Little Girls(28)

Laurie approached them. When her shadow fell over them, they both looked up at her in what appeared to be practiced unison. Laurie’s eyes flitted to her daughter for just a moment before settling on the other girl.

It was Sadie Russ.

The girl’s face was a moonish oval, the skin pearl-colored and unblemished except for a streak of dirt that started at the corner of her mouth and extended across her right cheek. The girl’s eyes were a deep brown, almost black, beneath curling auburn bangs.

“Hi, Mom,” Susan said. “This is my new friend, Abigail.”

“Hello,” said Abigail.

For a moment, Laurie could not move, could not say a word. She was suddenly aware of a prickling sensation along her scalp and down the nape of her neck as the hairs there bristled. When she spoke, it was as if some ventriloquist were forcing the words from her mouth.

“Hello, Abigail,” Laurie said.

The girl gazed up at her with dark eyes. A few strands of her hair were slicked to the corner of her mouth.

Of course, Sadie Russ was dead. She had died a long time ago. But this girl . . . this Abigail . . . could have been Sadie’s identical twin.

“How long have you been out here?” Laurie asked Susan.

“Just a little while,” Susan said. “I got bored watching Daddy work.”

Laurie looked down at a shallow hole that had been dug in the ground between the two girls. “What have you two been doing?”

“Looking for treasure,” Susan said.

“Is that right?” Laurie’s throat clicked.

“Abigail says there’s treasure all over the place.”

“Pirates used to bury it close to the beaches,” Abigail said. “That was a long time ago, but they never came back and got all the treasure. Sometimes they forgot where they buried it.”

“Is that true, Mom?” Susan asked her mother. The look on her face expressed that while she did not believe in such nonsense, she very much wanted to.

“I suppose anything is possible,” Laurie said.

“I’ve found gold ’bloons down by the beach before,” Abigail said.

“That’s pirate money,” Susan said, having apparently already been indoctrinated into the vernacular.

“Sounds interesting,” Laurie said. “Do you live around here, Abigail?”

Abigail pointed across the yard toward the moldy fence. For one preposterous moment, Laurie thought the girl was referring to the shaggy willow tree that drooped down over the fence. But then she saw the house through the screen of trees, its back porch lights on. She could make out the rear bumper of the green sedan in the driveway again. Sadie’s old house.

“How nice,” said Laurie. She cocked her head at her daughter. “But now it’s time to wash up for dinner.”

“But what about the treasure, Mom?”

“It’s been there for several hundred years,” Laurie said. “I’m sure it can wait another day.”

Susan planted her hands down in the grass, then popped up onto her feet. She moved with the lissome, springy sensibilities of a gymnast. Like her father, she was a natural athlete.

“Say good-bye to your friend,” Laurie told her daughter.

“Good night, Abigail!”

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” Abigail said.

One hand against her daughter’s back, Laurie ushered the girl back to the house. The kitchen lights were on and the bowing bay windows looked like the glowing cockpit of an airliner.

“How did you meet her?” Laurie asked.

“Abigail?” A strand of hair had come loose from Susan’s ponytail. She brushed it absently behind one ear. “She came from the other side.”

It took Laurie almost a full minute to realize her daughter had meant the other side of the fence.





Chapter 10


After dinner, Laurie brought out the box of LPs from her father’s study and set it down on the coffee table in the parlor.

“These are great!” Ted exclaimed. He had a drink in his hands—some primordial swill from Myles Brashear’s liquor cabinet—and he stood craning over the top of the box to examine the contents within like a child peering down into a box of puppies. Eventually, he set his drink down and slid out one of the albums. The sleeve was bleached to an indecipherable unintelligence. Ted let the record slip out into his hand. “It’s a Diva. Lou Gold, ‘On Riverside Drive.’ Vocals by Irving Kaufman. This puppy is old! Where did these come from?”

“They were in my dad’s study.”

“I didn’t realize he collected this stuff.”

Laurie thought it was a strange comment, since Ted knew nothing else about the man, either.

“Put it on, Daddy,” Susan said. She was perched on the loveseat, a glass of apple juice clasped in both hands in her lap.

Ted went to the Victrola and set the record down on the phonograph’s turntable. There was a crank and handle sticking out from one side of the Victrola’s maple cabinet. Ted turned the crank. “It’s like starting a Model T,” he said. When he was done cranking, he set the arm bar down on the record. A crackly whir filled the atmosphere. Then the music played—a tinny West End number that summoned images in Laurie’s head of Manhattan nightclubs from the 1920s.