After Zero Page 9

  I drop the mirror on the bed. Fin stands in the doorway with Conn hovering behind her.

  “You should have knocked,” Conn murmurs.

  Fin ignores him and smiles. “Feeling better? You were out for an hour.”

  I nod.

  “Here.” She walks into the room, stepping over the treadmill and some ski gear to hand me a glass of water.

  I sit on the edge of the bed and gulp the water down.

  “I’d better refill that.” She takes the glass back. “You must be hungry too. Dinner’ll be ready soon.”

  Dinner? Too bad I’m not staying for dinner. But they’ll figure it out later, when the window’s open and I’m gone. I don’t know where I’ll be, but I won’t be here. I’ll leave a thank-you note, though.

  Fin disappears into the hall, and my nose catches a scent wafting in. My stomach swoons.

  Maybe I could stay for one meal. One meal shouldn’t be too bad. Maybe they’ll bring me a tray of food so I can eat in here by myself. Besides, I have no money for food, and it’s easier to think on a full stomach. I can work out a plan after dinner.

  Conn shifts in the doorway. “Sorry about all the junk in here. The spare room’s sort of doubling as a storage room, since we keep running out of space. I swear the house is shrinking.” He laughs and clears his throat. “So, is everything okay? You looked pretty frazzled earlier. If there’s anything you want to talk about…”

  I busy myself smoothing out the comforter I was sleeping on. Even if I wanted to talk about something, I couldn’t.

  “You probably just want a ride home. Your mom must be wondering where you are.”

  I stop smoothing the comforter and shake my head with a jolt of annoyance. My mother doesn’t care where I am. And Conn has brought up the last thing I want to think about: going home to her.

  But where else can I go?

  “No?” Conn frowns. “You mean she’s not home?”

  Another head shake. How many can I get away with?

  “Okay. When will she be back? One of my parents can take you then.”

  Dread courses through me. I can’t let them take me home. I can’t go back to my mother. I glance at a calendar hanging on the wall; a painting of tulips marks the month of April. An idea springs out of my desperation. I don’t know if it will work, but I decide to try it. I walk up to the calendar and point to my birthday.

  “She’s gone till Friday?” Conn’s eyebrows rise.

  I nod. I don’t like lying—that’s my mother’s specialty—but I’ll explain it all to him after my birthday, and he’ll understand why I did it.

  “I hear we have a visitor,” a woman’s voice chirps.

  I turn to see Fin at the doorway behind Conn, with another glass of water and a pregnant lady in an apron.

  “Mom, meet Elise Pileski. Elise, meet Mom.” Fin waves a hand between us.

  “You’ll have to excuse my appearance.” Mrs. Karney wipes a streak of flour off her cheek. “I was just getting dinner ready.”

  I think she’s waiting for me to object, to tell her she looks ravishing. When I don’t say anything, she blinks and smiles wider. “Can you stay for a bite, dear? I’ve set a place for you.”

  “She doesn’t really talk,” Fin mutters.

  “Oh.” Mrs. Karney blinks again, but her smile holds. “I see. Well, when are her parents expecting her home? I don’t want them to worry.”

  I almost laugh. I can’t imagine my mother worrying about me.

  “She lives with her mom,” Conn chimes in for me. “But her mom’s away till Friday.”

  “Away?” Mrs. Karney cocks her head. “What for?”

  Conn shrugs and looks at me. “Is it a business trip or something?”

  At least this one’s yes or no. I nod, letting the lie build.

  “And who’s looking after you while she’s away?” Mrs. Karney directs the question at me. I think she’s already forgotten what Fin said about me not talking.

  I shake my head. It makes no sense as an answer to her question, but what am I supposed to do?

  “No one?” Mrs. Karney puts a hand over her heart. “My goodness. She’s left you home by yourself?”

  I stare at my hands. I don’t nod, but I don’t shake my head either.

  “You’d think she’d hire a sitter, or leave you with a relative, or—”

  “Maybe she doesn’t have relatives close by,” Fin says. “And why would Elise need a sitter when she’s old enough to be one?”

  “Well, I don’t like it…a young girl alone for almost a week. Especially at night. Do you know how to cook for yourself, Elise?”

  It depends on what she means by “cook.” I could manage pasta or grilled cheese or canned soup—the sorts of things I’ve seen my mother make. I’ve tried my hand at them a few times, on nights when my mother forgot about dinner or went to bed early.

  “Mom,” Conn says. “Instead of judging someone else’s parenting, can’t you just let Elise stay here a while?” He glances at me. “Assuming she wants to, of course.”

  The solution I was hoping for unfolds before me. I’d prefer to avoid people altogether, but there’s really nowhere I can go where that’s guaranteed. Even if I go back into the woods and sleep in a tree, there are bullies out there. And dogs. And no food. No hot water. If I can stay here, I’ll at least have a place to sleep and food to eat, without having to face my mother yet. I can bide my time. And Fin and Conn don’t seem to mind me not talking, so maybe it won’t be too bad.

  Mrs. Karney gasps, offended. “Of course she can stay. The Karney family never turns away a guest.” Her voice is too perky. “She’s welcome to stay as long as she wants. But I should at least call her mother.”

  Call my mother? I hadn’t anticipated that.

  She pulls a phone out of her apron pocket. “What’s her cell number, dear?” She smiles at me. When I don’t respond, she hands me the phone. “Why don’t you just key it in for me?”

  They’re all watching me, waiting. I can’t put in a fake number; Mrs. Karney will know as soon as the wrong person answers or a voice tells her the number isn’t recognized. I hold my breath and dial.

  Mrs. Karney takes the phone back and listens. I wait, fighting the urge to bite my nails or escape out the window. So much for my lie. When my mother answers—

  “Hi, Mrs. Pileski. Annette Karney calling, from 41 Honeydew Road. I have Elise here—she goes to school with my son and daughter—and she’d like to stay with us while you’re away this week, if that’s all right with you. I have a spare room. Happy to have her. But if there’s any issue, don’t hesitate to call me back. My number is…”

  I breathe out. She’s leaving a message. I can’t believe my luck. Then again, I should have known it would go to voicemail. My mother doesn’t answer calls from unknown numbers.

  Mrs. Karney hangs up. “Well, now that that’s settled, come on down so you can meet the others and get something in that tummy of yours. You look famished.”

  Others? How many others? Nobody said there would be others.

  Maybe I should have gone out the window after all.

  • • •

  “Everyone, this is Elise. Elise, this is everyone.” Conn waves at the blur of faces around the table.

  “Don’t be lazy,” says Fin at my right. “Give her names.”

  “You do it then.” Conn shrugs and leans back in his chair.

  “Fine.” Fin points without looking. “That’s Ben. Lucy. Mabel. Stewey…” She goes down one side of the table, then the next. “Dad. Clare. Dónal. And Penny.”

  “Saved the best for last, huh?” says the tall girl at the end of the table, the one who must be Penny. But I’m looking at the boy with the buzz cut next to her. The one called Dónal.

  My stomach twists. He probably thought he’d never see me again. He probabl
y thought, after I got away, that he’d never have to answer for what he did. Maybe he gets away with a lot of things, and that’s why he’s so surprised to see me sitting here.

  His eyes flicker with recognition. He looks away and fiddles with his collar, seeming much less at ease than he was in the woods. It’s a small consolation. Maybe he thinks I’m going to rat him out. I would if it weren’t for my promise. At least, I hope I would.

  “I like your feather.” Penny points at my hair. Strangely, I think she means it. This might have made me smile if he weren’t in the room.

  The toddler in the high chair—Ben?—bangs his spoon over and over on his food tray. Mrs. Karney wipes applesauce off his cheek with one hand and rests her other hand on her pregnant belly that’s peeking over the tabletop. Nine children seem plenty to me, but I guess she and Mr. Karney don’t think so. Now I understand why Conn said they keep “running out of space.”

  The two younger girls with missing teeth—Lucy and Mabel?—stare at me. The middle boy wearing glasses—Stewey?—looks down at a book in his lap.

  “No reading at the table,” Mr. Karney says.

  Stewey sighs and closes the book. I know the feeling.

  Mr. Karney turns to me, stroking his beard. “So, Elise. How do you know our Fin and Conn?”

  I dig my nails into my palms under the table. Just what I needed—an open-ended question. The audience falls silent, waiting for me to say my lines.

  But some characters don’t have lines. Why does everyone assume you need to have lines to be part of the show? What about all the “extras” in the background? Can’t I be one of them?

  “She goes to public school with us,” Fin answers for me. She rubs down a hangnail with the file on her Swiss Army knife.

  Mrs. Karney grimaces at the words public school. Or maybe at the pocketknife. “Don’t do that at the table. You shouldn’t have one of those to begin with.”

  “Why? Because I’m a girl?”

  Mrs. Karney’s lips go thin. “We have company.”

  The second-smallest Karney—Lucy, maybe—licks her fork and waves it. “When do I go to public school?”

  “Sweetie, public school’s for people who want to be just like everyone else.” Mrs. Karney reaches over and taps Lucy’s nose. “You’re special.”

  Fin and Conn roll their eyes. Conn passes me the mashed potatoes. “Careful. Pot’s hot.”

  I take the pot. My stomach roars, and I realize how long it’s been since I’ve eaten. I dump a mountain of potatoes onto my plate.

  “Why didn’t she say thank you?” The other girl with missing teeth—Mabel, I think—tilts her head and stares at me.

  “Don’t be rude,” Fin says.

  “But I thought it was rude not to say thank you.”

  Beads of sweat tickle my temples. There are too many people in this room.

  “Shush.” Mrs. Karney gives Mabel a warning look and then holds another pot out to me. “How about some roast duck?”

  I hesitate. I didn’t even know people ate duck.

  “It’s delicious.” Mr. Karney raises his fork to his mouth. “And Dónal here shot these ducks himself.” He grins with pride at his oldest son, killing my appetite. “Making good use of that new hunting license.”

  I shake my head at the pot Mrs. Karney is holding, and she passes it on to Conn, who doesn’t take any either. Fin checks her watch. “Hey, Connie boy, shouldn’t you have left already?”

  “For what?”

  “That bird flick.”

  “Oh.” Conn rolls some green beans around with his fork. “I decided to skip it.”

  The bird documentary was tonight. I’d forgotten all about it.

  “You seemed gung ho about it yesterday.”

  “It was just something to do.” He coughs. “Besides, I wanted to make sure Elise was okay.”

  “Ohhh.” Fin glances sidelong at me, one corner of her mouth curving upward. I drop my eyes to my lap, wishing I had a book there like Stewey does. Instead, I feign interest in the flower design on my napkin.

  “Why don’t one of you give Elise a tour tomorrow?” Mr. Karney says. “Show her around the orchard.”

  “I would,” Fin says, “but I’ll be hunkered down all day. Got two tests Monday.”

  Conn shrugs. “I can do it.”

  When I’m finally dismissed, I go back to the spare room, climbing over the treadmill and some skis, and open the window. The air cools me briefly. How can I stay here now, knowing Dónal is here too? At least he lives in the basement, with his own private entrance. I remember Conn and Fin mentioning that to Dawn at Patsy’s Pastries. It might be easier to avoid him than it would be to avoid my mother at home. But will I be able to stand it, knowing Dónal’s so nearby?

  Suddenly, six days seems a lot longer than it did when I was leaving the woods. And tomorrow is Sunday—no school as an excuse to be away from the house. Not that I want to go back to school. But at least it means less time here—that is, if I even get to stay. Who knows when my mother will hear Mrs. Karney’s message? Will she call back and demand I come home? Or will she be glad to have me off her hands?

  “Hey.” Fin comes in with a pair of pajamas. “These should fit.”

  I take them and look at the flamingo pattern.

  “Sorry about the design. My great-aunt Geraldine gave them to me.”

  I raise an eyebrow in amusement.

  “She’s basically an older version of my mother. They both think girls wear pink and boys wear blue. Blah, blah, blah. Even though they know blue’s my favorite color.” She huffs and shakes her head. “Sorry. Family stuff gets me worked up sometimes.”

  She turns to leave and then hesitates, looking back at me. “Listen…I don’t know what’s going on with you. But if you ever need someone to talk to…”

  She and Conn are definitely related. I smile and nod a thank-you.

  She smiles back. “Get some rest, okay? You must be pooped after meeting my crazy family.” She laughs before shutting the door behind her.

  Try as I might, I can’t see what was laughable about today. All I can see is the cottage and my brothers and Granny P. At least, I can mostly see them. They’re still kind of hazy. I pluck the feather from my hair and stare at it. This is all I have—the sole remnant of what happened in the woods. If only I had some footage to replay, a video or a recording I could watch over and over, to remind me of exactly what Granny P said. Since I don’t have that, I wish Granny P would at least send me something—a note, a message, a confirmation that I’ll get to see my brothers in the end.

  But how would she reach me? She doesn’t know I’m staying at the Karneys’. And maybe it doesn’t matter. Maybe that’s what faith is: not needing evidence or a confirmation. I have this feather in my hand. And this fluttering of hope and certainty in my gut. Can that be enough? For now, it has to be.

  Chapter 14

  I slip out the front door at ten the next morning. It’s the perfect time because all the Karneys have gone to church, except for Conn and Fin, who are still sleeping. I wonder how they got off the hook. Maybe the same way they argued their way out of homeschool. It must have something to do with the “protest” and “nasty fight” they mentioned that first day in Ms. Standish’s office.

  At the end of the driveway, I take a right onto the road, in the direction that the Karneys’ van turned when they left for church. That’s the way to town, and once I get there, I’ll have my bearings. On my left, the orchard and its rows and rows of small trees shimmer in the sun. I try to count the rows and get up to ten, but then a car zooms by blasting music, and I lose track. I walk about five more minutes before the orchard ends and I start to pass other houses and driveways. Then buildings and parking lots. Then the post office and the bank and Patsy’s Pastries, now with fruit tarts and popovers in the window. I don’t look too long, or else my stom
ach might insist on another sticky bun. That’s not what I ventured out for.

  My feet steer me along the familiar route, turning up the hill onto my street. I pause at the fence by Mel’s house. How long ago was it, the last time I saw her sitting on her front steps waiting for me? It feels like years, though I guess it’s only been months.

  There’s movement in one of the windows. I bolt.

  Eventually the next and last house, mine, appears at the top of the hill. Nothing has changed, except maybe the grass is higher. The station wagon is gone as expected. My mother will be out—not at church but at the gym. That’s been her Sunday-morning routine for as long as I can remember. I doubt it has changed in the couple of days I’ve been gone.

  I take the spare key from under the mat. Inside, the house is calm and cold. My mother hasn’t returned Mrs. Karney’s voice message. She hasn’t come to the Karneys’ house to get me. She hasn’t given any indication that she cares where I am. Not that I’m surprised.

  I go to my room and pack some things in an extra backpack: my school supplies and textbooks, a spare blank notebook to replace my stolen one, my track stuff, and some shirts and jeans and pajamas. Then I grab my toothbrush from the bathroom and walk into the kitchen, where dishes stew in sink water. My mother never leaves dirty dishes. On the table lies an unfinished scarf, the needles and spool of yarn still attached. It’s the same one she was knitting before I left, but it doesn’t look any longer.

  I sit at the table with a pen and a scrap of paper.

  Staying with the Karneys this week, in case you haven’t checked your voicemail. Need some time away. I almost add, Not that you care, but I put the pen down.

  A business card lies nearby. I pick it up.

  Hillview Counseling & Psychotherapy

  Call us today to make an appointment

  Under the second line, there’s a note in my mother’s hand: April 11, 2:30 p.m. That’s this Wednesday.

  I put the card back and stand, glancing again at the sink. Bits of food float in the water. Through the window above it, I see the shed door swinging in the wind. My mother never slid the latch back. I turn away, shaking off a pinching feeling in my chest. The house is still. But when I listen for too long, I hear whispers. Echoes. Shouts. Boyish cries ricocheting off the walls. The voices tinkle, rising above the stillness, louder than my thoughts. I clamp my hands over my ears and run—sprint—then seize my bike by the fence.