Give, a novel

by Erica Carpenter Witsell

  Sarah lifted Jay from his playpen and set him on her hip. She took a final glance at the girls outside and went to find Len. He was at his desk in the office, the month’s bills spread out before him, but he looked up as soon as she walked in.

  “Still no sign of her?”

  Sarah shook her head. “I can’t believe this.”

  Len grimaced. “I can. This is classic Laurel.”

  “But Jessie and Emma . . . They know she’s coming. They’re waiting for her. It’s cruel.”

  Len nodded grimly. “To Laurel, only one person matters. And that person is Laurel.”

  “Oh, Len.”

  “It’s true. Here,” he said, holding out his arms. “Let me take Jay for a while. It’s not like I’m getting anything done here, anyway.”

  She set her son down, and he immediately toddled toward his father. Len scooped him into his lap.

  “Len? What should we do?”

  Len looked up at her miserably. “What can we do, Sarah? There’s nothing we can do.”

  It was almost eleven thirty when the girls appeared at the back door.

  “Is Laurel here yet?” Jessie asked.

  “Not yet.”

  “We’re hungry.”

  Sarah glanced at the clock as if she had not been studying it every few minutes all morning.

  “Well, it’s practically lunchtime.”

  “Are we eating here? I thought you said Laurel was taking us to Camelot,” Jessie said.

  “What’s Camelot?” Emma asked.

  Sarah sighed. “Well, here it’s an amusement park. With rides and things.” She turned to Jessie. “I did say that. Because that’s what Laurel said. But maybe something’s happened. Maybe she isn’t able to come.”

  She sent the girls to wash their hands and called to Len. He came into the kitchen with Jay on his hip and lay his hand on Sarah’s back where she stood at the counter slicing bread.

  “What can I do?”

  “Get Jay set up? Drinks for the girls?”

  Len was fastening the toddler into his high chair when the two girls galloped back into the kitchen and climbed into their seats beside him. Jay babbled at them happily.

  “Watch this, Daddy,” Jessie said. “Watch.”

  Len was pouring milk into two small cups. “I’m watching,” he said, setting them on the table. “What?”

  Jessie hid her face behind her napkin and turned to her little brother.

  “Where’s Jessie?” she said. “Where’s Jessie?”

  Jay squealed in anticipation.

  “Here she is!” Jessie said, dropping the napkin from her face. Jay bounced in his seat, laughing.

  “I want to do peek-a-boo, too!” Emma said. Quickly, she reached for her napkin and knocked over her cup of milk.

  “Oh, Emma,” Sarah said. “Careful.”

  Jay watched as the pool of milk spread. “Uh-oh! Uh-oh!” he said, pointing.

  “I’m sorry! I didn’t meaned to,” Emma stammered.

  Len wiped up the puddle with a kitchen towel, then patted his daughter’s shoulder.

  “It’s just milk, Emma. No point crying over it.”

  “But I’m not crying,” Emma said, her face red.

  “It’s just an expression, Emma,” Sarah said quickly. “We know you’re not crying.”

  “What’s an expression?” Jessie wanted to know, but at that moment, there was a knock at the door. Sarah started visibly. How could she have been waiting all morning for this moment and still feel so surprised? She looked, not at the door, but at the clock. It was 11:43.

  Len turned toward the door, but the handle was already turning, the door opening. In another instant, Laurel appeared in the doorway. Her eyes swept over the room quickly before coming to rest on her daughters.

  “Hello, girls!” she said.

  Jessie and Emma stared at her, wide-eyed and silent.

  “Can’t you say hello?” she asked.

  “Hello, Laurel,” Len said dryly. “You finally made it.”

  Laurel glanced at her bare wrist as if she were wearing a watch. “What? Am I late?”

  “It’s almost noon.”

  “Well, I said eleven-ish, didn’t I? I think this counts—”

  “Nine,” Sarah interrupted. “You told me nine.”

  Laurel studied her. “Well, excuse me. I was sure I said . . . I was sure we’d said eleven.”

  Sarah sighed. “We were just getting lunch ready.”

  Laurel nodded, surveying the table. “Ah, the baby. What’s his name? Jeff, or . . . Jason, isn’t it?”

  “Jay,” Len said. “Would you care to join us, Laurel?”

  Laurel frowned. “I can’t. Kent is waiting in the car.” She turned to Emma and Jessie. “You two ready to go to Camelot?”

  Jessie nodded.

  “Come on then. Kent’s probably medium-rare out there already.”

  “The girls haven’t had their lunch yet,” Sarah said quickly.

  “Well, here,” Laurel said, taking two slices of bread from the basket Sarah had just set on the table. “Why don’t I just take some food for the girls to eat in the car? I told Kent we’d just be a minute.”

  Laurel made a move to reach for the plate of cheese, but Sarah snatched it off the table.

  “I’ll do it,” she said. “Just give me a minute.”

  “Or, you know, we could just eat there? I’m sure they have food there, don’t they?”

  “Just wait a minute, Laurel,” Sarah said curtly. “The girls are hungry, and it’ll take you at least twenty minutes to get there, and then you’ll have to park.”

  Quickly, Sarah made two cheese and lettuce sandwiches, wrapped them in foil, and put them in a paper grocery bag. She got two apples from a bowl on the counter, put four cookies in a little baggy, and pulled some napkins from their holder on the kitchen table.

  “Mommy, is the cheese thin?” Emma asked, watching her. “I only like it when it’s thin.”

  “I know you do. Now, eat your sandwiches first, girls,” she told them, handing Laurel the paper bag.

  Jessie nodded dutifully. She had been uncharacteristically quiet since Laurel’s arrival, but now she looked up at Laurel and said quietly, “I think I remember you.”

  Laurel beamed. “Of course you do.”

  Suddenly, Jessie slid down from her seat. “I do! I remember you! Are we going now? To Camelot?”

  Laurel nodded and Jessie gave a little yelp of excitement. She turned to her sister, who still sat uncertainly at the table.

  “Come on, Emma. Let’s go!”

  Emma looked first at Jessie, then at Laurel. Finally, she turned to Sarah. “Mommy?”

  “It’s okay, Emma,” Sarah said. “This is Laurel. You know, who we talked about? She’s your . . . She’s going to take you to Cam— She’s going to take you to an amusement park. It will be fun, sweetheart.”

  “Come on, Emma.” Jessie said again. “Let’s go. We’re gonna ride the rides.”

  Slowly, Emma slid out of her chair.

  Laurel reached out for her. “My baby. You’re all grown up.”

  Emma shifted away from her. “I’m not a baby,” she said. She held up four fingers. “I’m four years old.”

  “Of course you are,” Laurel said. “I know that. I’m your mother.”

  “Mommy said you’re just my . . . my . . . my ’logical mother.”

  Laurel looked up at Len and Sarah. “She did, did she?”

  “Emma’s very attached to Sarah, Laurel,” Len said. “I’m sure you understand.”

  Laurel snorted. “Of course.” She turned back to Emma. “Well, aren’t you a lucky little girl,” she said. “You have two mommies.”

  “But you’re just my ’logical mother! Mommy is my mommy,” Emma insisted.

  Laurel scoffed audibly. “I see. Well, Emma, do you know what biological means?”

  Emma nodded seriously. “It means I was in your belly.” She looked up at Laurel’s waist.

  Laurel smi
led. “That’s right. You were in my belly for nine whole months. And then—oh geez, I forgot about Kent. He’s probably dying of heat stroke out there. Seriously, I don’t know how you can stand the heat down here. We’d better go. You girls ready?”

  “Yes!” Jessie shouted excitedly. “Bye, Mom. Bye, Dad. See you later.” She grabbed her sister’s hand and pulled her toward the door.

  “Bye,” Laurel called. “We’ll be back . . . I don’t know when, but we’ll be back.”

  When Laurel brought the girls home late that afternoon, Sarah and Len met them at the door. Both girls looked tired, and Emma’s freckles stood out darkly against her sunburned skin. Her eyes were red, too; Sarah could see that she’d been crying.

  “Oh, Emma,” she said, rushing to her. “Are you okay?”

  Emma collapsed into her arms, burying her face in Sarah’s chest. Sarah felt her little body shuddering against her.

  “What’s wrong with her? What happened?”

  Laurel tossed her head. “Nothing.”

  “But she’s been crying.”

  Laurel scoffed and turned to Jessie. “She said she wanted to go, didn’t she?”

  Jessie nodded solemnly.

  “Go where, Laurel?” Len asked. “What happened?”

  “She got scared,” Jessie said. “We went on a scary ride, and she got scared.”

  “What ride?” Sarah asked. “What scary ride?”

  “It was the pirate ship,” Laurel said. “It’s not that scary. The guy said she was big enough if she had an adult with her.”

  “You took these girls on the pirate ship?” Len said, his voice low. Even without seeing his face, Sarah could feel his anger rising.

  Laurel rolled her eyes. “Why not? They wanted to.”

  Sarah glared at her, then turned to Jessie again. “Jess, what happened?” she said. “Please tell me.”

  “I wanted to go on the pirate ship, and she—” Jessie gestured at Laurel. “She said it was okay. She said she would go with me. So Emma was going to stay with that man, you know? That man?”

  Sarah nodded.

  “But Emma didn’t want to,” Jessie went on. “She said she wanted to be with me. And so then she—” Jessie pointed again at Laurel. “Then she said why didn’t Emma just come with us on the ride.”

  Sarah looked hard at Laurel, her eyes narrowed. “So she didn’t say she wanted to go on it.”

  Laurel threw up her hands. “Yes, she did. I asked her, ‘Do you want to come on the ride with Jessie and me or stay here with Kent?’ And she said she wanted to go with Jessie and me.”

  Sarah threw back her head and groaned. She opened her mouth to speak. “Laurel, I know you may have meant—”

  But Len interrupted her. “Jesus Christ, Laurel! You took a four-year-old on the pirate ship? What the hell were you thinking?”

  “I was thinking,” Laurel said, mimicking his tone, “that she wanted to go. Since she said so.”

  “She wanted to be with her sister,” Sarah said, exasperated. “Couldn’t you see that?”

  Laurel shrugged. “I’m not a mind reader. If she says she wants to—”

  “But the pirate ship?” Sarah shuddered. She had never liked rides, but she had been on a pirate ship ride once. She and Pete had been to the county fair in Eureka, and he had cajoled her into joining him. She had to admit it hadn’t looked so bad from the ground. A swinging boat—how scary could it be? But she remembered clearly how terrified she had felt, with the ship swinging higher and higher above the midway, so high that she had been sure that something was wrong. It had broken, somehow. It another moment it would come unmoored from its base and they would all be launched through the air. She had screamed so loudly her voice had been hoarse for days.

  And she had been a grown up. She clutched Emma to her.

  “Oh, sweetness,” she said, holding her daughter against her chest. “That must have been so scary.” She put her lips against Emma’s head. Little wisps of blonde hair had come loose from her braids; one ribbon was missing.

  “Are you okay now?” she asked her daughter gently, murmuring into her hair.

  Emma nodded almost imperceptibly. Without showing her face, she moved her head up until her mouth was next to Sarah’s ear.

  “Mommy,” she whispered. “It wouldn’t stop. I wanted it to, but it wouldn’t stop.”

  “Oh, sweetness,” Sarah said, hugging her tight. “I know, I know. But, it’s over now, darling. You’re home now.”

  CHAPTER 20

  Three Years Later

  Emma

  Emma was already down in the pasture when the rust-stained pickup rattled up the gravel driveway.

  “Emma,” she heard Laurel call. “They’re here. Bring her on up now.”

  Emma didn’t move. At her side, a small, brown Shetland pony stood placidly in her green halter, one back hoof resting on its tip. Emma stepped closer and pressed her face into the pony’s wiry mane until her nose rested against the sleek coat below. She breathed in Raisin’s familiar scent, fighting back her tears. She could not imagine the rest of the summer in Mendocino without the pony, never mind all the years to come.

  “Emma! Bring her on up now,” Laurel called again.

  Emma moved so that she and Raisin stood face-to-face. She had to bend down only a little to bring her head level with the pony’s. Then she touched her nose to Raisin’s and exhaled gently into her velvety nostrils. Raisin’s muzzle was the softest thing in the world, the warm air she breathed back at Emma sweet and grassy and delicious.

  “Good-bye, Raisin,” she whispered. “I’ll miss you.”

  Raisin looked back at her serenely from under her long, dark lashes, and Emma’s throat felt so tight she could not swallow. She threw her arms around the pony’s neck.

  In another minute, Emma heard her sister’s footsteps on the path that led down to the pasture from the house, but she didn’t look up.

  “Em?” Jessie said. “Mom says to bring her up. They’re here.”

  “I know.”

  “Want to ride her? I’ll lead.”

  Emma shook her head. “No. I’ll walk her.”

  Her voice was not right, and Jessie met her eye and then looked away again.

  “I’ll get the gate then.”

  Emma blinked, grateful to her sister for all she didn’t say. One kind word from Jessie and she would not be able to hold back her tears.

  At the fence, Jessie opened the gate, standing on the lower rung as it swung open, and Emma led Raisin through. The pony let out a gusty sigh as they walked up the hill. Emma held the lead rope loosely in one hand, the other resting on the pony’s withers.

  Laurel stood in the gravel driveway, a hand on one hip, watching them come.

  “Finally,” she said. “What took you so long?”

  Emma said nothing. She looked not at Laurel, but at the large man leaning against the driver’s door of the white pickup now parked in the driveway.

  “That your pony?” he asked.

  Emma nodded.

  The man walked a circle around Raisin, letting his hand trail along her coat as he moved. He pulled back her rubbery lips to look at her teeth and ran his huge hands down her legs. Raisin picked up each foot obediently, and he tapped at her frog with his index finger. Then he stepped back, hoisting his jeans up on his hips.

  “She a good one?” he said, looking at Emma. “Ride okay?”

  Emma nodded again, not trusting herself to speak.

  “Shetlands can be pretty stubborn.”

  “She’s not.”

  “I’ll have to take your word for it, I guess.” He grabbed his enormous pot belly with both hands and chuckled to himself.

  Emma frowned. Once, during the first summer she had spent at Baymont, when she was only five, Raisin wouldn’t do what Emma asked. Laurel had ordered Emma to dismount and then climbed into the saddle herself. On Raisin’s back, Laurel’s legs reached almost to the ground. The little pony had staggered under her weight, her eyes wid
e and nostrils flared.

  “Don’t hurt her,” Emma had called out desperately. “You’re too heavy.”

  “I’m not,” Laurel had said. “I’m teaching her who’s boss.”

  Now, Emma glanced up at the man. Laurel was not thin, but this man looked almost twice her size. She stepped closer to the pony and laid her hand protectively on Raisin’s neck.

  The man saw her and understood. “Oh, don’t you worry, sweetheart. I’m not gonna ride her. She’s for my grandbaby.”

  He turned to Laurel. “You were asking seventy-five?”

  She nodded.

  He reached into the console of his truck and handed Laurel a wad of bills. Then he took the lead rope from Emma and led Raisin to the back of the pickup. He lowered the tailgate with one hand. There was no ramp, but he didn’t hesitate. He squatted next to Raisin, wrapped one large arm around her rump and the other beneath her chest. With a low grunt, he lifted her into the back of the truck.

  Emma heard Raisin’s hooves scrambling for purchase on the metal truck bed, saw her eyes go wide with surprise, so that the whites showed at the corners.

  “It’s okay, Raisin,” she called, finding her voice at last. “You’re okay.”

  And she was. The man had put a flake of hay in the bed behind the cab, and Raisin found it immediately, tossing it with her muzzle before beginning to eat.

  Emma turned away, hurt by the pony’s incomprehension. Almost she preferred her wild eyes and clawing hooves to this calm indifference. Emma had been soothed countless times by exactly this placidity, the soft rhythm of Raisin’s grazing never faltering as Emma sobbed against her neck. But now—how could Raisin eat at a time like this? Emma’s throat ached at the thought, and as she stood there, holding back her tears, a piercing thought went through her.

  Here in Baymont, Raisin was Emma’s refuge, the only being, other than her sister, to whom she could turn for solace. And suddenly every other distress that Emma had ever felt here—the homesickness, the persistent unease of not belonging, the awful ache of longing for her parents—paled in comparison to the magnitude of this loss. In a moment, Raisin would be gone, and then who would there be to comfort her?