If You Find Me(17)

Jenessa and I look at each other and then go back to staring at the strange figures. I can’t even pray to Saint Joseph, because I have no idea what to say, or what good a saint of beans could do for us now. My throat feels clogged with a bean the size of a baseball. My father opens the door and jumps to the ground, stretching his legs after all those hours crammed in with us.

This is a fine wrinkle all right. Jenessa turns to me, her eyes full of question marks. I shrug; even I know I’m out of my league. The keening ache washes over me again like creek water soothing a stone, and that fast, I’m pining for the crunch of leaves beneath my feet, the smoky campfire, the world I know with my eyes tight shut, and even the beans.




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5


I make a big deal out of smoothing down Nessa’s dress, then comb her curls with my fingers. Steady now. I draw myself up taller. The girl’s eyes bore through the windshield like lasers.

I know, as I’ve always known, that I’m Ness’s filter. She’ll take my lead on things, mimicking my reactions, comfortable when I’m comfortable, confident when I’m confident. That’s what little kids do when they trust people.

I remember those large eyes staring up at me when she was just over a year old. I was feeding her a bottle, more water than formula. Mama had been gone over three weeks at the time, but Ness hadn’t minded because she had me. It’d felt like she was my baby, my arms a love-worn hammock rocking her endlessly, while she cooed and shined as if I were Saint Joseph, himself.

If I’m okay, she’s okay. It’s the same thing I have to do now.

“Are you ready?”

Ness nods, sopping up confidence as if through osmosis. (And yes, I know what osmosis is. I’d devoured the eleventh-grade science books Mama brought back like osmosis, itself.)

I jump out first, then catch Nessa under the arms and swing her to the gravel. She takes my hand, damp with sweat, which stops her cold. She checks my face.

“It’ll be okay. We have each other, right?”

She shrinks against me when we reach the walkway to the porch. I hold Delaney’s gaze, and the girl’s eyes narrow and the corner of her mouth twitches as she takes in Jenessa’s eternal pinkness and my own drab clothes, the T-shirt threadbare in places, my jeans forever dingy from creek washing. I hitch up my jeans to lessen the sag. It’s like her eyes leave fingerprints all over me.

My hair won’t stay behind my ears, and I wish I had a bobby pin, or a barrette. I tuck it back, hair that skims my waist since we lost our only pair of scissors. Taking a deep, shaky breath, I exhale. I’m in charge. Only I can’t get myself to believe it anymore.

“How do you do, ma’am. I’m Carey, and this is my sister, Jenessa.”

I extend my hand, dried ketchup on my fingers, but if she notices, she doesn’t let on. She holds my hand in both of hers, smiling down at us.

“It’s wonderful to meet you, Carey. And you, too, Jenessa. I’m Melissa.”

Ness peeks out from around my body, clutching the belt loops of my jeans. If she tugs any harder, they may fall down into a heap on the driveway.

“You girls must be tired after your trip. I have dinner warming in the oven, and Delaney will take you up to your rooms.”

She doesn’t seem to notice the way her daughter scowls at us. Under Delaney’s gaze, my neck heats up, then my cheeks. Delaney smiles for the first time as she notices.

“I’ll go get the girls’ things.”

My father lopes off to the truck, and I think of the garbage bags and cringe. We’re out of our element, like fish flapping round a bird’s nest, and I can see this fact doesn’t escape Delaney. She looks glad.

I clomp up the steps, stopping by the door to remove my boots and then Nessa’s shoes. I line them up neatly to the right of the welcome mat, then look to Melissa.

“That’s very thoughtful of you, Carey. Wasn’t that thoughtful, Delly?”

Delaney shrugs, using her heels to slip off one sneaker and then the other, picking them up and taking them with her.

We enter the house, Nessa’s eyes like saucers, flitting from the crackling fire inside to the couches draped in crocheted blankets, like the kind our gran knit. Nessa’s eyes linger on the china figurines on the mantel, not knowing they aren’t toys. I know, because Gran had some of her own. Just in case, I make a mental note to lay down some ground rules that’ll keep Nessa out of trouble during our stay.

“Get out of here, you mangy mutt!”

Shorty, padding along behind us, cowers on the stairs as if Delaney’s words were smacks. Nessa gasps in delight and lets go of my hand, walking over to the dog, her arm extended. Shorty sniffs her fingers, his tail sweeping the wood. Nessa plunks down next to him and throws her arms around him like a long-lost friend. She smiles widely as the dog licks her cheek.

“Good thing baths are on the agenda. Doesn’t she know better than to let a dog lick her face?” Delaney watches Jenessa with disgusted fascination. This time, I shrug.

Delaney turns to her mother. “What, now she can’t talk, either?”

“Delly, please.”

Nessa rests her cheek on Shorty’s head, gives him one last squeeze, then scrambles to her feet. I hold out my hand and she takes it, and we ascend the stairs together. Delaney sighs loudly, like we’re so much trouble. I bite my tongue, my own patience just about exhausted.