Sadie(14)

They run away.

I continue to let the nasal blare of the car horn fill this desolate section of neighborhood as I watch the boys’ gangly legs propel them down the street. When they turn a corner, I let it go and it’s completely silent and still. I’m parked in a cul-de-sac lined by houses in various stages of development, a large billboard advertising a community completion date that seems impossibly close. There’s a swampy-looking pond just across the way from me, little ripples in the water made by hovering bugs.

I turn the car on briefly, just to get a look at the clock. Eight a.m. Jesus. May Beth says it’s rude to bother anyone before nine a.m. and even then, dropping by at nine isn’t all that decent either, unless it’s an emergency. I rub the back of my neck and then I grab my backpack off the floor, rummaging around until I find a half-empty bottle of water, my toothbrush and toothpaste. I brush my teeth, throw open the car door, lean out and use what’s left of the water to rinse and spit. My stomach growls. I could eat. I’ve got half a bag of salt and vinegar chips stuffed in the glove box. I’ve only just grabbed it before it’s empty and I’m licking my fingers clean of the salty, sour dust. Mattie would be pissed if she saw me doing this, tell me I’d never let her get away with such an unbalanced breakfast because anything I did, she wanted to do on principle because little sisters are like that.

It’d stunt your growth, is what I’d tell her. Don’t want you to be a shrimp forever.

But Mattie would’ve ended up taller than me. You could tell just by looking at her legs. They were so much longer than the rest of her and if you stared at them a while, the rest of her started looking really strange. Arms too skinny, waist too short, hands too big. She was always looking forward to the moment she’d finally get to stare me down and Mom always warned me it was coming, always said it when Mattie and I were giving each other grief because Mom always sided with Mattie about everything. We could’ve been fighting about whether or not the sky was blue and Mattie could’ve said it was purple and Mom would’ve told her she was right just for the look on my face when she did. I can’t even put to words what it’s like to swallow down a moment like that, but I can tell you exactly how bitter it tastes.

I get dressed, swapping out my stale Henley, underwear and jeans for a rumpled pair of black leggings, a fresh pair of underwear and a T-shirt that’s clean enough. I’ll have to find a place to do laundry soon, if I can bring myself to part with the cash. I grab my brush and run it through my knotty hair slowly, just trying to pass the time, and then I pull it into a ponytail. I lick my thumb and smooth my eyebrows down. I run my tongue over my teeth and pick a flake of dead skin off my bottom lip and then I start the car and make my way through Wagner.

Wagner reminds me of a phoenix just before it dies and is reborn. The developing subdivision I spent the night in speaks to the place it’ll become after the rest of it bursts into flames; some quaint tourist hot spot rising from the ashes. For now, everywhere I look I see the kind of cracks that remind me of Cold Creek. People fighting to carve out a space for themselves that’s a little better than the one beside it, but none of it’s actually any good.

I park the car at a sorry-looking elementary school, wander across its lot and round the building to the playground at the back because across from the playground there’s a house. I shove my hands in my pockets and brace myself as I move forward. There are people on the swings, their backs to me. A man and a girl, side by side. When the man reaches his arm around the swing’s chain to put his hand on her small, bony shoulder, I slow my pace.

“You okay?” the man murmurs to her, his feet scraping across the ground from the slow drag of the swing. His voice is soft, silky with kindness. “I know it’s an adjustment, but I’m an okay guy to have around … and if you ever need to talk, I’m right here for you.”

The girl’s shoulders tense, every one of her muscles tightening at the feel of those calloused fingers against the barest parts of her body. She doesn’t say anything and she won’t say anything and I know why she won’t, why her tongue keeps itself quiet. She doesn’t trust him. His is a kindness that doesn’t reach his eyes and she might only be a meatless eleven-year-old, but she’s smart. She knows about the calm before a storm, a quiet building toward a greater chaos. Everything about this okay guy doesn’t fit quite so well into the landscape of their lives. He’s too sober, too concerned, too everywhere when she thinks she’s alone. He’s too many other things she can’t put the words to, like the way he’s touching her now, which is more familiar than it has any right to be and more intimate than should be allowed.

“It’s gonna be fine, Sadie,” the man says.

*

Marlee Singer.

That was the name Caddy gave me when my knife was pressed against his throat, his belt undone, hanging limply against his jeans. I felt his words against the blade. Marlee Singer. And more: Lives in Wagner. She can tell you something about Darren Marshall. I made him push his pants all the way down before I let up, just to give myself time to get away.

The gravel shifts beneath my feet as I walk the pathway leading to Marlee’s front door. There are no signs of life beyond it, no curious fluttering of curtains in the window. I knock and wait. A car goes by. I run my hand through my hair and turn back toward the road. It was 9:45 last I looked but maybe she’s still in bed. I turn back to the house, hoping for something from the second story, but there’s nothing.