If You Find Me(32)

We turn to the next bag, the one with the white rectangular boxes. My breath catches in my throat. Box after box is filled with shoes. I pull out a pair of ankle-high boots that look like my dad’s work boots, a pair of white Keds, another pair of sneakers in dark blue with the word Converse and a star on the sides, and a shiny pair of shoes with little heels that look as fancy and wobbly as Mrs. Haskell’s. Another box contains a pair of snappy snow boots with faux fur tufting the tops. I gasp when, from the last box, I pull out a slinky pair of knee-high boots in rich brown leather, so beautiful that my eyes grow as wide as Jennesa’s.

This can’t be for real. It can’t be all for me. Luck is as rare as butter for Mama, Jenessa, and me.

“These items should start you off right. Your closet’s going to look the way it should—nice and full. Go in and try something on.”

Needing no second invitation, I grab a bright purple bra with cups and a matching pair of underpants, a pair of bedazzled jeans, and a long-sleeve T-shirt splashed with flowers melting into different colors down the front. I close the door of the closet behind me.

My clean, warm toes sink into the plush rug, and I hold my breath as I put my arms through the bra straps, the A cups padded and the tricky clasp taking me a few tries to hook. I turn sideways in front of the mirror. I actually look like I have something up there now. I pull on the underpants, amazed that Melissa sized me so perfectly. I turn back to the mirror, holding my breath, afraid to open my eyes. When I do, I can’t believe the girl staring back at me is me.

It’s so wonderfully, truly, frightening, but in a good way, like Delaney says.

I slip on the shirt and jeans, smile shyly at the stranger in the mirror.

Melissa knocks on the door. “Are you decent?”

I push the door open without turning, frozen in the looking glass. Melissa clasps her hands and gasps, her eyes on my eyes in the mirror. We stare at the strange girl, the honey-blond hair woven into a thick French braid by her gentle hands that morning, and the large brown eyes blinking in disbelief. The bedazzled jeans flash in the light as I turn left, then right.

“Look at you, Carey. You’re absolutely gorgeous. You could be a model in a magazine.”

I can’t take my eyes off myself. Hair clean and styled, no smoke smudges on my nose or cheeks. Hands slender, lotioned, nails clean. My old life kicks within me, but on the surface, the woods are gone. I look like Delaney. Like the girls in the mall parking lot. A brand-new Carey. No one would guess what I did.

[page]I tear my eyes from Melissa’s as I tear up.

“Oh honey,” she says. “It’s okay for things to go well for you. It’s about time. Don’t you think?”

“I reckon.” I duck my head, noting her own white Keds. “Thank you kindly for the clothes. For shopping for me—” My voice cracks, and the sentence melts away. She smiles wide enough for both of us.

“It’s my pleasure, honey. And hey—”

I find her eyes again.

“Thanks for not calling me ‘ma’am.’ ”

I go back to the girl in the mirror, and I can see it plain as day, like a photo negative of the woods. The girl standing on the rug practices a smile. The mirror girl throbs on the inside. Melissa locks her arms around me, holding me against her. I feel womanly softness against my wing bones and her heartbeat tapping against my back. She rests her chin on my head, her eyes solemn. We both stare at the girl in the mirror, a creature that can’t be fully captured, not even in mirror glass.

“You deserve all of it, Carey—all of it. You always have.”

She pauses, seeing me, really seeing me. Like she knows.

“That girl in the woods is amazing. Don’t you ever stop being that girl in the woods, you hear me? Braids and new clothes can’t take away the best parts of you. You hold on tight to your heritage. That girl in the woods raised a baby, took care of her sister, kept her fed, warm, safe. That girl in the woods is special. Especially out here.”

I nod, my voice a wavery whisper.

“Thank you.”

I hope she knows it’s the girl in the woods who’s thanking her.

“You’re braver than most girls your age will ever have to be. Don’t let anyone tell you differently.”

I feel the cool air move in where her warmth used to be, as she walks out of my bedroom to check on Jenessa. She doesn’t have to say so; I know her well enough by now to know that’s where she’s going.

I walk over to the window, where I see Jenessa smiling and giggling and whispering to Shorty in the field below, bolder when no one’s around. Shorty lies on his back with his legs in the air, grabbing Nessa’s arm in his huge mouth and letting go as she laughs and laughs.

Melissa walks down the path toward her, and Nessa’s smile grows large enough to swallow the sun. She flies into Melissa’s arms, laughing as Melissa spins her in circles.

Please don’t let me wake up. Please, Saint Joseph, don’t let this be a dream. Let me have this. Help me to know how to have this. Don’t let us wake up cold and hungry, Jenessa’s eyes begging me to make it better. Please. Never again. I may not deserve it, but Jenessa does.

Melissa takes Nessa’s hand and they walk across the grass toward the kitchen door, while Shorty tears around, doing what my father calls a “rabbit hop,” streaking ahead and doubling back, like he knows, somehow, these times are special. I know, because I have that same feeling.