minnie Gray.”

  “I’m Minnie’s husband. What do you want with her?”

  Wilson pulled the envelope from his pocket. “I’m hoping she can answer a few questions about this letter. Is she here?”

  The old man shook his head and rubbed his hand across the whiskered growth on his chin.

  “Lord God,” he said with a groan. “That looks like one of Minnie’s letters. What’s she done now?” He clicked the screen door open and waved Wilson in. “Medgar Gray,” he said and stuck out his hand. “I don’t know what Minnie’s done this time, but I’m hoping you can be a bit forgiving. She’s not herself anymore and can’t understand why she shouldn’t be doing these things.”

  Wilson raised an eyebrow and asked, “What things?”

  “Writing those crazy letters,” he said sadly. “We lost our little girl forty years ago, and Minnie never got over it. She had a nervous breakdown and had to be sent away for three years. Ever since she came home, she’s not been the same.”

  He turned and called out for Minnie, then took a picture from the mantel and handed it to Wilson. “This is us with Ellamae.”

  In the photo, the old man was young, clean-shaven with dark hair. The woman beside him wore a lace dress; her hair was in curls and her smile so bright it appeared almost dazzling. The child, a girl who seemed a miniature version of the woman, stood alongside them.

  Wilson studied the photo for a moment, then asked, “What happened to Ellamae?”

  “Influenza.”

  The word stood alone, isolated and without any additional explanation. It was weighted with the same kind of sorrow Wilson remembered, the same kind he’d experienced when they lost Becky.

  “So young,” he said sympathetically. “How very sad.”

  The old man nodded. “Minnie almost died giving birth, so she knew there wasn’t going to be any more babies. When we lost
Ellamae, she just couldn’t find her way back from all that grief. The doctor said—”

  He stopped short when Minnie came into the room.

  Minnie Gray was almost childlike in size, and the cascade of curls she wore in the picture was gone. Her hair was tied back like a bundle of straw, poking out in a dozen different directions. Without acknowledging Wilson, she looked up at her husband and said, “Did you call me, dear?”

  “Yes, Minnie. Do you see that we have company?” His words were soft and lenient, with a gentleness usually reserved for children. “This is Sheriff Wilson. He’s had to come here all the way from Hesterville because of one of the letters you wrote.”

  She stood there looking like a deflated balloon, her shoulders slumped, her head bent, her gaze focused on the floor. “I’m sorry.”

  “Writing letters won’t bring Ellamae back,” Medgar said. “You know that, don’t you, Minnie?”

  She nodded.

  “Sometimes the things you write frighten other people, and—”

  She lifted her head and turned to Wilson. “I didn’t mean anything bad.”

  He slid the letter from the envelope and handed it to her. “Did you write this, Minnie?”

  She took the faded paper in her hand, studied it for a second, then gave an almost imperceptible nod.

  “The letter says there’s a child with golden hair and blue eyes. What child were you talking about?”

  Her chin quivered as she sniffed back the threat of a sob. “Ellamae.”

  “Why did you say it’s okay for a guardian angel to take a mother’s child and she must accept it as best?” Wilson asked.

  “Because that’s what the angel told me the night they took Ellamae.”

  Medgar gave a disheartened sigh and shrugged.

  “Believing it was a guardian angel who took Ellamae gives Minnie a lot of comfort,” he said by way of apology. “Minnie and Ellamae both had a raging fever that night. Minnie was delirious and out of her head. It was five days before her fever broke, and by then we’d put Ellamae in the ground. That’s when she started saying she’d seen the angels carry her baby off to heaven, and she’s stuck to that story ever since.”