If You Find Me(50)

“If she talks, don’t make a big deal out of it. We don’t want to give her mutism any more power than it already has. The same goes for her silence.”

“It’s nice here, yes,” I tell her, forcing a smile. And it’s not a lie. It is nice here, with a warm bed, new clothes, a quiet belly, toasty toes. We can even go barefoot in winter. We even have slippers.

“I like Melissa. Isn’t she nice?”

I have to lean in close to hear her, but even so, it’s progress— whole sentences of it.

“She’s wonderful. It’s obvious she thinks you’re wonderful, too, Ness.”

I pull her closer, breathing her in. Strawberry shampoo. Baby powder. She rests her head on my chest and my heart swells. Regardless of how I feel about myself, I’m so happy for her, I could bust.

“You’re not ever gonna leave me, are you, Carey?”

I watch her hands play with Shorty’s ears, arranging them on his head as if they were a hairstyle. I’m sad that she doesn’t know I won’t.

“Wherever you are, I’ll be there. Remember?”

“Like in the Hundred Acre Wood,” she says, lifting her head to check my eyes. “You said we’d always be together.”

“And I meant it.”

But, for the first time that I can remember, she’s not sure she can believe me. It makes my chest ache all over again.

I recite one of her favorite Poohisms. “ ‘If ever there is tomorrow when we’re not together. . . . there is something you must always remember. You are braver than you believe, stronger than you seem, and smarter than you think. But, the most important thing is, even if we’re apart . . . I’ll always be with you.’ ”

She looks up at me, and for a split second, I see her campfire eyes shining back at me, the ones from before the white-star night.

“But I want you here for real, “ she says, pouting. “Not in my heart, but for real.”

“I’m here, baby.” I take her hand. “See?”

“I’m never leaving, Carey. Even when I’m older than old.”

“I bet I know one of your favorite parts about being here,” I say, teasing her. “No more beans.”

“Uh-uh,” she says, correcting me with a grin. “Human beans.”

I could eat her up.

“Did you finish your homework?”

The campfire goes out, and she shakes her head no, scrambling from the bed and motioning to Shorty. The dog lowers himself slowly to the ground and proceeds to stretch, rump poking the air, front paws splayed, back leg centered beneath him. It looks like one of Melissa’s yoga positions.

“Could you close the door, please?”

They disappear with a click and it’s just me again. Backwoods, clumsy, square-peg me. Circus Bear Carey, and I reckon that’s not the worst folks could call me.

Jenessa would be fine. If they didn’t want me anymore, she’d be fine. That’s the main thing.

Ness would always be okay, if she had Melissa. Melissa would raise her as if she were her own—she already is. Even Delaney loves Nessa. We all know it, no matter how hard she tries to hide it.

Another knock, and I wonder what Jenessa forgot.

“Come in.”

Only it’s Melissa, bearing a tray of butterscotch cake and a glass of chocolate milk. She sets it down on the night table, smiling at me.

“It’s strange to have daughters who do their homework without being scolded into it,” she says.

We stare at each other, the word daughters hanging in the air, dainty and unexpected, like the first snowflake of winter.

I look her in the eye, woods-brave. “Thank you, ma’am.”

“For the cake? It’s no bother.”

“Not just the cake.” Monkey arms sprout from my shoulders, but it’s important. “ She’s happy here.”

Her eyes smile at me, warming me, like the eyes of a mother from a book. Just when I think she’s about to cry, she blinks back the tears and gives a little laugh.

“I really care about your sister. About both of you, for that matter.”

She looks away, taking a moment, then finds my eyes again.

“I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.” She pauses, straightening the edge of my quilt so it hangs straight. “Can I assume your back looks something like Nessa’s?”

I look away, in answer. I know she hears it.

“You must’ve been pretty brave, fending for yourselves in the woods.”

I wish something fierce it were true. Wish I felt it.

“Your dad asked if you’d help him outside,” she says softly. “You can have your cake afterward.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

I slip from the bed, feeling self-conscious as I search for my socks. She pauses in the doorway, watching me.

“Are you, Carey?” she asks.

[page]“Am I what, ma’am?” I find my snow boots half under the bed, hidden behind the dust ruffle.

“Happy here. Perhaps just a little?”

I busy myself by pulling on boots. Ryan makes my heart soar like a kite. This here makes my heart feel gnawed on, like one of Shorty’s bones. But it’s not her fault. It’s not her fault she won’t want me once she knows about the white-star night.