The Invisibles (5 page)

Nora shook her head. She hadn't seen Mama since she was twelve years old, after Mama had walked into the kitchen and
seen Daddy Ray, her second husband, with his arms around her daughter. Nora had been frozen stiff, eyes shut tight as the syrupy smell of rum drifted out of his mouth, and his dry lips moved along the swell of her neck—
quietquietquietandthenitwillbeover—
but Mama had blamed her anyway. This time, though, she had thrown the remote control so hard at her that Nora's forehead had split open like a peach. When Nora's seventh grade teacher asked her the next day what had happened, Nora told her. It was the last time she remembered talking. She'd been in and out of foster homes since then until three days ago, when a spot in Turning Winds had opened up.

“How about supervised visitation?” Ozzie pressed.

Nora shook her head again, biting her lip until she tasted blood. Mama hadn't wanted visits. None. She'd been firm about that.

“What about Christmas?” Grace turned over suddenly, looking at Nora from the bed. “Or your birthday?”

The edges of Nora's ears had gotten so hot that she was sure everyone in the room was staring at them. She knew it was unusual for a parent to drop completely out of sight like this; most of the other girls she'd run into over the years had, at the very least, been permitted supervised visits, usually hanging out with their mothers and fathers in a large room at the Children and Youth building while a caseworker sat nearby and watched. To be forgotten completely was a rarity as well as a hidden source of shame, another reminder of her unworthiness. But she picked up her notepad anyway. “It's better for all of us if we don't.”

“What about your dad?” Ozzie pressed.

“Never met him,” Nora wrote.

“Stepparents?” Ozzie's eyes widened.

“No one.” Nora underlined the words twice.

“Yes!” Ozzie punched the air with both fists. “Finally! Someone in the house who can be part of our group!” She reached out and slugged Nora gently in the upper arm. “Congratulations!”

Nora's forehead furrowed.

“No visits for Monica and me, either,” Ozzie explained, tapping her fingertips against the front of her chest. “At least not until we're eighteen.” She slid a knowing look in Monica's direction. “And you can believe when we're eighteen, we're gonna go get our visits. Oh yeah. We're gonna have some accountability questions to ask those motherfuckers on
our
visit.”

Nora blinked. Maybe Ozzie wasn't all light and forgiveness, after all.

Ozzie swung her head over in Grace's direction. “Grace over there doesn't get any visits either, but she's too good to join our group. Aren't you, Gracie?”

“Don't call me Gracie,” Grace said. “And I don't get any visits because I'm just here temporarily. I don't
need
visits. I'm only going to be here for another month.”

Ozzie regarded Grace for a moment and then dropped her eyes. “You could still join for a little while.”

Grace picked at the skin around her thumb. “I don't like being anyone's third wheel.”

“Well, now that Nora qualifies, you won't be,” Ozzie said. “It's just us four. Which means no third wheel and no more excuses.”

Grace looked over at Nora and scowled. “If she wants to join, maybe I'll think about it.”

“What am I joining?” Nora wrote in her notebook.

Ozzie reached over and put a long arm around Nora's shoulders. “Our secret posse, Norster. It's hard to get in, and it's a privilege to stay. So far, it's only been Monsie and me. We have a meeting once a month. Upstairs, in our secret place. Tomorrow night is this month's meeting. It's gonna be great. Once you become part of us, your life will never be the same again.”

Nora hoped the electric exhilaration coursing through her wasn't too apparent; there was nothing worse than coming across as overeager. Or desperate, which was really pathetic. But she had never been asked to be a part of something before: Mama and Daddy Ray had always lived in their own world, deliberately apart from her; each of her three different foster families had all but ignored her after realizing she wasn't going to talk; and so far, there was no one she had even considered wanting to get to know at school. This was the biggest thing that had ever happened to her. This was everything. She glanced over at Grace, hoping she would say something first, but Grace seemed to be enthralled with the inside of her wrist again.

“Few ground rules before you decide if you want to join,” Ozzie said. “You have to bring a stick and something of your own to every meeting.”

“A stick?” Grace looked up. “Like from a tree?”

“Yes,” Ozzie said. “A stick from a tree, Grace.”

Grace slit her eyes again. “What do we need a stick for?”

“You want to be part of the group?” Ozzie stood up and put her hands on her hips. The edges of her fingernails were threaded with dried blood.

“Maybe.” Grace tossed her head. “I haven't decided yet.”

“Then bring a stick.” Ozzie headed for the door. “And something of your own. It should be something that shows off a talent of yours.”

“What kind of talent?” Nora wrote.

“Whatever you want,” Ozzie answered. “Monica's a really good cook, so she always makes a snack.”

“I'm thinking something with chocolate for tomorrow.” Monica blushed.

“And I'm a good joke teller,” Ozzie continued, “so I always start with three great jokes. It can be anything. As long as it's yours and nobody else's.”

Nora stared at Grace one last time. She wondered what Grace had that nobody else in this room did. She already knew what she would bring. It was all she had.

She lifted her pencil one last time. “Okay,” she wrote. “I'm in.”

“Great.” Ozzie grinned and looked over at Grace. “What about you, Queenie?”

“Oh.” Grace leaned back, letting her head fall between her shoulder blades. “I don't know.”

“Don't strain yourself,” Ozzie said.

Grace lifted her head again, perusing the group of them with her blue eyes. “All right,” she said slowly. “I guess I'm in, too.”

N
ora didn't panic as she followed Ozzie's slow ascension through what looked like a chimney in the attic of Turning Winds the following night; despite the narrowness of it and the fact that it smelled like a dirty diaper, she already trusted Ozzie
for a reason she could not put her finger on, and she knew—she could feel it in her bones—that she wanted to go wherever this girl was going to take her now.

“Almost there,” Ozzie said over her shoulder. “Hold your breath until we get all the way through. It stinks.” Nora nodded. She wished Ozzie would keep her voice down. It was after midnight and the other four girls in the house were asleep, but God only knew what would happen if one of them woke up. Then there was Elaine, who worked the night shift at Turning Winds, drowsing downstairs in front of another episode of
The Twilight Zone
. Elaine was large and thick, like a tree, and she wore loud T-shirts with sayings on the front like
KEEP TALKING; I'M RELOADING.
An apple tattoo with an arrow shot through the middle of it adorned her upper arm, and she drew in her eyebrows with a black pencil. Since they were in school for most of the day, Elaine was the one who had the most contact with the girls, but it was quick and brusque, as if she did not want to get to know them very well. “I'm not here to be your friend or your mother,” she'd told Nora the first day she'd arrived. “My job is just to make sure you stay out of trouble.” Nora hadn't been too sure what kind of trouble she was referring to, but she would bet money now that climbing to the roof in the middle of the night would qualify.

They emerged all at once into fresh air, and it swept over Nora's face like a salve. She inhaled deeply, mouth, then nose—once, and then again. Monica and Grace were already up there, their backs resting against a wrought iron railing, legs crossed beneath them. Truth be told, there wasn't much room to do much else; the entire enclosed space—which Ozzie informed them was called a widow's walk—was about as large as a throw rug. But
they were up high. And my God, Nora thought as she stared up at the moon above them—full and yellow as a soft-boiled egg yolk—was this the first time she had ever really looked at the moon? The light around it was a neon blue, enclosed yet again by a thinner, paler line, a pulsing white heat. If she rose up on her tiptoes, she thought, she might be able to touch it. The first line from the novel
Catch-22
flickered across her brain:
“It was love at first sight.”
And it was. Right here, right now, she felt something stir inside her that she hadn't even known was there. She'd never seen anything so beautiful.

Ozzie sat down next to Monica, motioning for Nora to do the same. Nora settled in between Grace and Ozzie, her knees touching theirs on either side. “Everyone here?” Ozzie asked. “Monsie, me, Grace, and Nora.” She hesitated, looking at Nora. “That reminds me. I looked up your name last night. It's Greek.”

Nora felt something tense inside.

“It means ‘light,'” Ozzie said. “Isn't that cool?”

Light. Nora couldn't imagine Mama ever feeling anything close to lightness when it came to her. She'd barely used her name at all, in fact, referring to Nora most of the time as “girl” or “you.” Nora turned the word over inside her mouth. Light. She liked the feel of it, small and smooth, like a marble. Or a jewel. Something waiting for just the right moment before it exploded into a million fractured pieces of energy. She nodded, smiling shyly at Ozzie.

“What's your name mean?” Grace asked Ozzie. “I don't think I've ever even heard it before.”

Ozzie straightened up. “It's a male name.” She surveyed the group with a quick glance, as if daring any one of them to laugh. “It's Hebrew,” she went on. “And it means ‘strength.'”

Monica nodded in satisfaction. Grace raised her left eyebrow and then lowered it again. Nora grinned. As if the word could mean anything else.

“Okay then,” Ozzie said. “Let's start. Rules first.” She grabbed a notebook sitting off to the side and handed it to Monica. “You want to read, Monsie?”

Monica pushed her orange bangs out of her face and cleared her throat. The light from the moon cast a soft glow over her face, blurring her pudgy features, softening the scraggly edges of her hair. “Rule number one: Never speak of the group outside of this circle. To anyone. Ever. Rule number two: Members must always bring something of themselves to share at every meeting. Rule number three: Stick wishes are private, unless a member wants to discuss them with the rest of the group. No stick wish—no matter how weird—will be judged. Failure to abide by any said rules can result in immediate dismissal.” She looked up. “Okay, that's it.”

Grace frowned. “What the heck is a stick wish?”

“Hold your horses, jumpy,” Ozzie said. “Those come last. Is there anything anyone wants to add?”

Grace shook her head.

“How about you, Nora?”

Nora hesitated, bringing her fingers to her earlobe. Maybe it wasn't such a good idea to bring something up at the first meeting. Especially if you were new. And you didn't talk.

“Go on,” Ozzie urged. “I can tell you want to say something. You're part of the group now. You can tell us.”

Nora flicked her eyes at Ozzie and then pulled out her pencil. “What about a name?” she wrote.

Monica and Ozzie exchanged a glance.

“I
told
you,” Monica said. “Every group needs a name.”

“We talked about this before,” Ozzie said. “I think a name for the group is a great idea. It's just—I don't want some dopey, sissy name, you know?”

“I still don't think The Velvet Moondrops is dopey.” Monica pouted. She looked at Grace and then at Nora. Both girls dropped their eyes.

“If we pick a name for the group,” Ozzie continued, “it has to be a really great one. Strong, you know? Determined. Sure of itself. Like us.”

“So if you think of anything . . .” Monica sighed and closed the notebook. “All right, rules are done for now.”

“Okay,” Ozzie said. “Now we share what we brought. Who wants to go first?”

“Me, of course.” Monica grinned, passing around a small plastic container. It was full of the chocolate-dipped pretzels she had made in the community kitchen that afternoon. Nora had smelled the melting chocolate in her room and come down, lured by the rich scent. She sat on one of the countertops, watching Monica dip the pretzels into the chocolate and then dust them with cocoa and crushed candy cane. Now everyone got four apiece. Nora ate three of them and then slipped the last one in her pocket for later.

Ozzie leaned forward as they finished eating. “Okay, I'll go next. I only have two jokes tonight. But they're good ones.” She cleared her throat and threw back her shoulders. “So once there was a family who was given some venison by a friend. The wife cooked up the deer steaks and served them to the husband and
kids. The husband thought it would be fun to have the kids guess what they were eating.

“‘Is it beef?' their daughter Mandy asked.

“‘Nope.'

“‘Is it pork?' the son AJ asked.

“‘Nope.'

“‘Heck, we don't know, Dad!' AJ exclaimed.

“‘I'll give you a clue,' the dad said. ‘It's what your mom sometimes calls me.'

“‘Spit it out, AJ!' cried Mandy. ‘We're eating asshole!'”

Ozzie and Monica screamed and fell over, and even Nora smiled wide and then covered her mouth, but Grace sat stoically, arms crossed.

“You didn't think that was funny?” Ozzie asked, righting herself again and staring at Grace. “Seriously?”

“No.” Grace bit her bottom lip.