An Honest Lie(45)

She’d known nothing then. She couldn’t believe she’d helped celebrate something so awful. After the feast, the women would take her to the communal bathroom, which would smell like eucalyptus and be filled with hot steam, and they’d let her shower for as long she liked. She’d be clean and have a full belly, and they’d put her in a white dress, brush her hair and then lead her to the chapel, humming in the creepy way they did sometimes, but it would be okay—because it was over.

She’d assisted at an “after” ceremony when she was thirteen: her mother’s. But all she’d seen of it was the celebration; she had no idea what her mother had gone through, the hours she’d spent behind the doors where she herself now sat imprisoned. Why hadn’t her mother told her? She’d let her daughter believe these things were good, let Taured tell her that they were. Summer screamed as loud as she could, straining against the ties that bound her; she screamed so loudly that her throat felt like it was on fire.

She guessed that twelve hours had passed before Rhodi came back to release her from the stool and give her a bowl of broth and a bottle of water. She tried to take it easy on the water, knowing she should save some for later. She wanted to know if her mother was receiving the same punishment or something worse; she knew in her gut the latter was true.

Why had she gone to the bathroom in the airport? Why hadn’t they made more of an effort to hide after they left instead of going to the most obvious place of escape? She lifted the bowl to her mouth while Rhodi undid the ties on her ankles. Her muscles felt bunched up and useless. She considered her chances of darting past Rhodi and out the door, but how far would she actually get before they dragged her back? Taured had walked into the airport with a gun in the pocket of his tan jacket and jabbed it into her mother’s side. That’s all her mother had imparted to her in the back seat before they were separated at the compound. Summer rested the bowl in her lap, letting the warmth seep into her thighs.

“Rhodi...my mother?”

“She’s in isolation, same as you.” Her tone was matter-of-fact, her touch rough; she didn’t look at Summer as she finished undoing the straps. Summer’s eyes followed her to the door, where she grabbed a few things off her cart and brought them back into the cell, setting them on the floor.

“Is she okay?”

Rhodi clearly wanted to say something. She puckered her lips, leaning against the doorframe, and craned her neck to see if anyone was coming.

“She’s taking the brunt of what y’all did. You know that, right?”

Summer stood up, the bowl of broth flipping off her lap. She stepped through the puddle to get to Rhodi, but she wasn’t fast enough. Rhodi was out the door, metal slamming in Summer’s face, blowing her hair back with its force. The steel had not touched her nose, yet it ached from the threat, anyway. Resting her forehead on the cold metal, she rolled her head from side to side. The sounds she made were sharp and high, a choked-off scream. She wept, folded over her own knees, face slimy with tears and saliva and snot. She dripped onto the floor as her wailing scraped over her throat again and again.

Rhodi had left her with another bottle of water, a dress and a blanket. Wrapping herself in the blanket and ignoring everything else, Summer sat facing the door, her back against the wall. Taured’s voice was the only sound in her head now, and she whimpered, remembering the last thing he’d said to her outside of his car before he had the sisters take her mother away: “I’m going to have fun with her punishment, Summertime.”

She’s going to be okay because she’s strong—stronger than Taured. She closed her eyes, leaning her head against the wall; the air smelled like pee and bleach and soup and it made her want to vomit. She didn’t want one more smell in here with her, so she took deep gulping breaths until the feeling passed. She must have fallen asleep, because when she woke up, the lights were out again. Crawling on her hands and knees to the door, Summer pounded on it until the sides of her hands were tender and her voice was scratchy.

On the evening of the third day, they came for her: Ama, Sara, Dawn and Rhodi. She started crying as soon as she saw Sara. No one would look at her, including her friend, who glanced nervously at her own mother as they helped Summer dress.

“Sara?” she said under her breath, but either Sara had been warned not to talk to Summer or she was too afraid to, because her body grew stiff at the sound of her own name. This was not like the last time: there were no greetings of joy, no hugs or words of affirmation; they were brusque in their handling of her. As they ushered her into the hall and toward the cafeteria, she trembled beneath their hands, light-headed and weak.

Summer felt relief so sweet that her feet moved with new energy; they were taking her to her mother, they must be. Instead of feeling her fifteen years, though, she felt like a kid—a small one, needy. All she wanted was to be held by her mother, her hair stroked, her back rubbed, Lorraine’s comforting words in her ear.

But the procession started out slow and got even slower. There was no joy, no celebration, just the shuffle of feet as they walked through the empty hallways. When Summer was led into the cafeteria where everyone was usually gathered and waiting for the feast, the normally heavily laden food trays were empty except for the two coffee urns they used at breakfast.

Summer had been sure something was wrong before, but now, glancing around at the furtive faces of Ama and Sara, at the identical smug expressions of the sisters, she was certain. And the most astonishing part: only Taured stood in the room, presumably waiting for her.