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Laurel stiffened, and glared at him. What a dope she’d been to think Jesus could be friendly.

“Oh, just go away.”

Jesus shrugged, stuffing his hands into his pockets. “Yeah, that’s what she tole him. Now he’s gone. And he ain’t never comin’ back.” He stared at the floor, chin tucked against his chest, his thick black bangs fanning away from his forehead.

Laurel stared at him. Suddenly, she realized he wasn’t faking. All that other stuff, the mean things he did, that was the act. But this was the truth.

She touched his arm. “Hey, you okay?”

Jesus jerked as if she’d stuck him with a pin. His head whipped up. A clown spot of red burned on each cheek, and his dark eyes glittered.

“I’m glad he’s gone,” he hissed. “I hate the son of a bitch.”

Laurel thought of her own father. She remembered once, in kindergarten, she’d made him a Valentine’s Day presenta cigar box she’d covered in construction paper and crusted with glitter and macaroni. She’d spent hours cutting and pasting and decorating. She wanted it to be beautiful. So Val would love it, and then love her, too.

He seemed so glad when she gave it, kissing her and telling her how much he liked it.

Then one day, she found it in the back of his closet, half-crushed under some shoe boxes. She remembered taking the box outside and throwing it in the trash can. Her hurt was so deep, she hadn’t even been able to cry. She never told Val about it, and he never once asked.

 

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Yeah, she kind of understood Jesus. But he’d probably be embarrassed if she told him that.

She gave him a little push. “Why don’t you go jump in a lake?”

“Eat shit.” He grinned.

“Shhh.” Miss Rodriguez frowned at them, raising a finger to her lips. Center stage, Dickie Dumbrowski was droning through the narration.

” ‘A strange voice called him by his name, and bade him to enter …’ “

Miss Rodriguez flapped a hand at Laurel. “You’re on!”

Laurel could feel her face going rubbery, her eyes hot. Any second now she would be crying. With everyone staring at her. Oh God.

“Behold, the Ghost of Christmas Present …” Dickie Dumbrowski trumpeted in his froggy bellow.

“Be-hold my dick,” Jesus muttered as Laurel slipped past, shocking her into a giggle. The urge to cry faded.

Gliding onto the stage, Laurel felt almost grateful.

Rudy’s voice drifted up the stairs. Where she was crouched, down in the narrow space between the desk and the wall in Dolly’s office, Annie couldn’t hear his words, only his flat growl, like grinding machinery. Any minute now, she’d hear him creaking up these tiny stairs. And no matter how small she made herself, or how far she wriggled in behind the desk, he’d find her. And then he’d rush to tell Val … and Val would come and take Laurel away.

A memory drifted up-she was sitting in Mrs. Pomerantz’ English class, staring out at the sun twinkling on the dew-soaked lawn and listening to the record her teacher was playing, some dippy-sounding British actor reading Poe’s “The TellTale Heart.” She could hear Susie Bell giggling a little at the really creepy parts, which had sounded pretty dumb in the bright classroom with the smell of new-mown grass drifting in the open window.

But here, three thousand miles from Bel Air, crouched with her spine pressed uncomfortably against the

 

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wall and her knees aching, Annie felt like the man in that story, listening to the loud beating of that heart … only it was her heart that was booming. It seemed to rattle the desk and vibrate the floorboards under her feet. And, oh, God, Rudy had to be hearing it too.

But maybe he wouldn’t find her. Thank God, she’d been up here when he’d come in. She’d been on her way down, in fact, when she’d heard the bell over the front door tinkle, then his familiar, grating voice calling out, “Hello, Dolly!” A low chuckle. “Hey, isn’t that a song? No kidding, it’s great to see you. You’re looking good, real good. Bet you’re surprised to see me, huh?”

Annie had shot back up the stairs, and dived into this hiding spot beside Dolly’s big desk.

How long had she been here? It seemed like hours, but it had probably been fifteen minutes or so. She had to pee, desperately, but didn’t dare budge. God, what could he and Dolly be talking about all this time? Did Rudy know anything? Is that why Val had sent him?

In some ways, Annie was more afraid of Rudy than she was of Val. Because Rudy was so much smarter, and Val always listened to him and went along with him. Like the time when Dearie’s drinking got so bad, and Rudy convinced Val to commit her to Briarwood, even arranging for all the legal papers. She was there for three months that time, and when she got out, she was like a zombie; she’d sit for hours and hours in one place, just staring out at nothing. Six weeks later, Annie had found her mother on her bathroom floor, cold as ice, not breathing, an empty Darvon bottle on the sink above her. They buried her two days later.

And the way Rudy looked at Laurel, it was so creepy. Not talking to her much, or even trying to play up to her … just staring at her all the time, like a fat carp eyeing a minnow.

Rudy would be a lot harder to fool than Val, Annie thought. Could Dolly pull it off? She wished Gloria hadn’t left early; she, at least, would have kept Annie posted on what was going on down there,

A new thought made Annie break out in goose

 

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bumps. What if Dolly couldn’t hold back, and told him every thing! She seemed so good and kind; but Annie still remembered Dearie saying her sister couldn’t be trusted.

Annie began to shake, her teeth actually chattering as if she were freezing cold. But she was burning up, sweat dripping off her, running down her forehead and into her eyes, salty, stinging her. Her shirt was stuck to her back, and underneath, her bra and slip felt horribly clammy, as if she’d put clothes on over a wet bathing suit.

Any second now … yes, she was sure of it … Rudy would come creeping up the stairs, his fat, shiny head, with those sparse black hairs pasted across it poking up above the landing.

He’d try to make her tell him where Laurel was, but she wouldn’t, not ever. Not even if he threatened to have her locked up. Because if Rudy told Val, then Val would take Laurel away.

Please, God, not now… just when things are starting to go right.

She liked working at Girod’s, a lot more than she’d thought she would at first. And Laurel, she finally seemed to be settling in at school. All week, she’d talked about nothing but her Christmas play… .

God, the play! If they didn’t leave now, this second, they’d be late. They might even miss it. But she couldn’t exactly waltz downstairs now and remind Dolly of that.

What would Laurel think? She’d be so disappointed … and probably worried to death.

I’ve got to let her know I’m okay… .

If she was going to be okay.

Rivka. Maybe she could call Rivka and ask her to rush over to the school and tell Laurel she’d be late. Annie felt awkward about asking, but Rivka was always so nice. And it wasn’t an emergency, so Annie felt sure she wouldn’t mind.

Then Annie remembered, no, it was Friday evening, Shabbat. It was forbidden for Rivka even to switch on a light. Rivka never, ever went anywhere on Shabbat, except to synagogue. Annie wouldn’t even be able to get through to her. At sundown, Rivka took her phone off the hook.

 

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Annie found her thoughts drifting back to last Friday night, when she and Laurel had sat at Rivka’s table having Shabbat dinner. In her mind, she saw Rivka lighting the candles-two of them in heavy old silver candlesticksand covering her eyes with her hands and chanting a prayer in Hebrew. Annie hadn’t understood one word, but it had sounded holy, ancient and soothing, like the rush of a brook that has been flowing for hundreds of years and will go on for hundreds more.

Annie closed her eyes now, to try to recapture that good, calm feeling she’d had at Rivka’s table, her hands folded against the snowy linen, seeing the faces of Rivka’s children all around her, shining like polished spoons in the candlelight, their lips moving in prayer.

And’now, Annie, too, was praying.

Scared as she felt, she was glad that no one could see her like this, huddled like a frightened mouse. What if Laurel knew that this was how she often felt? Would her little sister still have faith in her if she knew that sometimes in the middle of the night, even for no reason, Annie woke up sweaty, heart racing, terrified that something awful was going to happen?

Annie noticed now that Rudy had stopped talking.

Then Dolly’s voice came, low and lilting, with a hint of the Smoky Mountains in it, like bluegrass music. Strangely, at this moment, it reminded her of Rivka praying over the candles, soothing her somehow. Annie felt the cramp in her belly ease.

She made herself stand up, slowly. Her joints and muscles, cramped in one position for so long, tingled at first with numbness, then began to ache. Still shaky, she reached for the phone on the desk, and tiptoed with it into the tiny toilet, where Dolly always took it when Henri called from Paris-as if she and Gloria didn’t already know about them.

There was someone she could call besides Gloria or Rivka. She didn’t know him well …no, the truth was she hardly knew him at all. But she had a feeling somehow that it might be all right.

She remembered Joe Daugherty’s warm smile when

 

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he’d stopped in yesterday to say hello. He was on his way uptown to meet a supplier, he’d explained, but he hadn’t seemed in any particular hurry. Annie remembered feeling a little tense, waiting for him to mention the smashed chocolates to Dolly, but he didn’t bring it up. And then his asking her to lunch, was he just being nice? Maybe, but at the little deli around the corner where they’d stuffed themselves on pastrami on rye, and talked and laughed for more than an hour, she’d begun to think that she’d made a friend.

Was it so crazy to think he’d want to help her out now?

Then she remembered how he’d snapped at her the first time they’d met. What if he got really annoyed at her for bothering him now-just before the dinner hour? And why should he want to do her any favors? He didn’t owe her a thing.

But still …

Annie got the number from Dolly’s Rolodex, and dialled it quickly, before she could change her mind.

At the other end, it began ringing, over and over. Suppose he wasn’t even there?

Then a harried-sounding female voice piped, “Joe’s Place.” She could hear noise in the background, people talking, glasses clinking.

Keeping her own voice as calm and controlled as she could, Annie asked, “Is Joe there? Joe Daugherty?”

“Hold on.”

A minute passed, stretching into what felt like an hour. Annie’s heart, which had settled down, began pounding again.

Then Joe’s voice came on, sounding out of breath, as if he’d run up a flight of stairs, which he probably had. ” ‘Lo. Joe hereป” He didn’t sound mad, just rushed.

“This is Annie. Annie Cobb,” she blurted. “Joe … I know this is going to sound funny, but … but I need your help.”

She took a breath, and blurted out enough of the story for him to understand why she felt so desperate. It gave her an awful upsy-daisy feeling-like having the floor

 

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snatched out from under her-opening herself to him, trusting him with her secret, but then, she didn’t have much choice, did she?

There was a long silence, and Annie suddenly was scared he was going to tell her he was too busy. Or worse, advise her to talk to Rudy, explain things to him so he’d understand. Oh, God, why didn’t he say something? Anything?

Annie felt the receiver sliding from her sweaty grasp, and the black silence seemed to expand, to swallow her almost.

Then Joe said crisply into the phone: “You’re in luck. My whole crew showed up tonight, and we’ve got our preparation nailed down. I can be at your sister’s school in half an hour if the traffic doesn’t kill me. I’ll take her back to your apartment, and wait with her until you get there.”

He got directions from her, then hung up.

Annie started to sob, pulling her sweater up over her face so Rudy wouldn’t hear. Okay, they weren’t really safe yet, but just knowing Joe was out there, and that he was willing to help, made her feel she’d come to the end of a long road.

L

JL/aurel took her bow with the others, ducking her head low so that her long hair fell in front of her face. That way, nobody could see she was crying.

The play had been pretty awful, but the clapping was loud and long. No one seemed to mind that Jesus had forgotten most of his lines, or that Mary Driscoll had dropped the papier-mโche Christmas goose and it rolled off the stage into somebody’s lap in the first row. All those mothers and fathers and sisters and grandmothers, they’d loved it.

With her head bent low and tears blurring her vision, Laurel couldn’t see one single person in the audience, but she just knew Annie wasn’t out there.

Jesus, not waiting for the applause to end, gave a wild hoot and scampered offstage. He had to be feeling

 

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pretty crummy, too. But a tough guy like him would rather throw up in front of everyone than cry. Laurel wanted to chase after him, and tell him she knew how he felt … but she didn’t think he’d want that, either.

Now all the mothers and fathers and grandmothers were getting out their cameras and snapping pictures, flashbulbs going off, making everything gray and swimmy.

Laurel crept away, stumbling down the steps that led to the auditorium floor. The other sixth-graders were streaming down to join their families, the room echoing with cries of congratulations, but no one was pushing through to hug her or take her picture. Laurel saw Mary’s parents, both almost as short and fat as coffee-colored Mary, swoop down on her, hugging her so tightly Laurel thought Mary’s eyes would pop right out of her head.

Laurel wiped her wet eyes and runny nose with the drooping sleeve of her robe. She was slinking out into the corridor, hoping to make it to the girls’ bathroom before anyone saw how miserable she looked, when suddenly a large hand gripped her shoulder.

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