Sweetly (17 page)
“I know, Ms. Judy. I actually had a question?”
“No. No discounts. I don’t care how long you’ve been renting.” Her hazel eyes move to me appraisingly. “And no shacking up. Not in my backyard. But Christ, Reynolds, if you’re gonna take a lady friend, at least wear something better than that old T-shirt.”
“Of course, Ms. Judy, you’re right,” Samuel mutters. A white cat flies around her feet and dashes out into the backyard before Samuel can continue.
“Dammit, Noodles!” Ms. Judy screeches, shouldering past Samuel and me to the back porch. She bangs her walker on the boards angrily. “Fine, then, go eat mice! I’m not putting your dinner on the porch again just so the raccoons can get it!”
Ms. Judy spits down the porch steps and slowly turns around. When she sees us again, her face falls, as if she’d hoped we would have already disappeared.
“And who the hell are you?” she asks me, putting a hand on her hip.
“Gretchen Kassel,” I answer quickly, dipping my head a little. “I—”
“And what do you want?” she cuts me off, pushing past us again. She bumps along with her walker back into the house. When she leaves the door open yet keeps moving down the hall, Samuel shrugs at me and steps in after her.
The inside of the house isn’t exactly a reflection of its owner—it’s spotless, perfectly decorated, and beautiful. It looks like something you might see in one of those old-house-turned-museums: pictures of old Confederate soldiers on the walls, vases of silk flowers, elegant furniture, and long, heavy drapes.
“We had a question about a girl, actually. One who used to live in Live Oak? We thought you might remember her—”
“Oh, I see how it is,” Ms. Judy says, waving a fragile arm around. “I should know everyone ’cause I’m so old, right? ’Cause I’ve been here longer than dust?”
“Uh, no,” Samuel says, and I see his eyes flicker to the ground. “Because you know everyone. Ms. Judy owns the diner off the interstate,” Samuel explains to me. I open my mouth and nod, as if this is the most amazing thing I’ve ever heard. “It’s the most successful business in Live Oak.”
“And we sponsored the Acorns the year they were county champs,” Ms. Judy says. She’s not quite smiling but looks rather pleased with herself. “In fact, only reason Live Oak exists is because of my great-great-great-grandfather.” She wiggles her walker toward an oil painting over a small end table. It’s of a rather cranky-looking white-haired man in a Confederate general’s uniform. “He started this plantation. Most successful rice plantation in the state at one time!”
Ms. Judy gazes at her great-great-great-grandfather with a misty sort of reverence. “Course, we lost it all in the war. But my family didn’t leave. We built back up. We Blakes are survivors! You know why? ’Cause we ain’t afraid to work! Ain’t afraid to make money! We built Live Oak back up after the war, and we’ll prolly be here still building even after every other shop on Main gives up.”
“Right,” Samuel says. Ms. Judy turns and hobbles around a grand staircase to a formal sitting room. There’s an ancient piano against a wall and several fancy-looking chairs facing a coffee table with a silver tea set on its top. She wheezes and hacks as she slowly lowers herself into one of the chairs—I’m almost certain her entire body is moments away from breaking in half.
I’m a little afraid to sit down—these are the kinds of chairs that our stepmother filled our house with, and Ansel and I were allowed to sit in them only if we promised to be very still. But Ms. Judy gives me a fiery look, so I carefully drop into one, crossing my legs at the ankles. Samuel sits up very straight, looking phenomenally out of place.
“We were just wondering,” he says politely, “if you know anything about Naida Kelly.”
“Ooh,” Ms. Judy says. “Naida Kelly. Haven’t heard that name in a piece.”
“So… you know her?” Samuel asks.
“Hell yes, I know her. It’s the Kelly girl, the little one. One that run off after the incident with her father.”
“Ran off?” I say breathlessly.
“Are you dumb? That’s what I just said.” Ms. Judy smacks her lips for a moment. “Left that older girl all by herself. Rumor from the diner has it you’re living with her,” she adds, nodding at me.
“I am, but she never told me about a sister. And no one ever mentioned a sister to Samuel. So… we were curious about her…” I choose my words carefully.
“Yeah, yeah… that’s the thing you outsiders have to know about a place like Live Oak,” Ms. Judy says, nodding slowly. “All our secrets are family secrets. You don’t just go blabbing to strangers about tragedies and murders—”
“She was murdered?” I gasp before I can stop myself. Ms. Judy’s eyes rip to mine and silence me.
“I didn’t say that. In fact, I believe I just told you that we keep our secrets around here,” Ms. Judy says sternly. “But,” she adds, eyes lightening a bit, “what the hell do I care? I’m one foot in the grave already, and like I said, I ain’t afraid to make money…” She frowns and studies her nails for a moment, waiting for something.
Samuel sighs. “I can’t afford to pay you for information, Ms. Judy.”
“Oh, no, child! Of course not!” Ms. Judy says, looking appalled. “I couldn’t take your money. But see, I was just thinking—I pay that fat boy from town to come mow my grass every Sunday. And it just pains me,
pains me,
to see that lump trying to move around my yard.”
“I…” Samuel grits his teeth. “I’d be happy to do that for you, Ms. Judy.”
“Oh, would you?” Ms. Judy cries. “That would just be lovely, Samuel. Also, Noodles—poor kitty hasn’t had a bath in ages. I just can’t handle him anymore, you know. Energy of a kitten.”
“I—and Gretchen,” he says, glaring at me, “will certainly help you give Noodles a bath.”
“Oh, that’s just excellent. You’re lovely children, really,” Ms. Judy says, nodding. “Well then, let’s see… Jacob Kelly, the little girls’ father, one who ran that candy shop,
he
was murdered one night about three or four summers ago. Brutal. Police report said it was wild animals, dogs or something, since he was all tore up—‘shredded’ was the word they used, ‘shredded.’ ”
I suppress a shiver. “That’s why Sophia came home from school,” I say aloud, quietly. “To take over the chocolatier because he died.”
“Well, if you knew all that, why the hell are you bothering me?” Ms. Judy says, glaring at me. She harrumphs and continues. “But yeah, she came back to attend to her family’s land and all that. And then it weren’t but about three, four months later that the younger Kelly girl up and left town. Older girl said she went to college, but… yeah, sure she went to college. Hasn’t been seen or heard from since, and whenever anyone asked the older girl about her… well, it was pretty damn clear she didn’t want to talk about it. And then, next thing you know, girls are taking Naida’s lead and just up and running from Live Oak. Like that brunette one you were hot for!” Ms. Judy exclaims, nodding at Samuel as if he should suddenly realize Layla is among the disappearances.
She continues. “Slipping off in the night like a horde of bootleggers… Here’s the thing they don’t understand—the thing no one understands. Being stuck in Live Oak is like being stuck in a barrel of molasses. You’re only stuck if you struggle. If you’d just relax and wait for someone to hand you a tree limb, you’d be able to slip right out. And now people are taking off right and left, thinking this place is dangerous, calling in the government cronies to look for their girls…” Ms. Judy makes a sour face. “For what it’s worth—I don’t think the older Kelly has anything to do with it. Families just want someone to blame when their kids choose a life grander than their own.”
“So… was there anything about Naida that was… different?” I ask carefully.
Ms. Judy presses her thin lips together thoughtfully. “She was a sweet girl. Shy. Terribly shy. Waitressed at the diner for me a few summers, and dammit to hell should a man ever say anything to her other than his order. She had colored hair like yours for a while, only instead of lookin’ like a rainbow she looked like she dunked her head in toilet bowl cleaner.”
“I’m sorry?” I ask, confused.
“Blue. She dyed her whole head blue. Only girl in this town with colored hair till you came along. I don’t know what the hell is wrong with you young people. If the good Lord Jesus wanted you to have purple hair, he’d have given you purple hair.”
“Oh,” I muster, sinking back in the chair a little.
“And sit up straight,” she commands; I snap back up. “Anyhow, girl was troubled. Nervous. Something about Live Oak didn’t sit well with her, I guess, though I can’t imagine her out in the big world without her sister. Sophia was protective of that girl; so was her father. But that’s all I know on her. Sad family, that is. Mother had cancer, father murdered or killed or who knows, one daughter gone, and the other a beautiful tragedy. Livin’ out there all alone. It true she’s courtin’ with your brother, by the way?”
“Something like that,” I say.
“Good for her. Pretty girl like her needs to get knocked up ’fore she gets too old.”
“Ms. Judy!” Samuel says over a laugh.
“You laugh, honey, you laugh. But it’s a sad day to wake up and find the baby makers aren’t making nothin’ no more,” Ms. Judy answers sharply. “Anyhow, I’m tired. Is that good enough for you people?”
“Yes, Ms. Judy. Thank you,” Samuel says sincerely. He rises and we wait as Ms. Judy heaves to her feet.
“Now, how about you darlings come by another day for poor Noodles? Maybe ’round the end of the month? He always starts digging in the fire ant piles ’round the end of July. He’ll need a bath then, I reckon,” she says as we walk back past her great-great-great-grandfather.
“Happy to,” Samuel says with a groan he’s unable to hide. This seems to please Ms. Judy even more. She lets us out the back door and we trudge back toward Samuel’s.
“Well?” Samuel says as we near his front door.
I shake my head. “I don’t know what to think. So she had blue hair. Why does that matter?”
“What about the fact that she was the first?” Samuel suggests, leaning against the side of his house. “Maybe she started it all—the girls disappearing. She disappeared
before
the chocolate festival. She was special.”
“But why?” If she started it, there has to be a reason. I sit down on Samuel’s front steps.
“Okay, well, in that case, how about the fact that Naida sounds way more like you than she does any of the other girls who vanished?”
I open my mouth, but I don’t know what to say. He’s right. She does sound like me—down to the hair dye. But I didn’t disappear, and she did, so… it’s just a coincidence, right?
“Come on,” Samuel says, and offers me a hand up. “If we wait to leave, we’ll run into people leaving the game. You think people glare at you now—wait and see what they do if they catch you on the back of my bike.”
I duck my head against his shoulder as we rumble through Live Oak—in this direction, I can see a crowd ahead, near the abandoned high school. Their backs are toward us, but I can see coolers and lawn chairs set up around a field that clearly used to be for baseball, not football. The small crowd cheers, and among the people I catch sight of a few of the players—I don’t see my brother, but he’s there. So is Sophia.
They are able to move on, able to forget girls who vanish. But I guess in the end, I simply am not.
S
ophia wakes up so early on the Fourth of July that it’s borderline insulting. The sun is barely up, and a layer of frostinglike mist is settled on the field behind her house. Ansel’s eyes are droopy, but he’s doing his best to look awake and eager to help. I’m more awake, but not because I’m excited for the party—because I can’t get Ms. Judy or Naida out of my head. Because every time Sophia walks into a room, I jump, feeling as though she’s caught me doing something. As if she’s caught me thinking about her vanished sister.
“You think this is bad? You should see me before the chocolate festival. I’m up at four in the morning,” she says as we fill picnic baskets. “I just want everything to be perfect.” Sophia hurries to ice what looks like five thousand cupcakes—icing them ahead of time makes them crunchy, she explains. I try to help her, but cupcakes aren’t exactly my forte; it’s just a few moments before she suggests I help with stuffing the truffles into coolers instead.
“Hey,” Ansel whispers at me, calling me into the bathroom a few hours later. He’s wearing a blue shirt, but there’s a black one and a yellow one laid out across the shower curtain rod. “Which shirt should I wear?”
“Are you asking me for fashion advice?” I ask, confused.
“Sophia said we should look nice. I just want her to know I… um… tried.”
“You’re weird. The blue one is fine.”
“Fine good? Or fine okay?”
“Ansel, you’re starting to worry me,” I say, rolling my eyes and walking away. But even I double-check the clothes I’ve laid out before we load up the car later. Because even with Naida, even with the chocolate festival, even with the secrets, I still want to make Sophia happy. She’s the first one in years to be kind to me; how could I throw that back in her face?
