The Missing Girl (9 page)

After supper and an hour of watching a show, she told her sisters to come up to her room. “Why?” Stevie said. “I’ve got better things to do.”

“You need to come up,” Beauty said, and she gazed at
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Stevie, hoping her face showed nothing but resolve. She went ahead up the attic stairs to wait for them. In her room she paced. She had been put on the spot by her parents. Nothing out of the ordinary in that. The oldest, the most responsible—who else could tell her sisters as well as she? Not their father. Too rough in his ways. Mimicking a famous saying, he had answered her protests with “I am the decider.” But what about her mother, that tender heart? She had begged off, her cheeks ashen and sagging as she said, “Oh, no, honey! I can’t do it, I just can’t. You know me, I’ll be crying my head off, I won’t be any use at all.”

“What’s up?” Mim said. She was lying on her bed, next to the window, with a book perched on her stomach. She peered at Beauty nearsightedly.

Beauty shook her head. “Wait. Anyway, here they come.”

Stevie was in the lead, her steps quick and firm. Behind her, Fancy toe tapping on each step, and bringing up the rear, Autumn patiently following Fancy. All of them were talking at full volume as they squirmed their way around the room and settled down.

Fancy seated herself on the floor, her legs crossed, her
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knees touching the ground. Fancy was flexible in a way Beauty envied, but what in the world was the child wearing? One of her odd getups: a tiny pink shortie top that Beauty recognized as a Stevie castoff, a ruffled orange skirt that her mother had discarded after spilling bleach on it, way too big for Fancy but gathered together with a safety pin, and on her head a red paper crown.

Autumn and Stevie collapsed on Beauty’s bed, under the eaves, bickering over a pair of Stevie’s jeans that Autumn had borrowed to wear to school “. . . without permission,” Stevie said, her voice just short of a shout. “And you’re way, way too big for them. You’ve probably stretched them all out of size.”

“I did not. Anyway, I’m the same size as you.”

“Okay, quiet down,” Beauty said, but they didn’t.

“The same size? Oh, please! Look at your legs and look at mine.” Stevie stuck out her legs and pulled up her jeans. “Your legs are much fatter.”

Autumn twirled her hair furiously. “I do not have fat legs. You shouldn’t say such a thing.”

“Oh, well, if you want to believe that, what do I care.

But we’re not the same size, not for a moment.” Stevie put her hands around her little waist and looked pointedly at
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her breasts, which were not little. Autumn had no breasts yet, to speak of, and not much of a waist, either. “Anyway, we don’t have to talk about it,” Stevie said. She smiled condescendingly. “You can’t borrow my clothes without permission. Got that? End of discussion.”

“Why are you so fussy and selfish?” Autumn wailed. “I only wore them for one day.”

“Don’t fight, you two, bad two.” Fancy spit on her fingers and clapped her hands in some obscure ritual of her own. “Don’t fight, ain’t right, tonight I’ll fly a kite, that’s a poem, that’s a good poem, I’ll tell Mrs. Sokolow my teacher tomorrow, she likes my poems.”

But there was no stopping Stevie. She was on the righteous path. “They’re my pants, Autumn, and I am not selfish. Take that back! I just want my things left alone. I don’t want other people messing around with them.”

“I’m not other people,” Autumn wept. “I’m your sister.”

“You two,” Beauty said, “you two oil and water people, stop now, I have something to tell you, all of you.” She spoke too quietly. Quiet did not prevail.

Stevie’s rational tone had evaporated, and she was talking loudly into Autumn’s ear, while Fancy had picked up on “oil and water people” and was repeating it over and
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over with pleasure. It was a madhouse.

Standing near the bureau, fingering the scarf draped around her shoulders, Beauty was ready to just give up, quit trying to quiet them down. She didn’t want to deliver this message, anyway. “Be quiet,” she said again, and finally raised her voice. “All right, then, shut up. I have to tell you all something. And it’s important. So shut
up.
”

Beauty’s stomach heaved. All eyes were trained on her now. Mim nodded slightly, as if she knew it wasn’t going to be good, while Stevie pursed her lips suspiciously and Autumn’s eyes went out of focus. Only Fancy went on chanting, “Oil and water people,” mesmerizing herself.

Mim ran two fingers across Fancy’s mouth in the zipper motion.

Beauty pulled the ends of the scarf together, then in a sudden flush of heat said rapidly, “You know what a hard time Mommy and Poppy . . .” She faltered. Why was she using those childish names? Only Autumn, the baby of the family, and Fancy, who might as well have been the baby, called their parents by those names. “They’re having, I mean, we’re all having, we’re a family, it’s all of us—”

What a botch of a job she was doing. She straightened her shoulders and began again. “You guys know Auntie
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Bernice is all alone over there in New Hampshire, and she’s lonely, and she could use some help, and things are tough here with money, you know, so Mom and Dad have decided—” She took a breath. “They’ve decided to lend Stevie to Auntie Bernie for a while, just to ease things up here. Auntie Bernie’s happy about it. She’ll pay Stevie’s dental bills, which are big. Huge. Right, Stevie? And she’ll give you an allowance and money for clothes for helping her around the house,” she said, watching Stevie. “It’s not forever,” she added.

“They’re going to
lend
me?” Stevie said, in a choked, low voice.

“Me,” Fancy said. “Me. Lend me. I want to live with Auntie Bernie.”

Mim stood up, as if they were at a meeting. “Lend Stevie?” Her voice, unusually, was loud. “What is she, a sack of groceries? A cup of sugar? A pair of shoes?” Her voice rose even louder. “That’s
disgusting
.”

Beauty cleared her throat. “Since Dad fell off the roof at the Lesley place and has been laid up, not able to work—”

“What’s that got to do with lending me?” Stevie said, her hand across her mouth.

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“It’s money,” Beauty said. “Yeah, money. That’s what it’s all about.” Beauty saw that she was wringing her hands, something she thought took place only in books. She stared at her hands for a moment and then, with an effort, pulled them apart and clasped them behind her back.

“Whose idea was this?” Mim asked.

Beauty shook her head. “Don’t, Mim,” she pleaded.

“Don’t go there.”

“Don’t? Don’t ask? I think Stevie deserves the truth.”

“Yes, I do. Whose idea was it?” Stevie said, and the strange thing was that she, the shouter of the family, seemed to have changed places—or voices, anyway—with Mim. She was the one now speaking softly. “I want to know.”

“Dad’s, I think,” Beauty said reluctantly.

“Figures.” Stevie gave a small laugh. “And Mom is such a sap, she does anything he says.”

“Isn’t that child abuse, lending out one of your kids?”

Autumn said. She started sobbing. “I bet they could be arrested or something.”

“Oh, no,” Fancy cried. “I don’t want to go to jail.”

“Everybody, quiet. Fancy, you’re not going to jail,”

Beauty said. “Nobody’s going to jail. Listen,” she said to
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them all, “I’m trying to explain.”

“Oh, the hell you are.” Stevie leaped to her feet. Gone was the small Mim-ish voice. “I should punch you out,”

she said, as if the whole thing were Beauty’s idea, had nothing to do with their parents. “You always wanted to get rid of me, and I know why.”

“Honey,” Beauty said.

“I’m prettier than you. I’m the pretty one,” Stevie said.

“And I have a boyfriend. And you—can’t—stand—it.”

Her face was bright with fury or fear. Her hair stood out all around her head, crackled as if struck with lightning.

“Honey,” Beauty repeated helplessly, and began to cry.

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EVERYBODY IN THE WORLD CRIED

MY FACE IS HOT, it is
sooo
hot, maybe I will die with hotness. I have The Urge, like Beauty my sister told me about, so I am hot and talking, but nobody is listening, and my face is stiff like paper, because I cried. First Beauty my sister cried. No, first she said Mommy was going to lend Stevie my sister. And then she cried. And then I cried. Stevie my sister is mean to me, but I don’t want her lended out.

And Autumn my sister cried. She leaned her head on my shoulder and she said Fancy, Fancy, she said my name like that, Fancy, Fancy, Fancy, and I cried more and more and more. And I think everybody in the world cried, only
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Mim my sister didn’t cry, she said crying won’t do any good, because I never saw Mim my sister cry, not ever, but just sometimes, because she is not a crying person like me and Autumn.

And then Mommy came up the stairs, and she said, Oh, that is so hard to climb, and she was making big breaths, and she wanted to hug Stevie my sister, but she said No, don’t you hug me, I hate you. And then Mommy cried.

And I wanted to stop crying. But I didn’t.

And then Poppy came up the stairs on his crutches, and I could hear him bang, bang up the stairs, and he said,

“What is going on here?” And we all cried some more, and we were saying not to lend Stevie my sister to anybody, not even Auntie Bernie, and Poppy said, “Well, girls, we have to do it and if I could loan you all out I would do it in a heartbeat,” and he said that was because we’re not having any money. Then he said something really funny.

He said, “When my ship comes in, we won’t have anything to worry about.” But isn’t that funny? Because he has no ships.

And then Beauty my sister said she would get more work on her job and give all the money to Poppy and ride her bike to work in the mall two miles away and not take
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the car or the bus to save money. And Poppy said it was all talk and no money, and his back hurt bad from the stairs and we would lend Stevie my sister to Auntie Bernie, anyway, until he got better and suddenly, guess what, the lights went out, all the lights were dark, and it was scary and we all screamed, and Poppy said a really bad curse word that begins with
F
that you’re not supposed to say, and he said that word three times.

And Mommy said it must be a power outage or maybe it’s Mr. God or maybe it isn’t, and she said, “Huddle Herbert, did you pay the electric bill?” and he said “With what, Blossom?” and it was dark, and they weren’t nice to each other. So I cried more.

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GATE IN HER THROAT

STANDING IN THE lunch line, Beauty was jolted by a kick to her heel. “That’s my foot, jerk!” she snapped, and she turned to see Ethan smiling at her. “Was that supposed to be a new kind of greeting?” She meant it to be funny, but it came out sullen.

The smile faded. “Whoa,” Ethan said, putting up his hands. “What’s b-b-b-biting you?”

“Nothing,” she said, pushing her lunch tray along the metal bars. How could she explain her hideous mood without telling him everything—the stupid news about lending Stevie and how, all week, she had been running from sister to sister, wiping tears, soothing tempers, excusing what
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she didn’t want to excuse. Could she say that a moment ago it had just felt
good
to give in and snap at someone, to let herself go, to lose it?

She took a can of soda and turned to say she was sorry.

The least she could do. But Ethan was gone, moving through the crowded cafeteria, his shoulders hunched so tightly they were practically up around his ears. So
she
was the jerk. She’d just ruined everything. He was sensitive—

didn’t she know that about him already?

She grabbed her tray, paid, and left the line. Ethan was slouched at one of the small tables all the way across the room, near the door. She wanted to go to him, and she didn’t dare. She sat down at the edge of a bench, next to a girl she knew from math class. “Hey, Beauty,” Ruby said.

“Hey, Ruby.” She stared at the bowl of soup on her tray, dipped in her spoon, and left it there. She wasn’t hungry.

Her father thought they were going to save money by sending Stevie away. One less mouth to feed, etcetera.

Beauty had tried talking to her father, persuading him that it wasn’t worth making everyone miserable, but he stonewalled her. “I’ve made up my mind.” He was like a horse with blinders. He was desperate to do
something
to help out the family, and that was all he could see.

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She glanced at the clock. In ten minutes the bell would ring. Ethan was still at the table in the far corner, still alone. She stood up. Go over to him, she told herself. Do it, you’ll think of something to say. Her stomach thudding, she picked up her tray and threaded her way through the tables, returning greetings, nodding to all these people she had known for years, some of them since kinder-garten.

“Hey, Marsha . . . Dyane . . . Kerry . . .” The little smile, the quick lift of the voice. Did they know she and Ethan Boswell were—well, whatever they were, if they were anything, anymore. Of course, they knew. They knew everything, saw everything, talked about everything. This was
Mallory
.

She stopped at Ethan’s table, stood next to him.

“Ethan?” He didn’t look up. He shoved his hand into a bag of chips, brought out a bunch, and poked them into his mouth. He chewed, showing teeth, tongue, the mashed-up chips.

“Ethan?” she said again.

“Yeah? What?”

She put her tray on the table, sat down across from him, and picked up her can of soda. A sip of liquid
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squeaked past the gate in her throat. “I’m sorry.” Another sip. Her lips were like clay. “I’m—I’ve got . . . things on my mind, and—”

“Yeah. Sure,” he said. “Forget it.”

“No, Ethan. It’s like this—”

“I didn’t kill you, you know,” he said. “I just sort of—”

“I know,” she said. “It didn’t even hurt, really. It’s just—

there’s a mess at home,” she blurted. “A mess, and I’m freaked, and I acted stupid. I’m sorry. Hello. Can you say something, please.”