The Book of Cold Cases(56)

On Christmas morning, the girls ate more chocolate and played dolls and dress-up. They raced each other around the yard, churning up the wet snow as the ocean roared at the bottom of the cliff. Beth thought of the other kids from school, and she knew that she wasn’t having the right kind of Christmas, a normal kind of Christmas. She didn’t unwrap gifts or leave cookies for Santa. She didn’t have turkey. It felt sad, but then she and Lily popped popcorn six times, smothering it with butter and eating it all day until they went to bed.

I should miss them, she thought as she and Lily jumped from the coffee table with their arms outstretched, seeing which one of them could touch the ceiling first. And she did miss her parents, a little. But she didn’t miss the watchfulness, the waiting for the moment when her parents started politely snapping at each other, forgetting that she was in the room. She didn’t miss having to tiptoe everywhere, remembering never to touch anything or ask for anything or make any noise, because she was supposed to be seen and not heard. She didn’t miss lying alone in bed in this strange house, wondering why she was so afraid of it, of beams and roofs and windows, as if she and the house hated each other.

“You’re not really my cousin, are you?” Beth asked that night as they wound the bedcovers around themselves and ate the last of the candy they’d found in the pantry.

“No, I’m not.” Lily’s profile was perfect as she snapped off a small bite of chocolate. “You don’t have a cousin.”

“Then who are your parents?”

“I live with foster parents,” Lily said. “This is the second family I’ve lived with. I’ll probably live with a different one next year.”

Beth had never imagined meeting a real-life orphan instead of reading about them in books. “Where are your real parents?” she asked.

Lily thought this over. “My mother is alive,” she said. “My father, I don’t know. Maybe he’s dead. If he isn’t, I plan to find him someday.”

“What about your mother? Do you plan to find her?”

Lily thought about this again. “My mother doesn’t want me,” she said. “But maybe she has no choice.”

The next day, they ran out of cookies, so they tried baking cookies themselves from a recipe book that was stacked under the sink, the pages stuck together with disuse. Beth singed a finger when she opened the hot oven, so the girls turned the oven off and ate the uncooked batter instead. There was a brief fight that day, when Lily took a doll Beth wanted to play with. Lily won.

Beth’s mother came home, still wearing the red sweater and the plaid skirt. Her hair had been taken down and put up again, and her mascara had dribbled into raccoon bruises beneath her eyes. She looked around the mess of the house, at the two girls sitting on the living room sofa, surrounded by blankets they’d pulled off the bed.

“How sweet,” she said. “It looks like you two had fun. I’m sorry . . . I’m sorry I wasn’t home for Christmas.”

“It’s okay,” Beth said. Her mother had been so sad ever since Beth’s grandmother died. She’d probably just gone off to be sad somewhere, Beth decided, since Lily was here to keep her company. It wouldn’t be much of a Christmas if your mother had just died.

Beth had explained this to Lily, who had given her a blank look. Beth had to remember that Lily didn’t understand anything about mothers.

Her mother looked past Beth at Lily and said her name, the word seeming to twist in her throat. “Lillian . . .”

“Yes, Mrs. Greer?” Lillian asked sweetly.

Mariana just looked at her. Beth noticed that Lily and her mother had the same color hair, the same pretty blond.

“Nothing,” Mariana said after a moment. “You two sweet girls have fun.” She went upstairs, and Beth heard her parents’ bedroom door click shut.

Beth’s father came home the next day, ragged, tired. He looked at Beth and said, “Housekeeping will be here in an hour. Have them clean up this mess.” Then he turned to Lily. “Pack your bags. You’re going home.”

“No!” Beth cried.

“Shut up,” her father said, and even though he wasn’t a very warm father, even though he expected her to be neat and quiet and never play, he’d never said those words to her before. He turned to Lily again and said, “You have five minutes. I’ll have a taxi at the door to take you to wherever you’re going.”

Lily looked up at him with wide, sweet eyes. “Yes, Mr. Greer,” she said.

Beth followed Lily upstairs to pack. She felt like crying, but Lily was unperturbed. She didn’t even seem concerned that she was being sent out into the world, into a taxi, alone, at age eight. Beth didn’t want to cry in front of her, didn’t want to seem like a baby.

“Will you come back?” she asked as Lily slung her single cloth bag, filled with only a few clothes and a toothbrush, over her shoulder.

“Yes,” Lily said. “They can’t keep me from this house. No one can.”



* * *



—

Over dinner one night a week later, Beth asked her mother and father who Lily’s parents were.

Mariana glanced at Julian, then looked back at Beth. “I’m glad you two are such good friends,” she said, touching Beth’s hair. “And Lily doesn’t have parents. Isn’t that sad?”