Little Girls(51)

“Go right ahead.”

Liz sprang up and went to a credenza where she rifled through paperwork and checkbooks until she located a carton of Marlboros. “Want one?”

“I don’t smoke, thanks.”

Down the hall, the front door slammed.

“Well,” Liz said, sitting back down at the table. “Speak of the devil.” A cigarette bouncing from her mouth, she called down the hall, “Abigail! Come here for a minute, love.”

Laurie held her breath as she heard the girl’s approaching footsteps. A moment later, Abigail appeared in the kitchen doorway.

“Hey, peaches,” said Liz Rosewood. “Your friend Susan’s mom stopped by to say hello.”

“Hi,” Abigail said. Her faded blue dress looked too big on her. Harsh black shoes reflected the paneled lights in the ceiling.

Laurie said, “Hello.”

She watched Abigail go to the refrigerator, pop open the door, and scrounge around within. There was artwork on the refrigerator door, if the repetitious drawing of circles could be called “artwork.” Circles of varying sizes in a multitude of colors. They looked like something a kid with Asperger’s might draw. The girl came out of the fridge with a carton of apple juice, which she set on the counter. Laurie saw that her fingernails were black with grit, and there was just the faintest smudge of dirt or grease beneath her chin. There was a step-stool beside the cabinets, which Abigail used to get a glass out of one of the high cupboards.

“I was thinking tacos tonight,” Liz told Abigail. “How’s that strike you, hon?”

“Hooray!” The girl beamed. “Can Susan eat over?”

“Well,” said Liz, turning to Laurie, “that’s up to Susan’s mom.”

Laurie smiled wearily. Her face was beginning to hurt.

“Derrick and I, we sometimes regret not having children.” Puffing on her cigarette, Liz Rosewood looked down longingly at her tea, as if to divine some comfort from its steaming surface. “It’s so much work, but then again, I don’t think you truly live until you raise a child of your own. It must be so rewarding.”

It was the sort of thing people without kids seemed obliged to say to people who had them, as if attempting to commiserate over an illness they did not have. She nodded in a simulacrum of agreement while she watched Abigail replace the apple juice in the refrigerator. Then she watched as Abigail chugged down half her glass of juice, her grimy little fingers leaving smudges on the glass.

“It’s no trouble, of course,” Liz said as Abigail put her empty glass in the sink. It clanked against a stack of dishes. “If Susan wants to have dinner here, I mean. It would be nice for the girls to spend some more time together. They’re both refugees this summer.”

Abigail ran a pointy little tongue over her lips.

“I’ll check with Susan,” Laurie said, though the thought of her daughter spending any time in Sadie’s old house—with a little girl who looked disconcertingly like Sadie—caused a fist to shove up through Laurie’s guts. Suddenly, she wanted to get the hell out of here.

“We drew pictures of dinosaurs the other day,” Abigail said. She had taken a napkin from one of the kitchen drawers and was running it back and forth across her mouth. “I did a stegosaurus and Susan did a tyrannosaurus.” She balled up the napkin and placed it in the trash. “Tyrannosaurus was the king of the dinosaurs. Its name means . . . something . . . lizard.”

“Tyrant lizard,” commented Liz Rosewood.

“That’s right,” Abigail said gloomily.

Get me out of here, Laurie wanted to scream.

“I like tacos,” Abigail told no one in particular.

Abruptly, Laurie stood. “I need to get back to the house now.”

“Oh.” Liz stood as well, though with less fervor. The cigarette hung limply from her lips. “Well, it was wonderful meeting you. Won’t you let me know if you need anything from us?”

“I will.”

“And again, I feel horrible for not stopping by earlier—”

“Don’t be silly. Thank you for the tea.”

Laurie moved quickly down the hallway to the front door. Liz set her tea down and rushed to catch up.

“So can Susan come for dinner?” Abigail asked from the far end of the hallway. Her slight silhouette in the oversized dress was framed in the kitchen doorway. “Please?”

“Really,” Liz said to Laurie, her voice dropped to a half-whisper now. “It’s not a problem.”

“I’ll have to check with Ted,” Laurie said. “I’ll let you know.” She gripped the doorknob more tightly than necessary. “Thank you again for the tea. It was nice meeting you. Good-bye.”





Chapter 17


“Let her go,” Ted said. “It’ll be good to have a night to ourselves.”

She had been foolish to tell Ted about going over to the Rosewoods’, and about the invite Susan had received for dinner. She wished she could rewind time and take it back. The thought of her daughter in that house with that girl troubled her. Every time she thought of those drawings of circles hanging on the refrigerator door, she shivered.

“I don’t know,” she said. They were in the kitchen and she was digging out pots and pans from the cabinets. “She can be a handful.”