Little Girls(99)

To her surprise, Susan stood and came to her, wrapped her thin brown arms around Laurie’s neck. Laurie hugged her daughter back, feeling the thinness and fragility of her frame within her embrace. When she finally let go, it seemed too soon.

“Hey,” Susan said. She went over to the bay windows and peered out at the gray, overcast backyard. “There’s Abigail.”

Laurie stood and came up behind Susan. Abigail was out in the yard on her hands and knees, digging a hole in the ground with a stick. Auburn hair hung in tangles in front of her face. Her feet appeared to be bare.

Laurie set the coffee cup down on the table, then went to the side door where she kicked on her shoes. “Stay here,” she told Susan. “I’ll be right back.”

Outside, the wind was cold and misty with rain. The sun was barricaded behind angry black clouds. Laurie cast no shadow as she crossed the lawn and stopped in front of the hole Abigail was digging.

The girl looked up at her. Her eyes were large and curious, set in the smooth, pale oval of her face, but she did not seem surprised to find she had a visitor.

“There have been a lot of apologies going around today,” Laurie said. She crouched down and met the girl’s eyes head-on. “I guess it’s my turn. I’ve been rude to you, Abigail. I’m sorry. I apologize.”

Abigail’s lower lip twitched. For a moment, it seemed like her eyes unfocused before that quiet curiosity filled them back up again.

“Stop,” Abigail said. “Stop it.”

“Stop what?”

“Calling me that.”

“Stop calling you Abigail?”

One of Abigail’s grubby little hands reached into the hole. She dug around in the loose dirt. She wasn’t just being playful—she was looking for something.

On shaky knees, Laurie stood up.

“Eeny, meeny, miney, moe.” Abigail’s voice was grating—the sound of carving knives being scraped together. “Can Susan come out and play?”

Not saying a word, Laurie took a step backwards.

“We’ll make wishes together,” Abigail said. “Good wishes.” Beneath the dirt, she found what she was looking for. She gathered it between her thumb and index finger and brought it up so that even in the sunless afternoon it sparkled. It was the missing diamond earring.

“Sadie,” Laurie managed. She could feel her windpipe constricting.

“Can Susan come out and play?”

“No. You should go home.”

“This isn’t my home.”

“You know what I mean.”

“But it was,” Abigail said. “It was mine.”

Laurie felt like she was struggling to breathe underwater. Briefly, she closed her eyes and took a deep breath. When she opened them, Abigail was still kneeling there, holding the diamond earring. She hadn’t moved.

“Stupid,” Abigail said. But no—she didn’t just say it. The word snarled out of her. “Stupid. Stupid bitch.”

Laurie took another step back. She wanted to run but couldn’t convince her legs to cooperate. Her entire body felt numb.

Abigail laughed. It sounded like two people laughing at once, one laugh overlaid atop the other.

“I came back for you, Laurie. I waited and waited and now we’re together again.”

Laurie wheezed out, “What do you want?”

Abigail’s dark eyes narrowed. That stunning auburn hair framed her face. “Eeny, meeny, miney, moe. You. To come. With me.” A hint of a smile swam briefly across her face. “Or the other one.”

“What other one?”

Abigail pointed toward the house, where Susan watched from the kitchen window.

“No,” Laurie said.

“Eeny, meeny—”

“Go away!”

Abigail brushed a strand of that wavy auburn hair behind her right ear. At first, it looked like there was grease or perhaps ink running down the right side of Abigail’s face; it started at her ear, coursed down the curve of her jaw, down her neck, and soaked the collar of her checkerboard dress. It was blood. Abigail brought the diamond earring to her mangled ear, pressed it to the flesh. A muddy squelching sound broke the silence. When Abigail brought her hand down, the diamond remained seated in the bulb of bloody tissue.

And that was when it all rushed back to her—the morning commute to the university on I-84, the radio turned to an easy listening station, the weather pleasant. Traffic slows as she approaches the interchange. She eases down on the brake and happens to glance out the window at the car sliding into place beside her. There is a middle-aged couple in the front, the man behind the wheel wearing a baseball cap, the woman with her hair pulled back in a blondish ponytail. The car rolls up a few more inches, and Laurie sees a little girl in the backseat—a girl who turns to her, her eyes hollow black pits, her auburn hair matted with blood and spangled with dead leaves. Bits of broken glass shimmer like confetti in her hair, her eyebrows, her eyelashes. Great slashes have been cut like gills along her cheeks and the sides of her neck. One pink ear dribbles blood so thick it is almost black while a diamond stud winks out from all that madness—

This broke her paralysis. She turned and ran back into the house, slamming the side door shut behind her. Susan watched her in a state of utter perplexity, one hand filled with Cheerios frozen midway to her mouth.