Found and Lost (26 page)

45

A moment of hope had buoyed her while she stood in the comfort of Clay's hug, the same hug he'd given her since she was nine and fell off her bike. They could go back, all of them. She could keep them. Clay and Natalia would take her in. But the idea itched like dry skin. She fidgeted inside it. No. Going back wasn't right. Could even be dangerous for them. Still, she might have done it, had Khloe crossed the room, reached out, and clinked their bracelets together. Except Khloe couldn't do that, because Violet's bracelet was shoved into her pocket.

“Khloe.” Clay's forehead wrinkled with confusion and weariness. “Of course she's coming with us.”

“I don't want her to.”

He shook his head. “Baby, whatever you guys are fighting about, we'll sort it out.”

“It's my fault.” Violet backed against the wall where Lee had been standing. “I'm sorry, Uncle Clay. I reported the church meeting to the con-cops.”

His eyes widened. His mouth opened and closed.

“Violet …”

She pushed her hand into her shorts pocket, and it jammed against the bracelet.

“You did this? How could you do this?” He cracked his knuckles.

Violet's fingers curled up, hidden inside her pocket. “I didn't know—”

“You didn't know we'd go to re-education? You didn't know I would lose my daughter?”

Not daughters. “I thought it was the right thing. For everyone.”

“So you did know, then. You knew exactly what you were doing.”

His voice lurched between calm and fury, but Violet could absorb it, could wait him out. He was Clay. He wouldn't hate her, especially not forever. She pressed her palm to the cool wall, stenciled with roses.

Khloe marched to the mostly refilled duffel bag in the center of the room and kicked it. It skidded across the floor and bumped Violet's ankle. Khloe kicked a stray shirt, and then, before Violet could step forward to intercept, she kicked the Bible.

Clay didn't scold her.

“Dad, if you take her with you, I'm not coming.”

He scrubbed at his eyes, fixed them on Violet, and let the silence sting.

46

She was only a kid. She couldn't be blamed for media propaganda. But when Violet's eyes met his, Clay couldn't hold her gaze. However irrational or despicable it was, he wished his daughter had never met her.

Khloe turned back to Clay and hooked her thumbs in her back pockets. “I'm not exaggerating.”

“Go wait in the Jeep.” Whatever he was about to say to Violet, Khloe didn't need to hear it. Or interrupt it.

“Dad, I—”

“Khloe. Go.”

She didn't flounce off with flourish, didn't stomp. She walked outside, arms wrapped around herself.
I'm not choosing her, baby.
Her glance back never landed on Violet.

The moment Khloe disappeared past the doorframe, Violet knelt on the floor and righted the duffel bag. She stuffed clothes inside, then the Bible. What was she doing with one of those, if she'd made it her mission to send people to re-education?

He was only going to talk to Violet, not bring her along. But now that she crouched in front of him, piling what might now be everything she owned into one bag, he couldn't cast her aside.

“Violet, we're going home. All of us can go home, and …”

And what? Violet had spit on everything Clay and Natalia had ever tried to give her. A voice at his core whispered forgiveness, but it sounded distant and untouchable, part of God's standard, not his. How had he followed to his own detriment for ten years?
Let's try a compromise, God. You show me how forgiving this girl will benefit me and mine. Then I'll bend to Your rules.

Violet zipped the duffel and stood up. “I can't. My mom found the Bible, called the con-cops.”

So that was an emergency stash of clothes in the bag. Parental alarm zipped through him despite everything. But wait. “I made a deal with the Constabulary. It included you.”

She passed the duffel from one hand to the other. “A deal? How?”

“You'll have a clean slate with them from here on out, as long as you don't commit any further crimes.”

“But why would they go along with that?”

A question he would never answer. Ever. “Listen, Violet, if you can't go home, then we've got to come up with somewhere you can go.”

He should take her in. Had to.

“I don't think Chuck and Belinda will throw me out.”

Great, but she sounded unsure. “We should … I don't know, ask them.”

“Not now. Uncle Clay, I want you to go. Really, I do. Khloe might run away or something if I come.”

“She'll come around.”

“Not anytime soon, and I don't blame her. Look what I did.”

He was trying
not
to see it right now, and she shoved it into his face anyway. He steeled his jaw against the grimace.

A smile's ghost drifted over Violet's face. “Thanks.”

“For …?”

“For trying to want me anyway.”

Oh. He cracked his knuckles against the palm of his other hand. “Violet …”

“No, really. It's okay.” She shrugged. “Maybe I'll see you guys again, and it'll be better. And I feel almost like … like God wants me here for some reason. Maybe I can do something right.”

Good girl.
She always had been. A better person already, at seventeen, than Clay had been so far in his life and maybe ever would be. Not everyone could be noble, but the ones that pulled it off … He crossed the room and wrapped her up in one last hug.

She stiffened at first, then dropped the bag and hugged him. A shudder, a quick sob, and then she stepped back.

“I understand,” she whispered. “I hope Aunt Natalia comes back, and I understand. They're your real family, you have to put them first.”

“You were our family too.” The betrayal wouldn't hit so hard otherwise.

“You did a lot for me, and I'll always love you guys.” Violet dug into the pocket of her shorts. “Listen, if Khloe can ever … get past it. If she ever misses me. Would you give this to her?”

The silver charm bracelet. Clay took it, held onto it for a moment, warm and light in his hand. He shoved it into the pocket of his shirt.

Violet's eyes filled. “Um. I hope I see you again.”

“Me, too,” Clay said, too muddy inside to know if he meant it or not. He gave her a last quick hug and ducked outside into the rain. He jogged to the Jeep and climbed behind the wheel.

Khloe sat with her knees up, shoes on the seat, breathing steam onto the passenger window. Clay left the silence alone while he backed down the gravel driveway, while he navigated back to the highway.

“Daddy?”

“Yeah, baby.”

“She was my best friend.” She hid her face against her knees and cried.

Clay pulled over to the shoulder and parked. “Khloe, do you want me to go back?”

“I want you to fix it. So that she never texted the con-cops. So that I never had to be so scared and wet and cold in the rain, and alone and scared.”

He rubbed her back and felt again the mortal wound of fatherhood, the inability to make everything go away.

“I'm sorry, baby.” He rubbed her back. “I'm sorry you were scared.”

“I hate her, Dad.”

For Khloe's sobs, he could hate Violet too. Still so muddy inside, but at least one part of him felt that clearly. He tried to bury it. He pulled his phone from his pocket. For the last three miles, he'd squashed this desire. It wasn't time. Not yet. Natalia had said so. But he couldn't hold himself in any longer.

“Khloe, here. Call your mother.”

She took the phone and cradled it in her hands, as if it were a rare diamond—better, an unlimited credit card. A smile tugged his mouth.

“But what about the con-cops? What if they hear us talking? What if—”

“I took care of it.”

“You did?” Her teary eyes lifted to his, and in them he was a strong rescuer, worthy of trust. Every grubby thing he'd done this week was washed spotless. “How?”

“However I had to, and that's what matters. The Constabulary won't ever bother us again. We're free.”

Khloe had already dialed. “Mom, it's me. I'm okay, and I'm with Dad, and he fixed everything.”

Natalia's voice burst over the line, a repetition that sounded like their daughter's name.

The distance was going to kill him. He thrust his right hand toward Khloe. “Let me have the phone.”

She offered it to him without hesitation, without a whine. This week had changed them all.

“Clay?” Natalia's voice quavered over the line. “You fixed everything?”

Her voice mended all his gaping holes. He didn't need to run, didn't want to, even when the feelings surged into his throat. “We're coming to you, Nat. Where are you?”

But she didn't tell him. She simply wept into the phone. His hand flexed on the steering wheel. She wanted them to come, didn't she? She wanted him?

“I'm in Rochester. Downtown. I went to the doll store where—” Sobs kept interrupting her words. “Where we took her for her tenth birthday. I was trying not to … but I can't … Clay, please. I don't know what's wrong, I don't know how to keep us, but … but I want us.”

His face was wet. Khloe was staring at him.

“Daddy? Are you … um … crying?”

He wiped his face on his arm. Not in front of Khloe. “Nat, I'm coming. We're coming.”

47

As long as Lee's car was still here, she had to be here too. But Violet had searched the whole house. Well, other than Chuck and Belinda's bedroom, but Lee wasn't in there for sure. A little while after Clay and Khloe left, the couple had emerged from the dining room, braced against each other, and sat on the couch. Silent except that every few minutes, Belinda still moaned softly, like a person in deep physical pain. Soon Chuck half carried her upstairs to bed, then disappeared into his study.

When the basement proved empty too, Violet went to the study, tapped on the door, and pushed it open.

He wasn't here. The Bible sat on the floor beside the overstuffed chair, open to the book of Romans.

He must have gone up to check on Belinda. Violet took the winding stairs two at a time. Halfway to their door, she stopped. Belinda was crying again. Maybe Violet shouldn't intrude.

She had to tell them where she was going, at least.

The tap on the door sounded too loud. Belinda's tears floundered, quieted. The door opened to Chuck, stooped and crinkle-faced.

Violet spoke as fast as she could. “Lee's not in the house and I'm going outside to look for her and I wanted to let you to know where I was.”

Violet looked past him into the room. Huddled under the covers, Belinda pushed up to one elbow. “L-Lee's gone m-missing?”

“No, she's probably just outside.” Violet backed away from the door. “I won't bother you guys anymore. I'm sure I'll find her.”

“Oh, Chuck. How could we forget Lee?” Belinda sat up and shoved the blankets aside.

“You stay here, Pearl.”

She pushed her hair back from her face and took a deep, shaking breath. “That girl's hurting bad. Laying here feeling my own hurt don't help no one right now.”

Downstairs, Chuck grabbed his shoes, and Belinda pushed her feet into a pair of ragged blue house slippers. The three of them marched out into the dark. The rain had stopped, but the grass squished under Violet's tennis shoes. Good thing she'd brought these shoes and left the ballet flats and sandals at home.

She should probably try to stop thinking of her parents' house as home. Or the Hansen house, for that matter. Or anywhere.

They circled the whole house and nearly missed Lee. On the far side of an overgrown spruce tree, Belinda had cultivated a garden of wildflowers, bordered in stone. The flowers spilled over the rocks and crowded each other, a blooming rainbow riot that left no space in the garden to walk. The porch light didn't reach this far, but a floodlight was set up several feet away and aimed at an antique-looking sign on a post:
The Vitales.

Lee sat in the grass, knees up, staring into the garden. She'd been here since before the rain stopped. Her hair clung to her head, and her T-shirt was saturated. The rain hadn't brought the temperature down much, but she still had to be cold.

Belinda shuffled close and stood over her. “Lee, sugar, come inside. You'll catch your death.”

Not even a flinch of response. Violet circled to face her. Lee's eyes held no focus.

Violet perched on a stone seat, her back to the flowers. “Lee?”

She could have been a robot, shut off with the flip of a switch.

Belinda squatted to her eye level. “I know it hurts real bad right now. It's—” A tiny sob broke through. “It's hurting inside me too. I can't hardly let myself believe it. But you can't sit out here all night. You'll get sick, and anyway, it won't help the hurts. Come on inside, and I'll make us some tea. You want something to eat, maybe?”

Lee hunched tighter over her knees.

Violet shifted her seat. The stones were making her backside sore. “Lee, should we leave you alone?”

No response.

“I'm not leaving you outside like this, sugar. You might as well come on into the house.”

Chuck stood apart, thumbs hooked in his belt loops, out of Lee's sight. He shifted on his feet.

Violet rubbed her arms. Maybe Belinda was right to push. No matter what Lee wanted, she couldn't stay out here all night.

“Please look at me, Lee,” Belinda whispered, and a tear dripped down her cheek.

Finally, the blank eyes blinked and focused. “You fail to grasp nonverbal communication.”

Hurt flashed into Belinda's face. “What's that mean?”

“Like, ‘if I ignore them, they'll go away,'” Violet said. Lee's gaze flickered to her and stayed there. Progress, maybe. “If you wanted to be by yourself, you could have driven off somewhere.”

“I did not wish to endanger other drivers. My concentration is somewhat lacking.” No inflection.

“Well, um, why don't you come in? And you can drive home in the morning? It's only a few hours until then, anyway.”

The weave of Lee's fingers whitened. She was clenching her hands, but the way she folded them hid the tension. Unless you were close enough to see that her fingers had gone bloodless.

“That's a good plan, Violet.” Belinda stood up with a tiny grunt and held her hand out to Lee. “What kind of tea do you like? I've got lemon and honey, too.”

Lee's eyes sputtered like a wind-ravaged candle. Her hands spasmed tighter.

Belinda wasn't doing this right. Violet breathed in deep and blurted the only thing she could think of.

“Lee, could I drive you home?”

The motionless, flat figure in front of Violet gave her no way to guess if this was a helpful idea or not. Except for those clenching hands. A bit of pink seeped back into her fingers.

“We don't have to talk. If you want, I won't talk at all, all night. Do you work in the morning?”

Lee blinked. “Yes.”

“Okay, well, I'm homeless anyway. If I need to hang out at your house until you get off work, I can. And then you can bring me back here for my car.”

Another blink. A breath that raised Lee's frozen shoulders.

“Is that what you want, Lee?” Belinda's voice wobbled. “To have Violet drive you home?”

Lee pulled her hands down to her lap. “Yes. Please.” Her eyes found Violet's again. “Thank you.”

“Yup.” Violet sprang to her feet. “I'll go grab my stuff.”