If You Find Me (3 page)

I drift off again as the motion of the car—it’s been a long time since I’ve been in a moving car—lulls me to sleep like a baby in its mama’s arms. I wake just as we pull into a parking lot.
“This is it. The Social Services building.”
The poles tower over the asphalt like chilly metal trees, haunting the area with pale yellow circles of light.

Ness is still asleep, thumb in mouth, T-shirt pushed up, exposing her belly button. I think of what Mrs. Haskell said, noticing for the first time the washboard rows of little- girl ribs. But we’ve always been skinny, as best I can remember. Mama is slim. So is the man.

I want to ask what we’re doing here, as it’s obvious the building is closed. I want to ask what’s next, what happens next, but I swallow my questions in a lump and tend to Jenessa.

I push on her shoulder, but she’s out cold. Gently, I reach around her and sit her up, her head lolling against the seat. She grumbles. Her eyelids flutter.

Mrs. Haskell and the man exit the car, leaving me to it, and I’m glad. Nessa isn’t used to strangers. Better she sticks to what she knows. Her eyes open reluctantly, and her thumb falls out as she blinks at me, surely trying to remember where she is and what we’re doing in a car, of all places. I use my happy voice.

“Remember Mrs. Haskell came and got us? She drove us to where she works. That’s why we’ve stopped.” I lift her by the armpits back onto the seat. “Here, let me tie your shoes.”

Ness yawns. I wait for the teary protest shouted from her eyes, because big girls tie their own shoes, but I don’t get one. She sits silently as I plunk each small foot down on my thigh and tie the dirty white shoelaces, not too loose, not too tight, just like she likes them.

“It’s okay, Ness. It’s gonna be okay. You got me. I’m right here.” I squeeze her hand in a show of solidarity. “C’mon.”
I take her coat from the seat and stuff her arms in. Then I turn to Mrs. Haskell.
“She’s just a little girl. She needs sleep—it’s been a long day.”
“I agree, Carey. Your father is bringing his truck around, and there’s a motel right down the road. You girls will stay with me, and your father will be in the room next door. We’ll finish up the paperwork tonight and appear before the judge in the morning.”
Jenessa grips my hand something fierce. I must look skeptical, because Mrs. Haskell sighs, her forehead creasing.
“I think after all you’ve been through, this is a better idea than taking you girls to the group home for the night. It’s another half hour away, it’s late, and you need your sleep.”
It could be worse, I reassure myself. Could be left alone with more strangers. Or with him.
I squat down to eye level and take hold of both of Nessa’s hands.
“She’s right. This way, we can get you some food and tuck you into bed before midnight.”
Unconvinced, Ness pulls her hands from mine and folds her arms, her lower lip jutting out.
She wants to go home. She wants the woods. She thinks I’m in charge.
But I’m not, not anymore.
“Ness, please?” I use her word. “I’m e x h a u s t i fi e d , too. It’s been a long day. I think it’s a good idea.”
She stares back at me, her dark eyes fringed in thick lashes, and I can almost see the cogs and wheels working behind them. To my relief, she finally nods. I get to my feet. Immediately, she takes my hand again.
I turn to Mrs. Haskell, ignoring the man where he leans against a pale blue truck, curlicues of cigarette smoke weaving around him. “We’ll go. But we ride with you.”
“Fine,” Mrs. Haskell says, motioning us back into the car. She turns to the man. “We’ll follow behind you.”
His gaze rests on me for a moment before he flicks his cigarette in a glowing arc. He walks over to where it lands and grinds it out with the toe of his boot.
“If you did that in the woods, you’d burn the whole place down,” I say.
He shoots me a sheepish grin and picks it up, depositing the butt in a nearby trash receptacle.
“That better?” he asks, like it matters what I think.
I ignore him, leading Jenessa back to her seat in the car.
As if anything could be better.
Buckled in, I feel so small, as small as Jenessa, and just as helpless. The world is endless without the trees to fence it in, the sky huge enough to swallow us whole and spit out our bones dry as kindling.
Already, I want to go back, go backward. The keening rises like the song of a cicada, then two, then hundreds, until the whole world vibrates in a chorus of longing.
All we’d needed was more canned goods. More blankets. More buckshot.
We were doing right fine on our own.

Our motel room is huge, with two beds parked at the far end, boasting matching comforters and crisp white sheets. In the middle of the room is a round table with four chairs, and there’s a television bolted up high in the corner, where the lime green wall meets the ceiling. The bathroom door is open. The tiles sparkle hard, like the sun straight on.

Mrs. Haskell smiles at Jenessa, a real smile, which Ness returns with a small one, and then she nods at the television.
“Wait till you see this, Jenessa.”
Mrs. Haskell’s index finger skims over a shiny plastic placard; then she picks up a rectangular thing—she calls it a “remote control”— pushes a button, and the television crackles to life. She pushes a few more buttons, and the screen flickers with images, coming to rest on a channel with the word sprout popping up at the bottom right-hand corner. Fat creatures with antennas on their heads giggle and waddle across a flowery field studded with bunnies.
Before I can control it, my eyes fill. Teletubbies. The jolt from the past is like a bucket of ice water dumped over my head. I remember the Tubbies. The fuzzy memory of a red Po doll fills my mind.
Jenessa’s eyes widen until the whites show. Her bones turn to noodles and she sinks to the rug, only breaking contact with the screen to beam at me in amazement before locking back on the box on the wall.
Mrs. Haskell and I look at each other, her eyes bright. She clears her throat. I turn back to my sister.
“It’s television, Ness. TV, for short. You like it?”
As if communicating from a dream, Nessa nods big, sweeping nods from ceiling to floor while her eyes remain glued to the screen.
“Lift up your foot, okay?”
I untie and remove each sneaker, leaving her wiggling her toes.
“Ewwww,” I tease. “Stink stank stunk, Miss Jenessa.”
She giggles.
I unbutton her coat, smiling at the light pink T-shirt with the word Diva painted across it in silvery, glittery script. When I asked Mama what the word meant, she’d shrugged her shoulders, too high to reply. Ness loved the sparkles too much to care.
“Now your pants.”
I expect her to protest, in front of Mrs. Haskell and all, but she doesn’t, too mesmerized by the giggling Teletubbies making messy Tubby custard.
I lay her clothes neatly over one of the chairs, and take her in, my heart loving her so much, it could explode all over the room. Those blond curls, the knobby knees, the wonder on her face, the girlie white underwear boasting ruffles around the leg holes. Even as skinny as she is, she’s a vision.
I make a vow right then and there that I’ll allow no one to separate us. What ever I have to endure with the man, I’ll endure, as long as we stay together.
I reach down and scoop her up in my arms and settle her on the bed against two fluffy pillows. Mrs. Haskell turns the television angle to one Nessa can watch without straining. This is her first experience of a bed, and a sigh escapes her lips. It’s the height of luxury for both of us.
“You can borrow this, if you’d like,” Mrs. Haskell offers, nodding that it’s all right to take it, her eyes bobcat large and blinking through the thick glasses she pushes up her nose.
For the first time, I notice Mrs. Haskell’s little suitcase, plucked from her trunk. She tosses me the T-shirt and I catch it, light purple, with the word Chicago stamped across the chest in curving script.
I know Chicago. It’s in Illinois, USA.
“Did you used to live there?” I ask by way of thanks.
“I’ve heard Chicago is lovely, but I’ve never been. It’s a musical group I listened to in college.”
I brush past her into the bathroom to change. I’ve never heard of that Chicago. The only music I know comes from my violin. My stomach clenches as I think about it— about all the things I don’t know, a mile-long list I’m sure will only grow longer as the days pass.
I reappear from the bathroom with my sneakers and clothes in hand, the T-shirt hanging to my knees. I watch Mrs. Haskell smile as Nessa giggles, her little- girl hands reaching toward the cooing baby’s face in the middle of the sun setting over the Teletubbies’ world, just before lines of names roll down the screen.
Nessa pops her thumb in her mouth, her eyelids heavy. I climb in beside her, sliding the blankets out from under her legs to set them billowing over us in a cloud. She moves her leg over until it’s touching mine.
Neither of us can stay awake long enough to eat, but even better than food is how the white-star night flickers and dies like it doesn’t belong here, in the midst of such largess. I imagine being free of it forever, of the sights, sounds, and smells seared into my memory.
But deep down, I know better.
I don’t want to wake up from this dream I’m having, of a feathersoft bed, fluffy covers, and Nessa not half on top of me, the two of us crammed onto the narrow cot where we shared our body heat each night. The fit was easy when she was a baby. But babies never stay babies.
I hear his voice and instantly remember who he is, what happened, where we are. The man and Mrs. Haskell talk quietly. I inhale the strange aroma, note the trails of steam rising from white cups they both sip from at the table, a jumble of papers spread out between them.
“So, we go before the judge at noon, and then what?”
“We submit the paperwork to the court, and the judge releases the girls into your custody. It should be a short hearing, all told.”
“And then they come home with me.”
“Right. We’ll need to get them evaluated by a pediatrician, a court-appointed psychologist, and test them academically, so we know where we’re at. We’ll need them enrolled in school as soon as possible. I feel the longer we wait, the harder it’ll be. As their social worker, I’ll be here for support throughout the pro cess.”
Through slits, I watch the man rake his fingers through his hair. Mrs. Haskell smiles, unruffled. Even I know we have mountains ahead of us.
“No doubt there will be an adjustment period for the girls, Mr. Benskin. For all of you. I won’t lie to you.”
The man strokes the stubble on his chin with faraway eyes. I don’t want him catching me, but I can’t look away. I watch his lips as he speaks.
“Did you discuss any of this with Carey? She’s spent a long time in those woods. I don’t know what Joelle filled her head with, but she’s not taking too warmly to me.”
I wouldn’t have thought he cared what I felt. I let the knowledge settle, sinking like stones to the bottom of the creek, only this time, the creek is my stomach.
“She’s agreed to go with you. Not without some hesitance, I admit, but she knows it’s best for Jenessa.”
The man nods.
“Please don’t take it personally. Her reluctance is understandable. Since you’re not, in the usual sense—” Mrs. Haskell stops. But not the man.
“Her father. I know.” He sighs, deep and wide like Ness does sometimes. “I’m her father, but I’m a complete stranger to both these girls.”
“I assure you, they’ll have the services of the state of Tennessee at their disposal. We’ll get them back in school and all caught up in no time. We’ll help them adjust. Like I said, kids are resilient.”
“And reporters? Won’t they be all over this story?”
“I’m pro cessing them as Carey and Jenessa Blackburn. That’s the name they’ve been using, anyway, and your wife’s maiden name is more likely to go under the radar, especially for Carey. I suggest we continue to use that name to enroll them in school.”
My father nods weakly. I can feel what he’s feeling. I’ve worn his face many times myself.
Hoping Mama will come back in time. Hoping I can protect Ness if an intruder enters our woods, or a hungry bear, or a hungry bear with cubs in tow, even worse. Hoping I can love Ness enough to grow her up healthy and normal, what ever that means. Hoping I can fill her growing mind and heart when I can’t fill her stomach . . . hoping she’ll forgive me for the whitestar night, and keep on forgiving me every time I can’t fix things. Like now.
“You’re going to need buckets of patience, Mr. Benskin. Jenessa’s muteness will take time to sort out, and Carey comes with her own set of issues, no doubt. There’s no telling what these children have been through.”
My father begins picking at the edge of his cup. When he looks at her, I can tell his eyes are locked on something in the past— something that seared deeply and left the worst kind of scar: the inside kind. Mrs. Haskell’s eyes grow soft. She’s good at that, and I can tell it comes from someplace true.
“The girls are their own family unit. You have to remember that. They’re all each other had. It may be best to honor that, for starters. Carey is very mature for her age. Thank God, for Jenessa’s sake. As long as the decisions aren’t the big ones, I’d let Carey take the lead— at least until the girls warm up to you. It might help Jenessa adjust better, too, if Carey remains in charge.”
The man’s jaw is set, and his cheek muscle twitches. I don’t know what it means, or what he’s feeling; whether he agrees with Mrs. Haskell or resents her advice. I just don’t know. I don’t know him.
Abruptly, he pushes his chair back and towers above her.
“I’d better go get the girls some breakfast. They’re going to be hungry as bears when they wake up.”
“That’s a wonderful idea. We’re going to have to get them up soon. Court is in a few hours.”
I wait until he’s taken Mrs. Haskell’s order and the door wooshes shut before I make the appropriate waking noises, stretching my arms toward the ceiling. Next to me, Jenessa sprawls on her back, her sweet curls falling over her face. She sleeps like a rock, like little kids do. Carefully, I smooth a curly tendril out of the corner of her mouth. I see no reason to wake her until the food arrives. Plus, it gives me alone time to talk with Mrs. Haskell.
“Good morning, Carey.”
Mrs. Haskell’s hair is flat and she’s wearing the glasses again, in lieu of what I now know are contact lenses. It’s astounding, not just that people actually put tiny circles of plastic on their eyes but that they actually work.
“This is for you.”
She holds out a yellow brush in a crinkly plastic wrapper, small enough to brush Nessa’s Barbie’s hair, and a little tube of something. I look at it and mouth the word: Crest.
With her eyes matter- of-fact, she makes pretend I shouldn’t already know what it is. I’m grateful for that.
“That’s a toothbrush, and the tube is filled with toothpaste. You put a little on the brush and scrub your teeth with it.”
“Oh yeah. I remember now.”
My cheeks burn as the fuzzy memory returns, of Mama’s hand moving back and forth in front of my face, my lips curled back as I stood on a little white stool and leaned over the bathroom sink.
“That’s mighty convenient, in a tube and all. Ness and I used baking soda and tree bark. Mama said the soda would make our teeth cleaner and whiter.”
“Baking soda is a good substitute, if you don’t have toothpaste. Your mom was right.”
I nod, relieved. Relieved not to be that backward.
As I brush my teeth at the bathroom sink, I hear Jenessa waking up, groaning in that low way of hers, which is as close to talking words as a stranger will get. Mrs. Haskell makes her way to the bed, and I concentrate on the brushing. I make a face at the toothpaste taste, studying myself in the mirror. I can’t stop staring at myself.
“It’s okay, Jenessa. Carey’s right there in the bathroom, brushing her teeth.”
I hear the bed shifting and the pad of bare feet. Jenessa stands in the doorway, her lower lip trembling.
“I’m not going anywhere, baby,” I say, my mouth full of white bubbles. “And, look at this! It’s your lucky day,” I say brightly.
I peel the plastic from the pale pink toothbrush sitting on the ledge of the sink and hold it out to her after squeezing a small ribbon of Crest onto it. Jenessa takes the brush, sniffing at the toothpaste. Her tongue darts out like a lizard’s, testing it.
“It’s toothpaste, to clean your teeth. That’s what the people here use. Watch.”
In slow, exaggerated motions, I scrub my teeth back and forth, back and forth.
If I was expecting her to decline or argue, she doesn’t. She stands on tiptoes next to me and gives it a careful try, smiling at the bubbly film on her lips and then up at me, like a modern girl trying new things. I watch her watch herself in the mirror, as mesmerized by her own reflection as I am by mine.
By the time the man comes back with breakfast, we’re seated at the table. I get up to open the door when he knocks, taking two bags from the bunch he’s juggling.
The food lies unpacked on the table, and my stomach rumbles at the feast spread out before us. I don’t know the names for all of it, but the scent alone is stunning.
Mrs. Haskell names the food as she fills our plates: french-toast fingers, maple syrup to dip them in. Scrambled eggs. Bacon. Hash browns. Fried apples. Some of it I do know: ketchup, apple juice, and butter—real butter. I drop a few squares on my scrambled eggs and even more on Nessa’s, until her eggs rise like an island floating in a pale yellow sea.
I’ve never seen Nessa eat with such abandon, sticky syrup dripping down her chin, and bacon—heavenly, hot, salty bacon—three helpings inhaled in as many minutes.
“Slow down, Ness. You’ll get sick if you eat that fast.”
The grown-ups eye each other and then look to me. I get up and remove Jenessa’s plate, holding it high above her head.
“You’re going to throw up if you don’t slow down!”
She kicks at the rungs of her chair, her hands in fists.
“You know we don’t kick. It isn’t civilized. Remember?”
Her legs still. She puts her fork down obediently, her eyes welling.
“If I give you this plate back, you’d better eat like a human being, not a grizzly. You hear?”
Jennessa picks up her fork and nods, her curls bouncing. I kiss her head and return the plate. She resumes her breakfast cheerfully, her legs swinging rhythmically under the table.
Mrs. Haskell smiles at me. I bet she’s thinking of the puke from yesterday.
“Ness has a clean dress she can wear to the hearin’—hearing— but it’s wrinkled,” I say.
Mrs. Haskell holds out her hand. “Let’s see it.”
Reluctantly, I leave my breakfast and saunter over to one of the garbage bags, rummaging through it until I find the pastel pink dress and a pair of white socks with ruffles at the ankles, dingy white, but clean. I also pull out the scuffed Mary Janes, a little tight on her, but okay for an hour or two of wearing.
Mrs. Haskell grabs a metal triangle topped with a hook from her suitcase. I follow her into the bathroom, and she closes the door behind us. She pushes aside the shower curtain and turns on the water full force.
“This is a hanger,” she says, catching me eyeing it. “For hanging up clothes.”
Closing the curtain, she works Nessa’s dress onto the hanger, where it hangs neatly from the bar above.
“The steam from the hot water should do the trick. I’m glad you thought to bring a dress. What do we have for you to wear?”
No way I’m wearing a dress, even if I had one, which, thank God, I don’t.
“I have the jeans I washed in the creek, and a newer blue T-shirt. That’s all I have that’s clean.”