by Amy Harmon
As we turned the pages, the time passed. The squalling infant with the bunched up face became a smiling baby with two teeth and drool on his chin. Two teeth became four, four teeth became six, and Eli celebrated his first birthday with a cake that was bigger than he was. In the next shot he had two fistfuls of icing and a bow on his head. In the next picture the bow was gone and there were globs of icing in its place.
“He was the messiest kid. I couldn’t keep him clean. I finally just gave up and let him enjoy himself,” Georgia whispered, looking down at the smiling child. “We gave him his first pair of boots that birthday. He wouldn’t take them off. He would scream when I tried to remove them.” She turned the page and pointed at a picture. Eli was asleep in his crib, his diapered rump in the air, his hands tucked beneath his chest. And he was wearing his boots. I laughed, but the laugh broke in my chest and I looked away quickly. I felt Georgia’s eyes glance off my face, but she turned the page and continued on.
Christmases, Easter-egg hunts, and the Fourth of July. Pictures of Halloween and Eli holding a sack of candy wearing only a cape and a pair of underwear made me think about his Batman pajamas—the pajamas he had on whenever I saw him. “Did he like Batman?”
She looked at me sharply.
“Did he have a pair of Batman pajamas?”
“Yes. He did.” She nodded. Her face was as white as the freshly painted walls behind us. But she turned the page without another word.
There were pictures of camp-outs and parades and the posed shots with slicked down hair and a clean shirt, which he rarely had in the candid shots. He was comfortable in front of the camera and his smile filled the pages.
“He looks happy, Georgia. It was a statement more than a question, but Georgia nodded, answering me.
“He was a happy kid. I don’t know how much I had to do with it. He was full of mischief, full of laughter, full of all the best things, even though I didn’t always appreciate it. Sometimes I just wanted him to hold still . . . you know?” Her voice rose plaintively, and she tried to smile but the smile wobbled and slipped and she shook her head, as if to underline her confession.
“I told you I wouldn’t lie to you Moses. And the truth is, I wasn’t the best mother in the world. I wished so many times that I could just have a second to breathe. I was tired a lot. I was trying to work and go to school and take care of Eli. And I just wished for silence. So many times I just wanted to sleep. I just wanted to be alone. You know how they say, be careful what you wish for?”
“Georgia . . . stop.” I didn’t understand why she was insisting on making sure I knew the “truth.” It was like she felt unworthy of any credit at all. “It looks to me like you did just fine,” I said softly. She swallowed and closed the book abruptly, shoving it off her lap and scrambling to her feet.
“Georgia,” I protested, following her up.
“I can’t look anymore. I thought I could. You’ll have to finish alone.” She wouldn’t look at me, and I knew she was barely holding onto her composure. Her full mouth was taut and her hands were clenched as tightly as her jaw. So I nodded and didn’t chase her when she ran for the door. Then I sank back down to the floor and held the book in my arms, clutching it tightly, but unable to open it. I couldn’t look anymore either.
Moses
AN IMAGE OF GEORGIA glimmered and grew—a laughing mouth and brown eyes, blonde hair flying as if she rode a horse that I couldn’t see. But she wasn’t riding a horse. She was bouncing on the bed. It was a bed covered in a denim quilt trimmed in rope and dotted with lassos. I watched her through Eli’s eyes as she soared up and down once more, and then collapsed around him. Eli’s giggles made my chest ache as if I were the one laughing, as if I were the one who couldn’t catch my breath. Georgia smiled down at me as if to kiss me goodnight, as if I were staring up at her from the pillow that bunched up in my periphery. Then she was leaning in, kissing my face. Kissing Eli’s face.
“Goodnight, Stewy Stinker!” she said, nuzzling the curve between his shoulder and his neck.
“Goodnight, Buzzard Bates!” he responded gleefully.
“Goodnight Diehard Dan!” she immediately shot back.
“Goodnight, Butch Bones!” Eli chortled.
I came awake shivering with a stiff neck and a wet cheek where I’d slobbered on the photo album Georgia had left. I’d fallen asleep clutching it, and it had ended up beneath my head on the floor. I wondered if it was my discomfort that had awoken me, or if it was the dream of Georgia kissing Eli goodnight, but I eased myself up and rose to my feet, only to feel the all-too familiar sensations of unwanted company. My fingers flexed and began to cool and I pushed back the overwhelming desire to fill the freshly painted walls with something else. Something alive. Or something that once had been.
I tested the waters carefully, resisting the call of creation, and I peeked through the shimmering falls, trying to get a glimpse of who it was that waited on the other side. I wanted to see Eli again. I was afraid he wasn’t coming back.
At first I thought it was Molly. Her hair was similar, but as I let the waters thin, I could see that it wasn’t. I let her cross, keeping my back to the wall, watching her curiously. She didn’t show me anything. Didn’t send images of loved ones or pieces of her life gone by. She just walked toward the longest wall in the family room, the wall Tag and I had covered in white paint. We’d covered all the walls, erasing everything. She laid her hand against it, almost in memorial. It reminded me of the way people traced the names of the soldiers on the Vietnam wall Tag and I had visited in Washington DC. That wall hummed with grief and memory, and it drew the dead when their loved ones visited.
The girl curled her fingers softly against the fresh paint and then looked back at me. That was all. And then she was gone.
My phone rang out in angry peeling, and I stumbled around until I found it. I checked the time before I answered the call, and knew immediately that it couldn’t be good news.
“Moses?” his voice echoed like he stood in an empty hallway.
“Tag. It’s three a.m. Where are you?’
“I’m in jail.”
“Ah, Tag.” I groaned and ran a hand down my face. I shouldn’t have let him go. But Tag had been managing himself for a long time, and a beer hadn’t derailed him in ages.
“In Nephi. I messed up, Mo. I was playing pool, nursing a beer, shootin’ the shit with the local boys. Georgia was right, everybody was pretty plastered, but that just made it easier to win. Everything was just fine. Then these guys start talking about the missing girls. That got my attention and I asked him, ‘What missing girls?’ One of ‘em brings me a flyer that’s stuck to the wall. The girl that’s missing is a little blonde girl, maybe seventeen. She was last seen in Fountain Green, just over the hill, on the Fourth of July. It made me think of Molly, Mo. They said rumors were she was kind of wild. People said the same thing about Molly, as if she was to blame for her own death.” Tag’s voice rose, and I could hear the same old pain rearing its ugly head.
“Then an old guy sitting at the bar perks up and mentions that you’re back in the area. They all start speculating that you’re the one that’s been takin’ all these girls all these years. They said there’s been a few. They all remembered the picture on the overpass. One of ‘em even knew that you were the one who told the police where to find Molly. I shouldn’t have said anything, Mo. But that’s not me. Ya know?”
Yeah. I knew. And I groaned, knowing what was coming. My face was hot and my breath short. I knew I was hated, but I didn’t know the full extent of the reason why.
“Next thing I know, one of the old guys is swinging a pool stick at my head.”
I groaned again. Tag loved a fight. I was pretty sure how it all ended.
“So, now I’m here, at the county jail. Sheriff Dawson was so glad to see me, he questioned me personally. In fact, I’ve spent the last two hours answering questions about where I was on the Fourth of July, as if had something to do with the girl’s disa
ppearance. Then they started asking me questions about you. Did I know where you were on the Fourth? Shit,” Tag spat in disgust.
“I had a fight that night, remember? So luckily I was able to provide them with a pretty clear timeline for both of us. I have to pay a fine, and I’m sure the owner at the Hunky Monkey is gonna want me to pay for damages. Which I will. But your truck is still there, parked on Main. So you’re gonna need to come get me in the morning.”
“The Hunky Monkey?” My head was starting to hurt.
“Or whatever it’s called. It might be the Honky Mama, but that seems kind of derogatory,” Tag mused before continuing on with his narrative.
“It’s all bogus. And they’re gonna let me go. But not until tomorrow morning. They’re telling me I’ve had too much to drink and I will have to sleep in a cell tonight. And I’ve been told not to leave the area for the next 48 hours.”
I could tell Tag wasn’t the slightest bit drunk. I’d seen Tag drunk. I’d pulled Tag from a bar before, swinging and cursing, only a few beers in, and this wasn’t even that.
“What do you want me to do?” I asked. “If my truck is sitting on Main in Nephi, then how am I going to come get you?”
“I don’t know, man. Go see if Georgia can help you out. I hope it’s still there. Sheriff Dawson made noises about impounding it, saying something about a search.”
“I didn’t even own that truck in July. I bought it in August, remember? What in the hell do they think they’ll find?”
“That’s right. I forgot about that!” Tag cursed and I heard someone telling him his time was up.
I said a few choice words that Tag heartily repeated and told him I would figure something out and I would be there to pick him up in the morning.
But morning found me with no solutions. I could go to Georgia, but I decided I’d rather steal a bike and peddle home with Tag on my handlebars than ask Georgia to help me bail my friend out of jail.
By the time the cleaning girl arrived in an old white van sporting a nervous smile, I was at my wits end. I took one look at her ride and offered her $500 to let me drive it in to Nephi. Her blue eyes got wide and she readily agreed, nodding her bleached-blonde head so vigorously her big pink bow slid over and fell in her eyes. I promised to have it back to her by the time she was finished in the house, and I headed out the door.
Georgia
I THOUGHT I SAW MOSES drive off in Lisa Kendrick’s white van. He drove past our house with his head averted, as if he really wished I hadn’t seen him. I had just come back from the post office and was stepping out of my little Ford pick-up when the van shot past. I never drove Myrtle again after Eli died. My dad had sold her to a friend in Fountain Green so I didn’t have to see her anymore. Maybe it was melodramatic. But as my Dad had kindly said, there are some battles you have to fight in order to heal, and this isn’t one of them. Just sell the truck, George. So I did.
I watched the van as it slowed at the corner, turned, and headed for the highway. He was headed north toward Nephi. Which could mean anything, but considering Tag had left the night before in Moses’s truck, I had a pretty good idea that’s where Moses was headed too. But in Lisa’s van?
I slammed the door and headed for Moses’s house, not caring if I was being a nosy neighbor. I wanted to get the photo album, and now I wouldn’t have to face Moses again in order to do it. He’d asked me about Eli’s pajamas . . . his Batman pajamas. I thought for a minute he was trying to wound me. But he couldn’t have known Eli died in those pajamas. He couldn’t have known. But it had shaken me, and I hadn’t lasted very long after that. I wondered if Moses had continued turning pages after I’d gone.
The front door was unlocked and I called up the stairs as soon as I entered.
“Hello?” I thought I could hear water running. “Hello?”
The water shut off and a woman’s voice shouted back down to me. “Just a minute!”
“Lisa? Is that you?”
Lisa Kendrick rounded the corner at the top of the stairs, wiping her hands on a rag, her hair frizzing out wildly from her head.
“Oh my gosh! Georgia, you scared me!” She fanned her face with the damp rag. “This whole house gives me the creeps.”
“Did you let Moses take your van?” I asked, ignoring the comments about the house. The whole town needed to get over it already.
“Yes. I did . . . Should I have said no?” The teenager immediately started worrying her lip. “His friend took his truck, I guess. He just needed to get into Nephi, and he offered me $500 bucks. But my mom will kick my trash if anything happens to the van. But he said he’d bring it right back! I shouldn’t have let him take it. He gives me the creeps too, actually. He’s hot. But he’s creepy. Kind of like Johnny Depp in Pirates? Totally hot, but way freaky.” She was babbling and I was already bored.
“I’m sure it’s fine. Don’t let me get in your way. I just stopped by to grab something I left last night.” Lisa’s eyes widened, and I could see that she really wanted to know what I could possibly have left in the creepy house of a freaky hot guy, but she restrained herself and turned back to the bathroom, albeit slowly.
“I don’t mind you sticking around. I don’t like being here alone,” she added. “My mom told me I couldn’t take this job. But when I told her how much he was paying, she gave in. But I’m supposed to call her every half hour. What if she stops by and the van isn’t here?” Lisa’s voice rose in alarm. “I am going to be in so much trouble.”
“I’m sure it will all be fine,” I repeated, waving as I ducked through the arch and away from the girl. It amazed me that people were still talking about Moses Wright. Clearly, Lisa’s mom hadn’t shared the fact with her daughter that Moses and I had been involved at one point. I’d gotten my fair share of talk when Eli was born. People had quickly spread their conclusions about my baby’s parentage. But maybe because I never talked, because I kept my head down and just lived, the talk had died and people stopped starring at Eli when we were out. I foolishly thought I would never have to talk about Moses. But then Eli had turned three, gone to pre-school, and suddenly, he had his own questions. And my son was as stubborn as I was.
“Is Grandpa my dad?” Eli had asked, spooning up mac ‘n’ cheese, and trying to get it in his mouth before the little noodles escaped. He refused to let me help him, and at the rate he was going, he was going to starve.
“No. Grandpa’s my dad. He’s your grandpa.”
“Then who’s my dad?” And there it was, the question that had never once come up before. Not in three years. And it hung in the air, waiting for my response. And no amount of head ducking or holding my tongue was going to make it go away.
I shut the fridge calmly and poured Eli a glass of milk, stalling, stalling.
“Mommy! Who’s my dad?” Eli had given up on the spoon and had scooped up a handful of noodles. They were squishing out the sides of his little fist, but so far there were none in his mouth.
“Your dad is Moses,” I answered at last.
“MO-SES!” Eli laughed forming each syllable with equal emphasis. “That’s a funny name. Where is MO-SES?”
“I don’t know where he is.”
Eli stopped laughing. “How come? Is he lost?”
“Yes. He is.” And that fact still made my heart ache.
Eli was quiet for several seconds, filling his hands with more pasta. I thought maybe he’d already lost interest in the discussion. I watched as he finally managed to press several orange noodles past his lips. He grinned, pleased with himself, chewed happily, and swallowed noisily before he spoke again.
“Maybe I can find him. Maybe I can find MO-SES. I’m a good finder.”
He brought me back, Moses had said. Maybe Eli had found him after all. The thought made me stumble, and I shrugged the memory off as I walked through the kitchen and snagged the photo album from the counter. I paused for a moment, considering whether I should leave something for him. I knew there were duplicates, or pictures that were cl
ose enough that I could part with one of a similar shot. But I didn’t want to start pulling my book apart. And I didn’t want to leave the precious pictures in a stack on the counter for Lisa to see and for Tag to thumb through. I couldn’t do that. And then I knew what I would do. I would make Moses a book too. I would make copies of the pictures I didn’t have duplicates of, and I would write descriptions and dates and paste them alongside the photos so he would have the details he claimed he wanted.
Having reached a decision, I scooped the book up in my arms and turned back toward the front door. As I did, my eyes glanced off the living room walls, and my gaze stuttered and caught. In the middle of the back wall, about three-fourths of the way up, the paint was peeling. And it wasn’t just a little bubble. It was a circle about the size of my palm, and the white edges were bubbled back, revealing dark swirls beneath.
I approached the spot and raised my hand to try to smooth it back, wondering what had happened. It reminded me of the time my mom had repainted the kitchen when I was ten. The original paint had been there since the seventies, and when she tried to put a fresh new coat of pale blue over the top, the paint had bubbled just like this. It had something to do with oil base and water base, though as a kid I didn’t care. I’d just enjoyed peeling the long strips of paint from the wall as my mom had bemoaned all the time she’d wasted. They had ended up having to treat the walls with some kind of stripper and they’d even sanded them for good measure.
I tugged at one of the edges, unable to resist, and another section came off in my hand.
There was a face there.
The piece I’d pulled from the wall revealed an eye, a piece of a slim nose, and half of a smiling mouth. I peeled a little more, freeing the entire face. I remembered this picture. I’d only seen it once. I’d only seen it that terrible morning. I had never come back inside the house. Not until last night. And last night the wall had been perfect. Pristine.
