What Happened to My Sister: A Novel

What Happened to My Sister
is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

A Ballantine Books eBook Edition

Copyright © 2012 by Elizabeth Flock
Random House reading group guide copyright © 2012 by Random House, Inc.

All rights reserved.

Published in the United States by Ballantine Books, an imprint of
The Random House Publishing Group, a division of
Random House, Inc., New York.

BALLANTINE and colophon are registered trademarks of Random House, Inc.
RANDOM HOUSE READER’S CIRCLE & Design is a registered trademark of Random House, Inc.

LIBRARY OF CONGRESS CATALOGING-IN-PUBLICATION DATA
Flock, Elizabeth.
What happened to my sister: a novel / Elizabeth Flock.
p.    cm.
eISBN: 978-0-345-52444-7
1. Sisters—Fiction. 2. Domestic fiction. I. Title.
PS3606.L58W43 2012
813′.6—dc23      2012004410

www.randomhousereaderscircle.com

Cover design: Laura Klynstra
Cover image: Trevillion / © Doreen Kilfeather

v3.1

Contents

Cover

Title Page

Copyright

Epigraph

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-one

Dedication

Acknowledgments

Other Books by This Author

About the Author

A Reader’s Guide

Like a bolt out of the blue
Fate steps in and sees you through
.

— JIMINY CRICKET

(Ned Washington, “When You Wish Upon a Star”)

CHAPTER ONE

Carrie Parker

If you’re reading this, I must be dead and maybe you’re going through this notebook hunting for clues. It always bugs me when I’m looking real hard for something and after a long time it turns up right under my nose where it was the whole time, so I’m going to tell you right here in the beginning all I know for certain. It may or may not make sense right now but who knows, maybe it will later on.

The first certain thing I know is that Richard’s not ever gonna hurt Momma again. The second thing is that I had a sister named Emma. Here’s what else I know: we
were
moving to my grandmother’s house but now we’re not. Momma says in the river of life I’m a brick in her pocket, and I’m not sure what that has to do with her changing her mind, but Momma is most assuredly not driving in the direction of Gammy’s house. So until I figure it all out, the number one most important thing you need to know so you can tell ever-body is that I, Caroline Parker, am not crazy.

I don’t care what anybody says—I’m not. I swear. People think
I cain’t hear them say things when I’m in town like
shh, shh, shh—there goes that Parker girl bless her crazy little heart
but I’m not deaf, y’all. I’m just a kid. I’m not
peculiar
or
crazy as an outhouse rat
. And I’m gonna prove it once and for all. You wait and see. They’ll be lining up to say
sorry
and they’ll ask for a hug or something embarrassing like that but the best part’ll be when ever-body finally admits they’re wrong about me. I’m gonna do ever-thing right from now on. I’m gonna be like the other kids. I’m gonna be the best daughter in the whole wide universe—so good Momma’s not going to believe it. Just you wait and see.

CHAPTER TWO

Carrie

Right now Momma and me are riding in our old beat-up station wagon with all we got to our names stuffed into Hefty sacks in the way-back. Momma has an old-fashioned square little bitty suitcase she calls her
travel case
locked up next to her in the front seat. I never saw it before in my life. Heck, I never knew it existed till we lit out of town. She must have thought I’d go breaking into it if I’d found it back at the house and truth to tell I probably would have because I love little bitty things of any kind. What I dearly love more than anything in the universe is little bitty animals. We don’t have any pets but I’m hoping that’ll change in our new life because I want a dog so bad and I’m thinking if I’m real good and I never say the name
Emma
and I do ever-thing Momma wants she’ll give in and we’ll get a puppy. I promised Momma she wouldn’t have to do a dang thing because I’d take care of it but ever-time I bring it up she says I’d probably kill it along with ever-thing else. But I swear I wouldn’t. I’d take perfect care of her. I’d name her Pip. Short for Pipsqueak.

Along with boring stuff like clothes, I own this notebook I like to draw and write in. My favorite thing is making lists. I can make a list out of anything really. You name it and I’ll make a list out of it. It’s
something else
. That’s what Mr. Wilson our old neighbor says about my list-making abilities.
That’s something else
, he said when I showed him how I was making a list of his guns and bullets and holsters. But that was before I used his gun to shoot Richard and now I ain’t allowed to mention Mr. Wilson or guns anymore.

What I Own Personally

    
1. Two pairs of shoes if you count flip-flops, which I do
.

    
2. One polka-dot dress I hate because it’s a
polka-dot dress
for goodness’ sake and it’s a dress and
no one
wears dresses to school if they can help it. I cain’t recall when I ever wore it outside of church, back when we used to go to church
.

    
3. A button-down shirt Momma calls a
blouse
that I’ve hardly ever worn on account of it being fancy and I haven’t ever done anything even close to fancy because we’re
dirt-poor.

    
4. A book of words with the title
Vocabulary 101.

    
5. Two pairs of shorts and one pair of blue jeans that don’t fit no more
.

    
6. Five old T-shirts from the Goodwill truck that used to come a couple times a year to sell things in the lot out back of Zebulon’s
.

I just turned nine. One year from double digits. One more year till I’m a
young
lady—that’s what my teacher in my old town, Toast, where we lived before moving to Hendersonville with Richard, used to call the older kids in school. The little ones—the single digits—she just called them
kids
. I wish I could be ten back in Toast just to hear Miss Ueland call me
young lady
.

My birthday must have slipped Momma’s mind because the
first thing she said to me two days ago was “Go on get dressed I need you to run to the post office and get a change of address form.”

I waited a second just in case she remembered what day it was but when she told me to
quit lollygagging and move my lazy behind
I knew it’d just be another regular day. I walked to town and when I was sure no car was coming in either direction I sang myself the Happy Birthday song real low. I doubled up and sang the “smell like a monkey” version too.

But our plans changed yesterday, after Momma went to use the pay phone in town. When she left the house the plan was to go stay with my momma’s momma, Gammy, but when Momma came back home, all the sudden we weren’t. Just like that. She said she
wouldn’t go where she wasn’t wanted
. Even though I didn’t say so, I know just what she meant. That’s how come I know the outside of our house better than the inside. With my eyes closed I could find the little hole behind the lichen and vines that grow over the mossy old tree stump out back in the holler. I know which rocks to step on if you want to cross the creek and which ones only
look
like they’ll hold steady. I could draw from memory the dead tree trunk crossing the path between Mr. Wilson’s and our house. To me it always looked like the thicket’s taking that tree back to where it came from, with moss over most all of it, vines choking it to crumbling in parts, and a big opening where a gnome would live if gnomes were real and lived in piney woods. I liked it better outside anyway. I pretended little bitty forest creatures were watching, looking out for me and Emma. Whoops. I mean, looking out for
me
. I figured they liked for me to be there because they knew I’d never let anything hurt them, no sirree I wouldn’t and that’s a fact. Whenever I went back inside the house, when the screen door slammed and Momma looked up from whatever she was doing, she’d see it was me and the air would go out of her like a day-old birthday balloon. Then she’d say
oh, it’s you
and turn back
to her chores. I don’t know who else she thought was gonna be coming through our door.

“Trouble,” Emma would say. “Momma looks scared ever-time the door opens because she’s used to Trouble coming through it.”

I’d tell her, “But we come through it all the time and we ain’t Trouble.”

“You and me are small,” Emma’d say, looking up from playing with the dirty old Barbie doll who lost her hair before we found her, “we’re small but as far as Momma’s concerned we’re Trouble.”

That’s Emma for you—always knowing more than me about pretty much ever-thing that matters. If she were here I bet she’d probably even know where Momma and me are moving to. All I know for certain is it’ll be a place we’ll be wanted.

What with us fixing to leave town for good there just wasn’t time for a birthday fuss anyway. I don’t mind. Really I don’t.
Emma
would have remembered, though. I know, I know—like Momma said, she ain’t real. She was made-up, I’m supposed to say. But
if
she’d been real
—if
I’d really had a sister named Emma—I bet she’d have made me a real nice daisy-chain necklace with White Rain hair spray all over it so it’d last forever. Hair spray makes things last to infinity, just so you know. I’m not kidding.

We’re
starting fresh
. That’s what Momma says. To get ready for our drive Momma even cleaned out the crumbs, empty RC Cola cans, and chew-tobacco tins left over from Richard so the inside of the car would look
spiffy
. When she’s in a good mood Momma says words like that.
Spiffy
. Or
Jeez Louise. Jiminy Cricket
. And when something surprises her, she says
well I’ll be
. I helped her get the old car ready and when I opened the ashtray up front and asked what all I should do with the cigarette butts crammed in on top of one another she said
well I’ll be, that sure is one full ashtray in need of emptying all right
. Once I even heard her say
jeepers
. That was when there was a long line of ants marching into our kitchen from
outside. Momma’s mostly been in a good mood getting ready to
start fresh
. That’s also on account of her feeling loads better, I bet. Today Momma’s neck bruise is about as wide as the rope Mr. Wilson tied his dog Brownie to the tree with. It’s been fading pretty slow but at least it’s thinner now. Last week it was wide as a hand, the exact shape of Richard’s hand. In back, where his fingers dug in good and hard, it’s red mixed with black but the blue is turning the same yellow ringing the mark on her left cheek. When a bruise gets yellow that’s good news. It means your skin’s trying to be normal again.