Before She Was Found

by Heather Gudenkauf

  Tuesday, April 17, 2018

  Jordyn:

  Did the police talk to you? You didn’t say anything, did you?

  Jordyn:

  Do you know how Cora is doing? My grandpa is making me go see her. I’m scared to face her

  Jordyn:

  Why don’t you answer me?

  Jordyn:

  I mean it, Violet. Don’t say anything about us bringing the knife. We’ll get in trouble

  Thomas Petit

  Tuesday, April 17, 2018

  As Thomas drives them to the hospital he fills the silence with innocuous questions and commentary. He tries to imagine the kinds of questions that Tess would ask.

  He asks Jordyn about how she did on her last math test and about whether or not she decided to go out for the softball team later this spring. He asks if the art teacher ever had that baby and if it was true that the Fletcher boy had been suspended for supergluing quarters to the floor in the cafeteria.

  Fine, no, yes and yes, Jordyn answers, her voice flat, expressionless.

  After about five miles, Thomas runs out of questions and Jordyn leans forward and fiddles with the radio, trying to find a station that isn’t distorted with static or dedicated to saving souls. She finally settles on a country-western station even though Thomas knows Jordyn normally wouldn’t be caught dead listening to, as she calls it, that twangy crap. Jordyn’s tears have dried and though her eyes are red and her skin blotchy she seems to be pulling it together.

  Thomas is only half listening, anyway. He is lost in his own thoughts, his eyes fixed on the road in front of him, hands gripping tightly to the steering wheel. Though Thomas doesn’t know the exact events of the other night, he is positive that Jordyn didn’t do anything beyond trying to play a silly prank on her friends. He’s just afraid that’s not the way it may appear to others.

  Earlier, when he talked to her, Mara Landry told him that Cora didn’t see who attacked her and had no idea what happened. Thomas would feel better once the two girls are in the same room and he can watch them, see how they interact with one another and get a sense of what to do next.

  Maybe Thomas should press Jordyn harder about what had happened but as long as he doesn’t know exactly what occurred in the train yard he can’t speak against his granddaughter. It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to know that the girls were up to no good. The midnight walk, the beer, the blood. God knows what the knife was for.

  And there was Jordyn’s quasi-confession. It was an accident, Grandpa. Nothing bad was supposed to happen. It was just a game. Well, Thomas knows that people go to jail or get sued for less.

  As long as Jordyn sticks to her original story about leaving her friends behind at the train yard before the attack or accident, or whatever it was, then she will be fine. As long as no one finds the backpack with Jordyn’s coat everything will be okay. Thomas couldn’t be sure that he was able to remove all traces of blood.

  By the time Thomas pulls into a parking spot at Walmart, Thomas almost has himself convinced that everything will work out for the best. They wander the aisles in search of a get-well gift for Cora and for Tess. “How about this?” Thomas asks, picking up a pillow in the shape of a tiger. “It matches your school mascot.”

  Jordyn wrinkles her nose. “Too babyish,” she says, moving on, her eyes briefly landing on the various stuffed animals, board games and action figures that line the shelves.

  “How about these?” Thomas holds up a set of painted Russian nesting dolls. He’s eager to get out of here. “They’re nice.”

  Jordyn just rolls her eyes. After ten more minutes of unenthusiastically received suggestions, Thomas finally understands that Jordyn doesn’t want his help and falls silent. He watches as Jordyn picks up a lip balm laboratory kit, a manicure set with three different kinds of nail polish and a T-shirt tie-dye kit, examines each carefully only to replace them on the shelf. She keeps returning to a bracelet-making kit that contains hundreds of tiny colorful beads and elastic cording. “This, I think.” She looks to Thomas for approval.

  “She’ll love it,” Thomas says, but what does he know about what twelve-year-olds think is cool. Jordyn shrugs, unconvinced.

  The remainder of the journey to the hospital is spent in mostly nervous silence. Jordyn busies herself with arranging the bracelet-making kit inside a gift bag fluffed with sparkly tissue paper and by signing a card with the picture of a cat, paw wrapped in a bandage and a plastic cone around her neck. I hope you get to feeling purrfect again soon.

  “Cora really likes cats,” Jordyn says, sliding the sealed envelope into the bag. “Maybe I could get her a kitten,” Jordyn says. “That would really cheer her up.”

  “I don’t think Cora’s mom and dad would feel quite the same way.” Thomas grins. “It’s a nice thought, though.”

  “But what if her mom and dad say it’s okay?” Jordyn asks.

  “I think the present you picked out will be just fine,” Thomas says firmly as the hospital comes into sight and they stare up at the glass-and-steel structure.

  “It’s so big,” Jordyn says. “Is the whole building really just for kids?” she asks.

  “That’s what I hear,” Thomas says as he pulls into the parking garage. “I guess if I was sick this wouldn’t be such a bad place to stay, huh?”

  They exit the parking ramp at street level and enter through the hospital lobby. Jordyn runs ahead to the elevators and waits for her grandfather to catch up with her. Thomas takes his time. The hospital is huge and she knows he has to conserve his energy or Jordyn will have to push him out of here in a wheelchair. The elevator doors open and a woman and girl step out. The girl, about Jordyn’s age, is hairless and has a wide moon face courtesy of prednisone. Jordyn gives them a shy smile and moves aside to let them pass, her eyes lingering on their retreating backs. Together they step onto the elevator and Jordyn waits until the doors close before speaking.

  “Do you think she has cancer?” she asks.

  “That would be my guess,” Thomas says, leaning against the elevator wall.

  “Do you think her mom gets to stay with her while she’s here? When she gets chemo?”

  “It didn’t used to be that way. Parents would have to stay in guest lodging or go home when their child was in the hospital. But nowadays parents can stay right in the room with them.”

  Jordyn thinks about this for a moment. “If my kid was sick I would never leave them. No matter what. Even if they told me I had to.”

  Thomas knows that Jordyn is thinking about her own mom and dad. People who for some unearthly reason decided that fighting for custody of their daughter was too much effort. Not that Thomas was complaining. The farther away Jordyn’s dad and mom stayed, the better, but he knew their absence hurt Jordyn beyond words.

  “What if Cora’s mom and dad are mad at me?” Jordyn asks as the elevator settles on the third floor.

  “Now, why would they be mad at you?” Thomas asks lightly. “You were gone well before anything happened. They can’t fault you for that.” The doors open and Thomas slides his arm around his granddaughter’s shoulders. “Come on now, let’s go see your friend.”

  No matter how cheery the wall paint or the whimsical artwork that lines the corridors, the smell of hospitals hasn’t changed much in thirty years, Thomas thinks. At least the newness of the children’s hospital overpowers the antiseptic odor that makes Thomas woozy with memories.

  When they reach Room 317 Thomas knocks on the door and after a moment Mara opens the door and steps out into the hallway and gently closes the door behind her. “Hi,” she says. “It’s so nice of you to come.” She smiles but her eyes are wary. “Cora’s nervous about people seeing her this way, Jordyn. She...she doesn’t look like herself.”

  Thomas places his hands on Jordyn’s shoulders. “She understands, don’t you?” Jordyn nods solemnly. “Do you want me to come in wi
th you, Jordy?” Thomas asks, using Tess’s pet name for her.

  Jordyn nods and together they move through the doorway and Thomas blinks, trying to acclimate to the dim room. A small shape comes into focus and for a moment he is transported back in time. Of course, Betsy was so much younger than Cora, but still. Seeing the heavily bandaged girl nearly swallowed up beneath a pink fleece tie blanket covered in rainbows is jarring but he smiles widely in hopes of concealing his shock. “Cora, how are you?” he asks.

  “I’m okay,” comes a small, hoarse voice. “Hi, Jordyn.”

  Thomas listens carefully. If there is any fear or anger in Cora’s voice, he can’t find it.

  Jordyn’s eyes widen at the sight of Cora’s shaved skull and bandages. She seems to be holding her breath. Thomas gives her a quick poke. “Hi,” she finally exhales.

  Silence fills the room but Thomas resists the urge to speak and just watches. Though her face is heavily swathed in gauze, Cora doesn’t appear fearful of or angry with Jordyn. It’s Mara who is looking at Jordyn with suspicion, maybe even disdain.

  After Betsy died, Thomas remembers Tess talking about feeling an inexplicable hatred toward toddlers, especially little girls. She would see them at the park or in a store toddling unsteadily with arms stretching upward toward their mothers, and turn away bitterly. Of course it didn’t make sense, but nothing about losing a child makes sense. Eventually, Tess’s aversion faded but it took time.

  Perhaps Mara feels this way. An irrational anger at the girl who left, the girl who escaped the attack, or maybe Mara knows more. Thomas prods Jordyn with a finger and she takes a few steps closer to her friend.

  “Does it hurt?” Jordyn asks shyly.

  “Yeah.” The conversation stalls. Jordyn shifts from foot to foot and Cora stares down at her bedcovers.

  “Do they know who did it?” Jordyn asks bluntly.

  “No, not yet,” Cora says, running her fingers over the purple cast. “I don’t remember much.” He could be imagining it, but Thomas is sure that he sees Jordyn’s shoulders relax.

  “Jordyn, the gift,” Thomas prompts.

  Jordyn, remembering the present in her hand, holds the bag out to Cora. “We got you this. It’s nothing much,” she says as Cora reaches into the bag, retrieves the card and clumsily tries to open the envelope with her good hand. “Let me help,” Jordyn says and takes the card. She slides a finger beneath the envelope’s seal and pulls out the card.

  “She looks like Skittles,” Cora says, smiling weakly.

  “Cora,” Mara says with a hint of dismay.

  Cora sets aside the card and plunges her hand into the bag through the tissue paper and pulls out the bracelet-making kit. “Thank you,” she says. “I love it.”

  “You’re welcome,” Jordyn says proudly but then her grin falls away. “Your arm. You won’t be able to put the beads on the string.”

  “That’s all right,” Cora consoles. “We can make them together. Do you want to sign my cast?” Using a black Sharpie marker, Jordyn signs her name across the fiberglass cast.

  “When we’re back at school, I can help carry your books and stuff if you want,” Jordyn offers as the two girls examine the box of beads while Thomas and Mara look on.

  “That would be great.” Cora gives a half smile and then winces at the pain.

  “Have you talked to Violet yet?” Jordyn asks, picking at the tape that seals the box.

  “No, not yet,” Cora says, a twinge of sadness in her words. “Have you?”

  “I haven’t, either,” Jordyn says, pulling out a plastic bag filled with jewel-colored beads. “What colors do you like?” she asks.

  “The purple ones. To match my cast. Which colors do you want yours to be?”

  “Blue, I think,” Jordyn says and the two busy themselves with sorting the beads into piles.

  Thomas breathes an inward sigh of relief. Surely if Cora blamed Jordyn for the attack in the train yard, then she wouldn’t suggest plans to make bracelets together.

  “What is she doing here?” a shrill voice comes from the doorway. Jordyn and Cora freeze in place and stare in surprise at the teenage girl who has swept into the room, face stormy with anger. Thomas’s moment of relief is instantly replaced with dread.

  “Kendall,” Mara says sharply. “That’s rude.”

  “She’s rude!” Kendall snaps back. “She’s been awful to Cora the last few months.

  “How can you even show your face here?” Kendall asks Jordyn, who looks to her grandfather for help. Thomas doesn’t know what to say.

  “It’s okay,” Cora says in a small voice.

  “It’s not,” Kendall shoots back. “It’s not okay! She made you cry every day for weeks. And don’t tell me that’s not true. I heard you! She’s not your friend, Cora.”

  “Kendall, go outside,” Mara says in a shaky voice. “Right now.”

  “You are so gullible,” Kendall persists. “You let people walk all over you. For once stand up for yourself. And you—” She turns to Jordyn.

  “Jordyn, let’s go,” Thomas interrupts, finally able to speak. Jordyn rises from her seat, murmurs goodbye to Cora and skirts past Kendall.

  “Stay away from my sister!” Kendall calls after them as they rush from the room past a tall woman lingering in the doorway.

  In silence Thomas and Jordyn move through the hallways, Jordyn blinking back tears, Thomas biting his tongue. Thomas waits until they are in the truck before he speaks. “What did you do to her?” he asks Jordyn. “What did you do to that little girl?”

  Dr. Madeline Gideon

  September 14, 2018

  I found Cora sitting up in her hospital bed watching television. Mara told me she planned on being away from Cora’s room during our morning meeting so we could have some privacy. I knew this was hard for her and understandably so, but I convinced her that this time to talk freely would be good for Cora.

  She was still connected to an IV and her head was swathed in bandages. A half-eaten breakfast tray sat in front of her. I was glad to see she had at least eaten something. Next to the tray there were two bracelets made out of beads and another in purple hues on Cora’s wrist. “Those are pretty,” I said, coming to her side. “Did someone make them for you?”

  “My friend Jordyn came. She brought a kit and we started to make a few.” Cora’s speech was still a bit slurred from her injuries but the swelling in her lips had gone down.

  “I saw,” I said. “I looked in but didn’t want to interrupt your visit. I also saw your sister came in. She seemed very upset at your friend.”

  “I don’t want to talk about that,” Cora said flatly, instantly becoming guarded.

  “Okay,” I said, picking up one of the bracelets designed in shades of blue: turquoise and navy. “These are pretty. Who did you make them for?”

  She held up her wrist. “This one was for me, of course, and we made one for Jordyn that looks just like mine. And that one—” she nodded toward the one I’m holding “—is for my sister.”

  “May I sit?” I asked.

  “Sure,” Cora said and I pulled a chair next to her bedside. “What about this one?” I pointed to the remaining bracelet on the tray. She shrugged. “What about your friend Violet? Did you make one for her?”

  Cora poked at her oatmeal, cooled now to a gray paste, with her spoon and didn’t say anything.

  “How is Violet?” I asked, watching her face carefully.

  Again Cora shrugged. “I don’t know. I haven’t talked to her.”

  “Ah,” I said. “She hasn’t called or visited you yet.”

  “I don’t have a cell phone so she couldn’t call me, anyway, but she hasn’t come to visit.” She was trying to act indifferent but the visible part of her face told a different story.

  “Maybe her mom won’t let her. The two of you had something very traumatic h
appen to you. Sometimes people don’t quite know what to say or how to act.” Cora remained silent. “Have you thought about calling Violet yourself?”

  “My mom says that Violet should be the one to call me. Not the other way around. But yeah, I thought about it.”

  “How does that make you feel?” I asked the age-old question.

  “Sad, I guess. Lonely. I thought we were best friends.”

  “What about other kids from your school? Have you heard from any of them?”

  “Just Jordyn. No one else.” Cora shook her head and then winced and touched her lips gingerly.

  “Are you in much pain? Do you want me to call the nurse?”

  “No, that’s okay. My stomach hurts only when I get up. My eye and mouth hurts, but my mom says that once my mouth heals they’ll fix my teeth. I’ll get fake ones. Here and here.” She opened her mouth in a gap-toothed grimace.

  “I bet you’re looking forward to that.”

  “Yeah, but I don’t like going to the dentist,” she said.

  “Me, either.” After all that Cora has been through, I thought, the terror and the pain, the dentist was the least of her worries. “How have you been sleeping, Cora? Are you getting some rest?” It was hard to tell by looking at her because the exposed portion of her face was storm-cloud purple.

  “You can’t tell anyone what I say to you, right? You’re my doctor so it’s a secret?”

  “Some secrets I can keep,” I said. “Like what you’re feeling. What I can’t keep is if you are thinking about hurting yourself or someone else or if you are taking illegal drugs.”

  Cora wrinkled her nose. “No way.”

  “And I promise you that I will not share anything you tell me without letting you know first,” I told her. “You can talk to me about anything, Cora. I’m here to help you.”

  Cora thought about that for a minute. “Okay. I do sleep better when my mom’s here but it makes me feel bad, too. I’m almost twelve. I should be able to fall asleep without my mom in the room.”

  “You had a scary thing happen to you. It’s understandable to want your mom nearby.”