Before We Were Yours(55)

I touch Gabby’s little knee and say, “It’s all right. The lady just wants to tell you bye-bye.”

He lifts a fat little hand and waves at me. “Bye-bye,” he repeats. His smile fills with baby teeth. I remember when he cut every single one of those.

“To the car.” Mrs. Pulnik’s jagged fingernails dig into my skin. She tugs me, and I trip over the threshold on the way out, staggering onto the porch and almost dropping Fern.

“Oh, goodness. Is she his sister?” the woman with Gabion worries.

“No, certainly not,” Miss Tann says, lying again. “The little ones become attached to the older ones in the home. That is all. It can’t be helped. They forget just as quickly, of course. The only sibling to this little fellow is an infant girl. Newborn. Adopted by a very prominent family, no less. So, you can see that he is no ordinary little boy. You’ve picked out our finest. The mother was a college graduate, an extremely intelligent girl. Died during the birthing process, unfortunately, and the children were abandoned by their father. But they’re no worse for the wear. And wouldn’t this one be adorable on your California beaches? Of course, our out-of-state adoptions do involve special fees….”

Those are the last words I hear before Mrs. Pulnik drags me down the porch steps, telling me under her breath what Mrs. Murphy will do to me if I don’t step it up. Her grip wrenches my arm until I’m sure it’s gonna break.

I don’t even care. I can’t feel anything—not the summer-dry grass crunching under my feet, not the stiff shoes the workers gave me this morning. Not the hot, sticky evening air or the too-tight dress tugging when Fern kicks and wiggles and reaches over my shoulder, whimpering, “Gabby…Gabby…”

I’m cold on the outside, like I just fell off in the winter river and all the blood’s gone deep down inside to try to keep me from freezing to death. My arms and legs seem like they’re somebody else’s. They move, but only because they know what they’re supposed to do, not because I tell them.

Mrs. Pulnik throws Fern and me in the car with the rest of the kids and gets in beside me. I sit stiff and stare toward the big house and wait for the door to open and someone to bring Gabion across the yard. I wish for it so hard, the wishing hurts.

“Where’s Gabby?” Fern whispers into my ear, and Lark watches me with her sad, quiet eyes. She hasn’t said much since we came to Mrs. Murphy’s, and she won’t now either, but still I hear her. You gotta get Gabion, she’s telling me.

I picture him coming across the yard.

I hope.

I watch.

I try to think.

What should I do?

Mrs. Pulnik’s wristwatch ticks. Tick, tick, tick, tick.

Miss Tann’s words flit through my mind, zipping off the way water striders do when someone throws a rock in the river. They go all directions at once.

Died during the birthing process…

My mama’s dead?

…the children were abandoned….

Briny’s not coming back for us?

The only sibling to this little fellow is an infant girl. Newborn.

One of the babies didn’t die at the hospital? I have a new little sister? Miss Tann gave her to somebody? Is that a lie? Is all of it a lie? Miss Tann can tell a fib so smooth and easy, it seems like even she believes it. Gabby doesn’t have a mama who’s a college student. Queenie’s smart, but she only got through the eighth grade before she met Briny and took off for the river.

It’s lies, I tell myself. Everything she says is a lie. It’s gotta be.

She’s trying to make the party people happy, but they’ll have to give Gabion back because Miss Tann knows our daddy’s coming to get us soon’s he can. Briny would never give us up. He’d never let a lady like Miss Tann take my new baby sister, if I had one. Never. Ever. He’d die first.

Is Briny dead? Is that why he hasn’t come for us?

The car starts, and I jerk toward the window, pushing Fern off my lap. She slides into the seat as I grab hold of the door handle. I’ll run back to the house, and I’ll tell those people the truth. I’ll tell them Miss Tann is a liar. I don’t care what they do to me after.

Before anything else can happen, Mrs. Pulnik has me by the big, fancy hair bow one of the workers prettied me up with this morning. Fern squirms out from between us and lands on the floor with Stevie and Lark.

“You will behave.” Mrs. Pulnik’s lips touch my ear, her breath hot and sour. It smells of Mrs. Murphy’s whiskey. “Shouldt you not, Mrs. Murphy will gif you the closet. And not only will this be for you. We will be tying all of you and leavingk you there, hangingk like shoes by the laces. The closet is cold. And it is dark. Will the little ones enjoy the dark, do you think?”

My heart beats wild as she yanks my head back. My neck crackles and snaps. Hair pops loose from the roots. A white flash of pain shoots over my eyes.

“Is that understoodt?”

I do my best to nod.

She throws me against the door, and my head bounces off the glass. “I did not imagine any troubles would be comingk from you.”

Tears storm into my eyes, and I blink hard against them. I won’t cry. I won’t.

The seat bends, sucking me closer to Mrs. Pulnik’s bulky body. She lets out a purring sigh, like a cat in a sunny chair. “Driver, take us to home now. It is time.”