Lies We Bury(17)

My insides twist, but I form the words with my tongue anyway. “No. Be there in twenty.”





Eight





THEN


Lunch comes and goes with Mama Rosemary whipping up pasta with red sauce—my favorite! All our favorite actually. We get to slurp the spaghetti like Lady and the Tramp and Mama doesn’t yell at us.

After we clean up and me and Twin do the dishes and Sweet Lily lays down for a nap Mama Rosemary breaks out the chalkboard.

“Even today?” Twin whines.

Mama nods wiping off the last of my drawing of a boat. “Especially today.”

We review our math first and add up all the macaroni that we have. I count seventy-two pieces of macaroni and Twin gets the same number so we’re happy. “Good job, sweetheart,” Mama says to me patting my hand.

“What about me?” Twin asks.

“What about you?” I mumble.

“I’m not talking to you!”

“Ow! She bit me!”

“Girls! We need to focus,” Mama says. “Bodies to ourselves—you know that.”

Mama says something nice to Twin but I know she meant it more to me.

Next we do geography. Mama draws a map of America and we have to point out where Oregon is. I point just below Washington and Twin points at the middle which Mama always says has names but she doesn’t remember them. I laugh behind my hand. Next Mama erases her lines and draws the outline of Oregon. Oregon always looks to me like a square waving its arms. Look at me, America! People don’t like it when others try to take all the attention by waving their arms or jumping up and down. We have to wait our turn to speak.

Mama draws a straight line up and down and a straight line side to side—our road. “What street is this?” she asks.

“Redding Street,” we answer. We’ve been asked this one before.

“And what is the cross street?”

“Cross street? Like a cross?” I make the sign of Jesus’s cross.

“No, the intersecting street. The one that meets Fir Street. Anyone?”

Twin and me think for a minute before I remember. “Pouch Street!”

“Yes, but it’s pronounced ‘pooch.’ Not ‘powch.’”

Twin sticks her tongue out at me.

Mama wipes down the chalkboard again and takes a seat at our table. One chair is empty—it’s really a crate but we call it a chair—because that’s Sweet Lily’s spot. She’s still napping. “Now, once we’re out of here, what do you do?”

“Mama?” I ask raising my hand just like she taught us. “You usually write it down on the board when you ask us. So we can look at the answers. And tell you them.”

She shakes her head and long hair falls into her face. She pushes it back behind her ears. I push my hair back behind my ears, too. “Not today, honey. Today, I need you both to remember the next steps on your own. Can you do that for me? We’ve been talking about it for a week.”

“But why does it have to be today?” Twin’s eyes get all big and she looks like Sweet Lily for a second. “Can’t we go tomorrow?”

Mama leans over and says, “Hush now. I know you’re scared, but we can’t stay here any longer. The man is going to bring someone else here to live with us soon, and we’re too big for this place. Look around us. There’s no room!” Her voice gets all high like a seagull’s. She watches us to make sure we understand.

“But. The outside. You said it was scary and we shouldn’t want to go. That bad monsters live outside and we were safe in here.” Twin’s voice rises to match and I stay quiet. I agree with Twin.

Mama lets her head fall in her hands. “I know. I know, you’re right. I’m sorry, okay? I didn’t know what to tell you when you started asking . . . I didn’t know what to say to make it okay . . . to make this . . . okay. But I’m going to need your help tonight.”

Twin stands up and pushes back from the table. “You said what happened to Mama Bethel can happen to you or to us. You said it!”

Mama looks at Twin all sad. She reaches out a hand to touch her but Twin yanks her arm back. “I know I did. And that’s true. People do die out there. But we all do. We’ll die in here if we stay.”

I start to cry. Dying is for old people. We’re all young people. Mama Rosemary doesn’t have any gray hairs like old people.

She takes my hand and reaches across for Twin’s hand and Twin doesn’t move away. “We have to leave, girls,” she says in a soft voice. “You’re getting bigger. He’s already starting to notice you.”

“Notice how?” I ask.

Mama looks up like she sees something on the wood beams. Twin yanks her hand away and Mama’s voice is rocky. “Like the man notices me.”





Nine

Outside Four Alarm, navy slickers clump together in the misty rain—police officers and a forensics team. From what Pauline told me in her office, day two of the investigation is progressing at the rate of day one—slowly, and with the police maintaining guarded secrecy against the public. Those not in uniform who are granted access are watched like shoplifting teens—which won’t bother me any. My sticky fingers were good at grabbing makeup and accessories, but it was only a phase; I was glad to turn eighteen and leave a midsize juvenile record behind. Now I limit my thievery to fruit.