Unmissing(10)

I scratch the tip of my itchy nose and pray I’m not allergic. I’ve never had a cat. Never had a dog either. Not even a guinea pig. I tried to keep a field mouse I found in our walls one time—until it bit my finger when I tried to feed it a moldy Kraft single. I never saw it again after that.

I nod, stooping down to scratch behind Powder’s ears. He rubs his head against my hand before weaving between my legs and wrapping his crooked tail around my ankle.

Then he’s gone.

“So we’ve got the kitchen, living room, and dinette here.” Delphine makes a sweeping motion as she presents the open floor plan, which includes cabinets painted an unexpected shade of teal and a redbrick fireplace filled with various sizes of white candles. “And down that hallway are two bedrooms and a bathroom. Here, I’ll show you where you’ll be staying.”

I follow her to the far bedroom, a space big enough to hold a twin bed and a chest of drawers. A single window lets in enough light to distract from the low, water-sagged ceiling. The faintest smell of what I can only assume is cat litter lingers in the air. But despite it all, this place is paradise compared to my last accommodation—or any of the ones that came before it. When I was a young girl, home was often a dank basement apartment. A cigarette-scented, roach-infested rental. A storage unit. Most recently, home was a ramshackle cabin. A paint-chipped park bench. The post office . . .

A handmade quilt covers the bed, accented with two fluffed pillows and a mustard-colored afghan throw at the foot. A small lamp with pale-blue fringe gives the room a muted glow, and lacy sheer curtains offer the lone window some dignity.

I’d have loved a place like this when I was younger.

That’s all I ever wanted—a mom who could hold a job and a cozy little place of our own. I’d wanted a father, too, but I never wasted too much time wishing for something that was never going to happen. According to my mom, my father didn’t know I existed. I was the product of some affair she had with her boss at the Jonesburg Oil and Lube. And that’s what she called me: a product. Wasn’t even worthy of a “love child” moniker.

A framed photo by the lamp displays a younger-looking Delphine, her arms wrapped around a gangly teenager with an embarrassed smile.

“That’s my Amber.” Delphine claps a hand over her heart, head tilted as she studies the photo. “My guardian angel now.”

“I can tell she was special.” I study the image of Delphine squeezing her daughter tight against her, grinning ear to ear. In the background is a theme park castle—and to the right of the ladies a man has been cut out of the image, leaving nothing but his arm around Amber.

I hope Amber knew how lucky she was to have a parent who actually gave a shit.

Delphine exhales, heading for a closet in the corner. “You know, I kept some of her old clothes. And you are about her size. She was my little twig. Not a lot of meat on her bones. Girl could eat like there was no tomorrow but nothing would stick. I bet you could fit into some of these.” She pulls a thin sweater and a pair of narrow, straight-leg jeans from their hangers and holds them up. “I don’t know how ‘in’ these are these days, but you’re welcome to wear anything you find in here.”

“Thank you.” I swallow the lump in my throat that forms in response to the idea of wearing a dead person’s clothes. But I’m not in a position to be choosy—only grateful.

“Why don’t I finish showing you around?” She places the clothes back on their hangers and shuts the closet, giving the door a good shove with her hips to get it to latch. “This thing likes to get an attitude sometimes.” She waves her hand and heads to the hall. “Anyway, here’s the bathroom.” She reaches inside and flicks on a light. “Just make yourself at home.”

Delphine points to a hall closet.

“Vacuum and cleaning supplies are in there,” she says. “Towels and extra bedsheets, too.”

Delphine strolls back to the kitchen, plucking a handwritten list from beneath a gemstone-turned-magnet on the fridge.

“Think I’ll have you make a grocery run today.” She hands me the torn sheet of paper. “There’s a mart three blocks from here, walking distance. Why don’t you get cleaned up and then meet me downstairs? I’ll have to get you some cash from the register.”

I fold the paper in half. “Sounds like a plan.”

Aligning her shoulders with mine, she cups my face between her warm hands, the way she did in her shop earlier. I flinch once more, heart whooshing in my ears. I don’t know if I’ll ever get used to being touched again.

“I’m so glad you’re here,” she says, her voice a broken whisper as her eyes well. “Everything’s going to work out just fine for you. Know that.”

I’m not sure anyone could know something like that.

The future isn’t carved in stone—it isn’t even written in pencil on the back of a napkin.

But once again, I don’t want to offend this gracious woman.

“I’ll be downstairs if you need anything,” she says on her way out. “Please, angel, make yourself at home.”

With that, she’s gone.

Eyeing the open bathroom door, I waste little time peeling out of my clothes, grabbing a towel from the linen closet, and filling Delphine’s acrylic tub-shower combo with water so hot it turns my fingers pink when I test it—yet another thing I’ll never take for granted again.