Amy Chelsea Stacie Dee (17 page)

I looked up at him. His hair was longish. He cut it himself, when he thought of it, and it never looked anything like normal. But today it looked worse. It was tinged with gray
already, and it was plastered against his head, the back longer than the front, pieces sticking out over his ears. He hunched his shoulders, leaning over his great body.

“Is she . . .” I didn't know how to ask it. I couldn't say a bad word about Stacie. Kyle wouldn't hear of it. One time I got frustrated with her and called her a bad name, and Kyle slapped me across the face. He slapped me so hard that my head hurt for days.

“She's quiet,” he said.

She had been quiet, after the birth, for a couple days. And then she had not been quiet. She had screamed and cried and thrown the dishes around the room until they were only pieces on the floor, and I went scrambling after them while Kyle held Barbie in the sling and picked up Lola in his arms, and as I picked up the pieces and swept them and vacuumed the floor to catch the tiniest of the shards, she screamed at me.

You want them. You want them. You want them,
she screamed, and her face was red and blotchy from crying, and she could barely sit up, because she'd hurt herself destroying everything so soon after giving birth. Finally her voice gave out, and she could no longer scream at me. She collapsed into tears and rolled away from me on the bed.

At the river, I held Barbie close. Stacie wasn't right. I never wanted to be a mother. I never wanted how it happened. But this baby was precious. And Lola was precious. They were innocent, and they loved us, all of us, no matter what we did or who we were, and how could you not love someone like that?

She hadn't hurt Lola yet, then. But since the birth, I didn't
like to sit there and leave Lola alone with her. Something had happened to her during those twenty-four hours of pain, something that opened the fracture inside her and broke her apart. I began to stand up, but Kyle pulled on my arm. I fell back into the rocks, clutching Barbie close.

“Where's Stacie?” he asked. There were tears in his eyes. He wasn't asking where she was, but what had happened to her. Why was she no longer the girl he had followed around the streets of Grey Wood? Why was she no longer his little doll?

“That day,” I began. I knew I shouldn't say it. I knew that the fact that I was holding Barbie might not keep me safe. But I opened my mouth, and it came out. “When we were at the river, before you took us, she had just gotten her period.”

He stared at me. His eyes were filled with tears, but hard. He did nothing. Barbie and I still sat there on our rock.

“She was upset,” I said. “She didn't want to grow up.” I had just turned thirteen, and I didn't have my period yet. I could feel it coming, though. I had boobs now. They weren't large, nothing near like what I thought I wanted, before. Now, I hoped they would stop growing. I hoped the blood would never come, and I could be a child. Kyle loved dolls, but he liked women, too. Women made him feel
that
way. At least, you had to be a little bit of a woman. Not a whole woman like our moms. But you had to have boobs, and blood. Those things made Kyle feel it.

“She's my Stacie,” he said. He hung his head low over his body.

You raped her,
I thought. That was something I couldn't say. He already knew it, of course. But he acted as if that were nothing, as if what he did to her at night and these babies had no relation, as if Stacie could possibly be the same, after that.

I wasn't the same, and it wasn't me.

“She doesn't like them, but they're beautiful.” He turned his face back to me. “Aren't they?”

I nodded.

“I don't hurt her,” he said.

I put my hand on Barbie's head and pulled her even closer. I curled around her, and I could see nothing, not Kyle, not the water, not the rocks; nothing.

“I don't mean to.” His voice came through the blur, overrode everything. He was plaintive, almost whining, a sad tinge to his voice. “I love her,” he said. “Why does she have to be this way when she knows that I love her?”

I couldn't answer, could barely breathe.

“You love her, too, don't you?”

“Yes,” I said. He knew I did. He knew that was why I would never try to run again, even before Lola was born. I would never leave Stacie. I knew he meant it when he said he loved her, and I also knew what his love meant.

“I'm going to stop,” he said.

Stop? I let out a little gasp. Did he really mean it? And what if he did? What if he stopped with her and turned to me?

Barbie began to cry. She was hungry. I had to take her back to Stacie, the only one who could feed her.

“There won't be any more,” he said, “if she doesn't love them. And if she doesn't want it.”

“I think . . .” I choked on my words. “I think that will help her,” I said.

•   •   •

And he really did stop, and very soon after that, I got my period. But he didn't start doing it to me. He told me to clean this and change that diaper and cook and sew, but that was all he asked me to do for him. We both tiptoed around Stacie, and kept the girls away from her as much as we could. We watched and waited and said only kind things, no matter what we received back. But by that time, the cousin who had been my best friend was gone, and the doll who Kyle said he loved was gone, too.

WE'RE WALKING SLOWER
now because Lola's feet are hurting after running over gravel, and so she takes each step carefully. Barbie isn't wearing shoes either, and she's heavy, maybe even heavier than she was only a month ago. I'm sweating and stumbling down the hill, suddenly exhausted. But I can see the bend where I left the car now, and I get new strength. We only have to make it that far.

•   •   •

I didn't mean to.

I will tell them how much I loved their mommy.

I will tell them that their mommy loved them.

She was going to cut the dress to pieces. She had the sewing scissors in her right hand. But Kyle was saying,
We'll have more children. We'll be a family. Everything will be perfect.

And Barbie got away from me. She ran toward Stacie because she loved that pink princess dress. “Mommy, don't cut it,” she said.

Dee grabbed her by the hair, and she said,
This is your fault.
She pulled out a whole clump of Barbie's hair.

I was screaming,
Stop. Stacie, stop. Stop. Stop.

You wanted them,
she screamed.

Barbie was bawling.

Lola tried to go to her.

I pulled her back, and Stacie wrenched her out of my arms. She threw Lola, and Lola fell.

You wanted them.

No, baby doll,
Kyle said. He picked up Lola. Barbie ran to them, and so did I.

You wanted them.
She raised the scissors.

Mommy, no,
Lola said.

Stacie rushed toward us with the scissors raised.

I jumped in front of them. I grabbed the lamp.

I never thought about how hard to hit her. I never thought about where. I just swung.

We all heard the crunch as the base of the lamp broke. And she fell like it was slow motion. She landed on her back with her hair covering one side of her face. One blue eye stared up at us.

Kyle got down on his knees.
Baby, baby. Baby doll. Wake up, baby doll.
He sobbed.

Lola and Barbie were hiding behind me but saying,
Mommy? Mommy?
and peering around me while my hands instinctively went out to hold them back, because in the movies they jump up again, the monsters.

But Stacie didn't jump up. She was no longer a monster. She was a body with Stacie's face, which I could not see yet
was Dee's face. All I saw was the screaming, the hands on Barbie, Lola flying, and more screams, and the face distorted, and the lamp sitting on the little end table, and the crying, and Kyle,
Baby doll, wake up. Baby, wake up.

But I'll never tell them that I saw Stacie as a monster. She wasn't, not until he made her that way. I'll tell them I didn't mean to, that I only wanted to calm Mommy down. I only wanted her to stop. That's the truth. I wanted to take them away from there while Kyle took Dee on their “honeymoon,” and I would have come back for Dee with the police. That's what I would have done, if she had made it through that day. I wanted all of us to be together.

•   •   •

“Chel. Chel.”

Whose voice is it?

I can't see anything, but I'm sure my eyes are open.

“Chel.” It's another voice, a smaller one. Barbie.

I shake my head. It rubs against something. Slowly, I sit up. I'm looking through the windshield of the car, and there is a gas pump. $1.56. I am at the gas station.
We
are at the gas station. The airbag is open. My chest aches.

“Barbie? Lola?” I turn around in my seat, awkwardly; the airbag is too big to let me do much.

“Chel!” Lola squeezes into the front seat and wraps her arms around me. Barbie hangs onto Lola.

“What happened?” I ask. It's coming back to me, though. I was there. I was back there in the cabin on that day, with the lamp, and the screaming, and Kyle's face, and I was outside
with them inside, and it was Dee's face after all lying there. That's where I was, on the drive back down the hill.

I rub my eyes. Yes, we are at the gas station. We have not gotten far enough. How much time has passed? Only a few minutes, surely. But I can't drive with this airbag out. And I don't have a phone. I should have insisted that Mom buy me a phone.

“Chel, you wouldn't answer,” Lola says.

“I'm sorry, baby,” I say. “I got lost in my head. I'm sorry.”

“Where's Daddy?” Barbie asks.

“Daddy's sleeping,” I say. “We didn't want to wake Daddy.” But he's probably awake now. He's probably noticed that they're gone.

“Where are we?” Barbie is crying.

“We're not very far from home,” I say. “We're not far at all.” This is meant to reassure her, but Lola knows it doesn't reassure me. She leans into my face.

“You didn't want to crash,” she says.

“No, baby, I didn't.” We can't walk down the street, not with Lola still in socks and Barbie barefoot. Lola has walked as far as she can already. Her little feet must be killing her, but she doesn't complain.

“We put Mommy by the river,” she says. She plops down in the passenger seat.

I could have killed them. I never thought about that. I knew I had these blackouts, these times when I went elsewhere. I never thought it would happen now. I should have thought about it. What if . . . I gasp for breath. I have to remain
calm. They are all right, I tell myself. I just have to think of a way out.

“Daddy was sad.” Lola rubs her left foot.

Barbie climbs on top of her.

“I was sad, too,” I say. But the truth is, I wasn't sad enough. Every time I started to think about what I did, I pushed it away. I buried and buried and buried and acted like it didn't happen, like she had died and there was no context, like she was just gone. But you can't make something nothing just by closing yourself off. Because someday your mind will break, and you will be driving down a steep hill with two precious babies in the backseat, and you will almost kill them. That's what happens when you bury things.

I close my eyes. If I can just go away again, this will not have happened. I just want to go away again.

“Chel! Chel!” Lola pulls on my sleeve.

I open my eyes. There is another car in the lot. Its lights are on. My lights are on, too, I realize, spilling all over the pump.

People are getting out of the other car.

My driver's side door opens. Hands grab me and pull me out of the car. I am on the ground now, facing up to the stars. Lola and Barbie are both crying, but Lola is talking, too.

“Who are you?” she's asking.

“I'm Lee,” Lee says. “I'm your auntie.”

“Chel's my auntie,” Lola says. “You're a stranger.”

“We're both your aunties,” Lee says.

“I can't talk to strangers.”

“Chel.” Barbie is tugging on my sleeve.

“Hi, baby,” I say. “I'm okay, baby.”

“Well, hello there,” Vinnie says. “Amy's going to be all right. She just needs a little rest.”

“Her name is Barbie,” I say. “Like the doll. And that's Lola. Girls, this is Vinnie and your Auntie Lee. It's okay to talk to them. They're not strangers.”

“Nice to meet you, Barbie and Lola,” Vinnie says. His face appears over mine. “Did you hit your head?” he asks.

“I don't think so. The airbag came out.”

“Okay,” he says. But he looks worried. His eyebrows squeeze together.

“I'm sorry I stole your car,” I say. “And crashed it.” We need to get out of here. I need to tell him. “Vinnie—” But I just want to close my eyes again.

“What do you see?” he asks. “Do you see stars?”

I do see stars. Lots and lots of them. But those are real stars, not the kind of stars he means. “No,” I say. “I'm okay.” I sit up. Lee is sitting on the ground with Lola, who is standing very still, watching me.

Barbie grabs me as I sit up.

I put my arm around her. I'm supposed to be holding her, but it feels like she's holding me.

“I set up my car so I can find it by GPS,” he says. “Lost it twice in the mall parking lot already.”

“Oh my god.” I'm so stupid that I didn't think of that, that I thought I could get anywhere without them finding me.

“Lee and I rented a car from some guy at a mechanic's shop,” he says.

“I'll pay you back,” I say.

“I think the car might be stolen,” Vinnie goes on. “That guy was sketch.”

“We're three felons now,” Lee says. “
Grand Theft Auto
, Oregon edition.”

“We have to go now,” I say.

“Is he close?” Lee asks. “Vinnie, he must be close.”

“Yes,” I say. “He's very close.”

Lee takes out a phone—it must be Vinnie's. The phone that caught me with its GPS, that I stupidly forgot to break. “There's no reason not to call now, is there?” she asks.

“Other than us being felons,” Vinnie says.

I look around. I feel my arm around Barbie. I guess there isn't any reason. I guess the cops could come and take Kyle away now. But the thought doesn't make me feel good. It doesn't make me feel anything, really. I know I don't want Lola and Barbie to be anywhere near him, but at the same time, he's the only daddy they know.

“No, there's no reason,” I say. I hold out my free arm for Lola.

She walks over to me and lets me put my arm around her, too.

Lee dials the phone, just three numbers. There is a pause that seems to take a million years.

“I have information about the kidnapper of Amy MacArthur,” she says. “Yes, I know where he is.” She tells them what road we're on, and she looks up at the street sign and
names the cross street. She tells them about the old gas station. Then she looks at me.

“Up the hill,” I say. “Take a left and then a right. And then there's a dirt road, and there's a cabin.”

“Who is the auntie talking to?” Lola asks. She stares at Lee. I realize she has never even seen another adult woman before. Dee and Kyle and me were the only adults in her whole world. She'll think everybody is a stranger.

“She's talking to someone who's going to help us,” I say. But I don't know if that's true. What Kyle has done has already happened. If the police catch him and put him in jail, it won't do us any good. The girls won't understand why their daddy is in jail. Dee won't be alive again. If the police catch Kyle, then I'll have to see him. If he slips away and escapes, then maybe I'll never see him again.

But he won't do that. He won't really care about getting caught now. He's lost Stacie, the girl he was obsessed with since he first saw her walking to school, more than six years ago. He's lost me, who he owned, too. He hit me over and over again, and he didn't want me the way he wanted her, but I was his. Until I took Stacie away from him, he wanted to keep me. And now he's lost the girls, who were the last things he had.

“Does anyone else live up there?” Vinnie asks.

“No,” I say. “There's just a burned-out farmhouse.”

“Well, somebody's coming down the road,” he says.

I look up. There are headlights coming toward us. I can't
see the driver in their brightness, but there's only one person it could be.

“Daddy!” Barbie pipes into the silence.

•   •   •

“Why doesn't she get up?” Kyle asked me. We were outside on the porch this time, us and the girls, while Stacie lay inside on the bed, face to wall. It was getting cold, and we were all bundled up, me in an old thrift-store coat two sizes too big and the girls wrapped in blankets. I was fourteen, and Barbie had just turned one year old then. Actually, she was thirteen months. I had this idea in my head that until a baby turned a certain age, you were supposed to count the months. I didn't know when months stopped and years began, but I knew she was thirteen months then. I held her on my lap while Lola sat with a magnetic tray of letters, another thrift-store purchase, or maybe theft. Kyle didn't take us into town with him, so I could never be sure. I had no way of knowing how much he'd inherited from his dead parents or what he had left.

Lola moved the letters around sort of haphazardly. It was time to get some more books, I thought. She might already be behind, without having any preschool or anything. I had to make sure she learned something, even if she was going to live up here with just us for her whole life.

“I don't touch her,” Kyle said. “She was supposed to change back.” He was crying, tears rolling down his big face.

I tried not to let it show, that he gave me goosebumps, that my whole body stiffened. That I was thinking,
You raped her you raped her you raped her.

“We need to give her more time,” I said.

He turned to me. He was wearing an old thrift-store coat, too, but his was too small on him. The hood didn't fit over his head and hung half way back, and the sleeves were too short. He reached out a large hand, thick with long but stubby fingers, and he touched my face. He ran one finger across my chin.