Little Girls(62)

Laurie sprang up from the table. “Hey! Don’t do that!”

The outburst caused Liz to jump. She elbowed her pack of cigarettes off the table and into the grass.

Laurie pointed. “Abigail just threw a rock at that little girl.” Tears burst from the eyes of the chunky red-faced girl. She whirled around and darted toward one of the benches where, presumably, her mother sat not watching her. The chunky girl’s companion, a stick-thin redhead with frizzy curls, just stared in amazement at Abigail, who was now climbing down off the seesaw. The girl looked paralyzed by terror.

Liz cupped her hands around her mouth and shouted, “Abigail! Get over here!”

Laurie was just about to shout Susan’s name when the seesaw dropped out from under her, thudding hard against the earth. The expression on Susan’s face was one of shock.

Liz stalked over to Abigail, who stood blocking the redhead girl’s path to the seesaw. The girl who had been struck with the rock was still moaning while her mother, an equally red-faced and chunky individual, mopped at her daughter’s leaky eyes. Liz hooked a hand under Abigail’s arm and turned the girl around. Abigail’s face was eerily serene. When Liz bent over to address her, Laurie thought Abigail’s eyes were, in fact, focused on her and not Liz.

Laurie jerked her gaze away. She searched for Susan at the seesaw, but Susan was gone. Panic was like a switch that had been instantly flipped inside her . . . but then she caught sight of her daughter racing over to the swings. Wiping sweat from the side of her face, Laurie forced herself to calm down.

The crying girl’s mother approached Liz. The women seemed to know each other. Liz said something to Abigail and then pointed at the picnic table where Laurie was slowly sitting back down. Abigail was already looking at the table and, Laurie thought, at her. As Liz turned back to the other girl’s mother, Abigail strode toward the picnic table and Laurie. This day, the girl was dressed in a boy’s striped polo shirt and threadbare corduroys. Her long dark hair was done up in pigtails. Laurie said nothing as the girl sat down on the opposite side of the picnic table, directly across from her. Abigail said nothing, either; her lips were clenched firmly together and her head was slightly downturned so that she had to look up at Laurie from beneath her brow. Her irises were like two globs of oil. When Abigail set her hands on top of the picnic table, Laurie could see that the fingers were grimy, the fingernails gritty black crescents.

In a small voice, Abigail said, “That other girl started it. She threw something first.”

“Yes. I saw it.”

Abigail’s eyes hung on her. They seemed to burn through her.

“I have something I want to show you,” Laurie went on. She was determined to keep her voice composed.

Abigail said, “What?”

Laurie took the photograph out of her pocket and set it before Abigail on the table. Abigail looked at it, but didn’t touch it; in fact, she slid her hands away from it. When she looked back up at Laurie, her expression was unchanged. “Little girls,” she said.

“Yes. Do you recognize anyone in that picture?” Laurie asked.

Abigail shook her head.

“Are you sure?”

The girl’s head rotated slightly to the right. Those black eyes were muddy with thought. One of Abigail’s hands dropped off the table while the other hand inched closer to the photograph. She didn’t look at it as she picked it up.

“The taller girl,” said Laurie. “The one in the dress.”

“It’s pretty,” the girl said. “I like that dress.”

“Is it yours?”

“Mine?”

“Yes. Is it?”

“No. That’s silly.”

“Are you telling the truth?”

“Yes.”

“Have you ever seen it before?”

“No.”

“What’s your name?”

“You know my name.”

“Tell me again. What is it?”

“Abigail Evans.”

“Where do you live?”

“At home.”

“Where is that?”

“With my parents. They’re in Greece. Aunt Liz is my aunt.”

“Yes, I know that.” She took the photograph from Abigail’s hand and pointed to Sadie. “Do you know this girl?”

“No.”

“What’s your real name? I want to hear you say it.”

“Abigail is my real name,” Abigail said. Her thin black eyebrows moved a bit closer together. “You’re being weird.”

Briefly, the world swam out of focus. The children on the playground pixelated and consciousness threatened to slip away from her. A flush of heat welled up out of the open collar of her shirt.

“Do you know who my father was?” Laurie said.

Abigail nodded slowly. “He died.”

“How did he die?”

“He fell out a window.”

“Did Aunt Liz tell you that?”

“No.”

“How do you know that?”

“He fell,” said Abigail. “Out.”

Her voice just above a whisper, Laurie said, “Did you do something to him?”

Abigail’s lips parted, then curled upward in the suggestion of a grin, as if she thought Laurie was playing some sort of game with her. The girl’s throat constricted as a laugh juddered out. Its sound was not unlike something a goat might make. One of her hands slipped down beneath the table. Slowly, Abigail brought her chin down to rest on the tabletop. Her eyes continued to drill into Laurie’s.