A Lily in the Light(11)
Esme’s throat squeezed. She couldn’t find words for Detective Ferrera, but Madeline’s breathing was shallow and quick. She hadn’t heard what Detective Ferrera said last, hadn’t heard the accusation hidden behind a compliment. Madeline rushed on.
“If you heard that bottle crap from Denny, if that’s the ‘kid down the hall’ you’re referring to, he’s a junkie. Ask anyone. Why would you believe anything he says about Nick?”
Madeline was spilling secrets to help Nick, the connection between them twinlike, all their earliest memories blurred together because they were so close in age. “He was always there,” Madeline had said once. Esme didn’t really understand, but mostly, she was jealous she’d been left out. “That’s how Lily will think of you,” Cerise had explained when Lily was born, pulling Esme closer to the red-faced baby swaddled like an insect while Nick and Madeline traded words without talking in the corner. Esme didn’t think it’d be the same thing at all.
Madeline’s arms crossed over her chest. Esme’s palm was cold where her sister’s hand had been. Their secret code was over.
“All right,” Detective Ferrera said, lowering his voice into something more soothing. “Let’s let that be for now.” His gaze shifted toward the mannequin. “How about your mother’s business? People were in the house all the time. Did any of them make you uncomfortable?”
In the corner near her mother’s sewing machine was a mannequin with a sheet over it, wearing a half-finished wedding gown. It would be a long gown with a train, but Cerise always did the bottom half last. The top had an open teardrop back surrounded by beads. All those beads sat in little tubes under the sewing table, as pearly white and iridescent as snow and ice, waiting to be used. The mannequin’s fabric head curved under the sheet, still and faceless. Esme pulled her knees to her chest, feeling that this dress would never be finished, though she couldn’t explain why.
The brides had manicured nails, crossed their legs, and wore shiny diamond rings. They were mostly women Cerise knew from church, but they glowed in the living room like new stars, throwing all their happiness over the dull furniture while Cerise sketched dresses for them, and they nodded yes or no. The pencil strokes darkened with every yes and the eraser moved with every no until there was a drawing of a dress, and then those new brides almost always cried pretty tears, the kind Esme was sure could wake a winter garden. “Who needs a vase of flowers when we have happy brides?” Cerise joked. “Nothing brightens a room like a happy bride.”
“No,” Madeline and Esme said together.
The woman at the table snapped the briefcase shut and carried the phone back to the bedroom, her blue-covered shoes leaving oval dents in the carpet.
“How about anyone else in the building? Did anyone make you feel uncomfortable? Maybe they never did anything bad exactly but gave you a bad feeling.”
The woman found her way to the bathroom and came out with Lily’s Little Mermaid toothbrush in a plastic bag.
“If you need her pajamas,” Esme said, thinking the officer was packing Lily an overnight bag, “they’re in the bottom drawer. She likes the ones with the blue stars and the slipper feet.”
The woman froze, her face a plain white blur. If this was a dream, Esme could’ve rearranged the woman’s face with her thumbs like clay, smearing it into something else. The woman opened her mouth and closed it. Ariel was lying on her side, red hair streaked with toothpaste, her mermaid tail caught in a plastic net. The bag was labeled “Evidence.”
“She’ll need that when she’s back.” Esme’s throat throbbed. Her voice caught. Hadn’t she just lifted Lily to the bathroom sink this morning, pulled her up under her armpits to let her spit? Hadn’t they just hummed “Yellow Submarine” together this morning because Dad said that was how long they should brush for?
“Did you find her?” Madeline’s voice was a whisper. “Do you already know what happened?”
The beeper on Detective Ferrera’s waist lit up with green numbers, but he ignored it. Esme hugged her knees tighter, heart beating so fast it pounded in her temples. Heat flashed to her face. Her chest was tight.
“Listen,” Detective Ferrera said gently, shooing the other officer from the living room. The front door closed quietly behind her and Lily’s toothbrush. “We don’t know anything yet, but we’re trying, and this is how we find her. I need you to think very carefully. Can you think of anyone who made you feel uncomfortable? A bad feeling?”
The Golden Rule Cerise loved so much crept into Esme’s thoughts: Do unto others . . .
It blurred into Mrs. Rodriquez in her camel coat, Ariel’s smile through the plastic bag, and another memory, less fresh but so vivid it made Esme sick to think about. “If there was someone, would you tell them we said so?”
“No,” he said, meeting Esme’s eye and cocking his head to one side. “But we’d look into them further.”
“What happens to them?”
Detective Ferrera paused and looked toward the scattered pile of Lily’s toys and books. A Bargain for Frances was on the rug, spine creased and cover bent. He picked it up and closed it, putting it gently on the table.
“It depends what they did,” he said. “If it’s bad, the court decides on a punishment.”