She clicks a stick and a light blinks as she passes a slow-moving truck strapped down with logs.
“To be honest, I wasn’t sure what to expect. Your ex-wife’s letter was routed to the wrong department, and I only received word of it weeks after the postmark.”
The man grunts in answer, then looks over his shoulder. My eyes snap shut.
“Joelle carted the girls out into the middle of nowhere, all right,” he says, his words careful, like he knows I might be listening. “At the same time, they were right here in Tennessee. Right under our noses the whole time.”
“There’s an APB out on her,” Mrs. Haskell whispers. “It’s procedure in cases such as these.”
An APB? What’s an APB?
“If she hides herself as well as she hid the girls, they’ll never find her.”
I’m surprised to hear the casual tone of his voice, although, what I was expecting? Anger? Remorse? For him to make pretend he loves me, wants me? If he wanted us, he wouldn’t have beaten us, Mama and me. He’d at least sound sad for all the years we’ve been gone. But I can’t tell what he’s feeling. I can’t read him like I could Mama.
“If they do find her,” Mrs. Haskell continues, “you won’t have a lot of say in how they handle it. She did take off with Carey as the noncustodial parent. In the state of Tennessee, that’s kidnapping.”
“Kidnapping?” I blurt the word, unable to stop myself. Then, as Nessa stirs, I lower my voice. “Are you saying he’s gonna have Mama thrown in jail?”
He’s the one who should be in jail.
The man sighs, his shoulders hard set. I watch the back of his head. He doesn’t turn around.
“I’m not sure what they’re going to do, honey, but your mom broke the law.” Mrs. Haskell pauses to open her window a crack. “We’ll have to see what happens when it happens.”
Again, I feel the white heat fill me from my toenails to the tips of my ears. It should be him in trouble, not Mama. Not Mama, who’d tried to protect us from him. Heck, he hadn’t even cared enough to look for us. He’s only stuck with us now because of the letter.
I sit back in a huff, watching the cars zoom by, quite numerous now, as are the flecks of light thumbtacking the land in the distance. My emotions swirl like leaves caught in the breath of a dust devil, and the only thing I can seem to hold on to is the anger.
Why had Mama sent that letter? Didn’t she know they’d call him, that they’d release us into his custody? Where else would we go? Jennesa isn’t even his. Didn’t she care that they could separate us, stuff us into ill-fitting foster homes like the wrong puzzle pieces?
As if reading my mind, Mrs. Haskell’s voice is strong, unwavering. “It’s going to be okay, Carey. You’ll see.”
I answer her with my silence, understanding the full power of it for the first time. Words are weapons. Weapons are powerful. So are unsaid words. So are unused weapons.
“Are you hungry?” Mrs. Haskell hands me a bag of potato chips—sour cream and onion, which happens to be my favorite—as if she knows to take a thread from my old life and weave it into this new one.
I take the bag from her, saliva squirting at the back of my cheeks.
Closing my eyes, I savor the chips, trying to remember the last time I’d eaten the salty, crunchy goodness. Heaven this minute lives in my mouth. I have to pace myself, stop myself from gobbling down the whole bag in seconds. Mama brought us chips maybe three or four times. All too often, though, we couldn’t afford extras.
Mrs. Haskell smiles over her shoulder. “Bet it’s been a long time since you girls had chips. There’s another bag in the glove box—do you like barbecue?”
I nod my head emphatically, under the potato spell.
She hands the second bag over, and for a few moments, the only sound in the car is the crinkle of the bag around my greasy hand and the sound of my chewing. Like I do with the first bag, I save half, a big half, for Nessa.
“You girls are too thin, but it doesn’t surprise me, living the way you were. We’ll have to get some meat on your bones, especially Jenessa’s. We’ll need her hitting those height and weight percentiles normal children grow through.”
“She don’t like beans much.” Only they can’t understand me with my mouth full of chips.
“Doesn’t like what, hon?”
“BEANS, ma’am. She got all kinds of sick and tired of ’em after Mama left. We ran out of the ravioli and Campbell’s soup. All that was left was beans, and she don’t like ’em anymore.”
“DOESN’T like them. That’s the proper way to say that word, sweetie.”
I know that. I forgot my vow. I blush redder than Jenessa’s Crayola. “Yes, ma’am.”
I catch them exchanging glances across the seats, and I see, what? Pity? Concern? It hadn’t occurred to me that someone could feel sorry for us, let alone pity us. We were fine—we did right fine. I took good care of Nessa—better than Mama. Better than they could, still.
Ness knows it, too. It was me who taught her her numbers and her ABC’s, addition and subtraction, reading her books to her and then my own, and after we’d exhausted those, reading her favorites over again, only this time, having her read them to me. Pooh practice. I played her to sleep on my violin, ushering some culture into the woods, like Mama said.
“She loves butter,” I add. “But she doesn’t like peas. She loves birthday cake, too.”
I smile when Mrs. Haskell smiles.
Of all the crazy things a little girl could love, Ness loves birthday cake. There’d only been a few—one on my ninth birthday, one on Nessa’s third and fifth. Each time, Ness had lost it, squealing over the fluffy pink icing.
They look at each other again with that same sorry look, and my smile fades. They have no right.
“Well, when we get back to the motel, we’ll get you and Jenessa a hot bath and dinner. Do you girls like hamburgers? French fries?”
My stomach rumbles before the sound of her words leave the air.
“We like food, ma’am. I don’t think we’ve ever eaten those things you mentioned.”
This time, stopped at a light, Mrs. Haskell turns around in her seat and stares at me.
“Are you telling me your mother never took you into town? Not even to a restaurant?”
“She did. We went to town twice. Once to a speech therapist when Nessa stopped talking, and another time to the doctor when we both came down with the chicken pox.”
“Twice? In ten years?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
I hear the intake of breath from the man as Mrs. Haskell regards me with round, uncomprehending eyes.
“What, ma’am?” I say, fidgeting in my seat.
She’s bugging me, now. Not everyone can afford to eat out all fancy like. Doesn’t she know that?
“Where were you, then, all these years?”
What a ridiculous question. Really.
“In the woods. You were there . . .” I say, my words trailing off.
“Where did you get food and supplies?”
“Mama went into town for supplies every month. Canned goods keep, she said. We had a can opener,” I add, my words tasting tinny and inadequate.
“My God. Who schooled you? Your mother?”
“I did. Mama brought us old schoolbooks. I’d learn them, and help Nessa learn hers.”
Mrs. Haskell turns back around. The light is green, green means go, and I’m glad she has to pay attention to the road, instead of to me. Having strangers just stare at you is the oddest feeling. But it’s more than that.
What had I said? Did I say something wrong?
My stomach sinking, I push aside the chips. Would my words hurt Mama later, after they found her?
I hope they don’t find you—fly, Mama, fly! I’ll watch over Nessa. We’ll be right fine.
It’s easy to look out for Nessa. She’s my baby sister. She’s my family, and family is everything.
I drift off again as the motion of the car—it’s been a long time s
ince I’ve been in a moving car—lulls me to sleep like a baby in its mama’s arms. I wake just as we pull into a parking lot.
“This is it. The Social Services building.”
The poles tower over the asphalt like chilly metal trees, haunting the area with pale yellow circles of light.
Ness is still asleep, thumb in mouth, T-shirt pushed up, exposing her belly button. I think of what Mrs. Haskell said, noticing for the first time the washboard rows of little-girl ribs. But we’ve always been skinny, as best I can remember. Mama is slim. So is the man.
I want to ask what we’re doing here, as it’s obvious the building is closed. I want to ask what’s next, what happens next, but I swallow my questions in a lump and tend to Jenessa.
“Baby, we’re here.”
I push on her shoulder, but she’s out cold. Gently, I reach around her and sit her up, her head lolling against the seat. She grumbles. Her eyelids flutter.
“Nessa, wake up. We’re here. You have to wake up.”
Mrs. Haskell and the man exit the car, leaving me to it, and I’m glad. Nessa isn’t used to strangers. Better she sticks to what she knows. Her eyes open reluctantly, and her thumb falls out as she blinks at me, surely trying to remember where she is and what we’re doing in a car, of all places. I use my happy voice.
“Remember Mrs. Haskell came and got us? She drove us to where she works. That’s why we’ve stopped.” I lift her by the armpits back onto the seat. “Here, let me tie your shoes.”
Ness yawns. I wait for the teary protest shouted from her eyes, because big girls tie their own shoes, but I don’t get one. She sits silently as I plunk each small foot down on my thigh and tie the dirty white shoelaces, not too loose, not too tight, just like she likes them.
“Take my hand, okay?”
I slide out of the Lexus, tugging her with me. She inches across the seat, our arms taut. The cool air hits her skin, and she hesitates.
“It’s okay, Ness. It’s gonna be okay. You got me. I’m right here.” I squeeze her hand in a show of solidarity. “C’mon.”
I take her coat from the seat and stuff her arms in. Then I turn to Mrs. Haskell.
“She’s just a little girl. She needs sleep—it’s been a long day.”
“I agree, Carey. Your father is bringing his truck around, and there’s a motel right down the road. You girls will stay with me, and your father will be in the room next door. We’ll finish up the paperwork tonight and appear before the judge in the morning.” Jenessa grips my hand something fierce. I must look skeptical, because Mrs. Haskell sighs, her forehead creasing.
“I think after all you’ve been through, this is a better idea than taking you girls to the group home for the night. It’s another half hour away, it’s late, and you need your sleep.”
It could be worse, I reassure myself. Could be left alone with more strangers. Or with him.
I squat down to eye level and take hold of both of Nessa’s hands.
“She’s right. This way, we can get you some food and tuck you into bed before midnight.”
Unconvinced, Ness pulls her hands from mine and folds her arms, her lower lip jutting out.
She wants to go home. She wants the woods. She thinks I’m in charge. But I’m not, not anymore.
“Ness, please?” I use her word. “I’m exhaustified, too. It’s been a long day. I think it’s a good idea.”
She stares back at me, her dark eyes fringed in thick lashes, and I can almost see the cogs and wheels working behind them. To my relief, she finally nods. I get to my feet. Immediately, she takes my hand again.
I turn to Mrs. Haskell, ignoring the man where he leans against a pale blue truck, curlicues of cigarette smoke weaving around him.
“We’ll go. But we ride with you.”
“Fine,” Mrs. Haskell says, motioning us back into the car. She turns to the man. “We’ll follow behind you.”
His gaze rests on me for a moment before he flicks his cigarette in a glowing arc. He walks over to where it lands and grinds it out with the toe of his boot.
“If you did that in the woods, you’d burn the whole place down,” I say.
He shoots me a sheepish grin and picks it up, depositing the butt in a nearby trash receptacle.
“That better?” he asks, like it matters what I think.
I ignore him, leading Jenessa back to her seat in the car.
As if anything could be better.
Buckled in, I feel so small, as small as Jenessa, and just as helpless. The world is endless without the trees to fence it in, the sky huge enough to swallow us whole and spit out our bones dry as kindling.
Already, I want to go back, go backward. The keening rises like the song of a cicada, then two, then hundreds, until the whole world vibrates in a chorus of longing.
All we’d needed was more canned goods. More blankets. More buckshot.
We were doing right fine on our own.
3
Our motel room is huge, with two beds parked at the far end, boasting matching comforters and crisp white sheets. In the middle of the room is a round table with four chairs, and there’s a television bolted up high in the corner, where the lime green wall meets the ceiling. The bathroom door is open. The tiles sparkle hard, like the sun straight on.
Mrs. Haskell smiles at Jenessa, a real smile, which Ness returns with a small one, and then she nods at the television.
“Wait till you see this, Jenessa.”
Mrs. Haskell’s index finger skims over a shiny plastic placard; then she picks up a rectangular thing—she calls it a “remote control”— pushes a button, and the television crackles to life. She pushes a few more buttons, and the screen flickers with images, coming to rest on a channel with the word sprout popping up at the bottom right-hand corner. Fat creatures with antennas on their heads giggle and waddle across a flowery field studded with bunnies.
Before I can control it, my eyes fill. Teletubbies. The jolt from the past is like a bucket of ice water dumped over my head. I remember the Tubbies. The fuzzy memory of a red Po doll fills my mind.
Jenessa’s eyes widen until the whites show. Her bones turn to noodles and she sinks to the rug, only breaking contact with the screen to beam at me in amazement before locking back on the box on the wall.
Mrs. Haskell and I look at each other, her eyes bright. She clears her throat. I turn back to my sister.
“It’s television, Ness. TV, for short. You like it?”
As if communicating from a dream, Nessa nods big, sweeping nods from ceiling to floor while her eyes remain glued to the screen.
“Lift up your foot, okay?”
I untie and remove each sneaker, leaving her wiggling her toes.
“Ewwww,” I tease. “Stink stank stunk, Miss Jenessa.”
She giggles.
I unbutton her coat, smiling at the light pink T-shirt with the word Diva painted across it in silvery, glittery script. When I asked Mama what the word meant, she’d shrugged her shoulders, too high to reply. Ness loved the sparkles too much to care.
“Now your pants.”
I expect her to protest, in front of Mrs. Haskell and all, but she doesn’t, too mesmerized by the giggling Teletubbies making messy Tubby custard.
I lay her clothes neatly over one of the chairs, and take her in, my heart loving her so much, it could explode all over the room. Those blond curls, the knobby knees, the wonder on her face, the girlie white underwear boasting ruffles around the leg holes. Even as skinny as she is, she’s a vision.
I make a vow right then and there that I’ll allow no one to separate us. Whatever I have to endure with the man, I’ll endure, as long as we stay together.
I reach down and scoop her up in my arms and settle her on the bed against two fluffy pillows. Mrs. Haskell turns the television angle to one Nessa can watch without straining. This is her first experience of a bed, and a sigh escapes her lips. It’s the height of luxury for both of us.
“You can borrow this, if you’
d like,” Mrs. Haskell offers, nodding that it’s all right to take it, her eyes bobcat large and blinking through the thick glasses she pushes up her nose.
For the first time, I notice Mrs. Haskell’s little suitcase, plucked from her trunk. She tosses me the T-shirt and I catch it, light purple, with the word Chicago stamped across the chest in curving script.
I know Chicago. It’s in Illinois, USA.
“Did you used to live there?” I ask by way of thanks.
“I’ve heard Chicago is lovely, but I’ve never been. It’s a musical group I listened to in college.”
I brush past her into the bathroom to change. I’ve never heard of that Chicago. The only music I know comes from my violin. My stomach clenches as I think about it—about all the things I don’t know, a mile-long list I’m sure will only grow longer as the days pass.
I reappear from the bathroom with my sneakers and clothes in hand, the T-shirt hanging to my knees. I watch Mrs. Haskell smile as Nessa giggles, her little-girl hands reaching toward the cooing baby’s face in the middle of the sun setting over the Teletubbies’ world, just before lines of names roll down the screen.
Nessa pops her thumb in her mouth, her eyelids heavy. I climb in beside her, sliding the blankets out from under her legs to set them billowing over us in a cloud. She moves her leg over until it’s touching mine.
Neither of us can stay awake long enough to eat, but even better than food is how the white-star night flickers and dies like it doesn’t belong here, in the midst of such largess. I imagine being free of it forever, of the sights, sounds, and smells seared into my memory.
But deep down, I know better.
I don’t want to wake up from this dream I’m having, of a feather-soft bed, fluffy covers, and Nessa not half on top of me, the two of us crammed onto the narrow cot where we shared our body heat each night. The fit was easy when she was a baby. But babies never stay babies.
I hear his voice and instantly remember who he is, what happened, where we are. The man and Mrs. Haskell talk quietly. I inhale the strange aroma, note the trails of steam rising from white cups they both sip from at the table, a jumble of papers spread out between them.
If You Find Me Page 3
