Little Peach (10 page)

I wait on the couch for Kat to come home. It’s six a.m. when she finally walks in, her shoulders sunk in, her eyes a little red, Devon’s shorts hanging off her hips.

“You hungry?” I ask her. She doesn’t answer, just fishes out a pill from her bag, washes it down with water, and slumps on the couch next to me.

For a long time, we sit there saying nothing. Kat puts her head in her hands and sighs so deep her whole body
looks smaller when she’s done. I’m scared to ask, but I do anyway. “How’s your mama?”

Kat rubs the palms of her hands into her eye sockets. Her voice shakes, just a tiny bit. “I haven’t seen her in a year. I thought she was locked up.”

“Is she okay?” I ask quietly.

Silence again. Heavy silence. Kat leans back and stares at the blank TV screen.

“She works the track, see?” she says. Her eyes are turning liquid from the pill, her voice relaxing. “Up on Flatlands. The track’s where they put the old girls, or the ones too crazy or strung for daddies to be dealin’ with. They leave ’em on the corners. Certain streets, if you know where to look, you show up on a Friday night and there they are, walking the streets like stray dogs. That’s my moms.”

Kat looks tired. Bone tired. Her shoulders sag. Her eyelids too. “You should sleep,” I say. “I’ll watch Baby.”

Kat shuffles to Devon’s door. “She wants to watch
Nemo
, you let her, okay? Fuck it.”

Behind her on the bed, Devon’s chest rises and falls as he sleeps. Kat climbs beside him and covers herself in a blanket, all the way up to her head, her knees pulled
up to her stomach like a little kid with a bellyache. I shiver and wonder where my mom is right now.

Our mothers, who couldn’t find us even if they tried.

That afternoon, Baby cries in her sleep. She sweats and turns and mumbles things I don’t understand, dots of sweat on her forehead, her feet kicking an invisible monster. I gather her face in my hands.

“Wake up, Baby.”

Her eyes bolt open, her fingers tight on my wrists.

“It’s okay. It’s just me.”

“Peach,” she exhales.

“It’s just me,” I say again.
I’m right here
.

I climb into bed with her and she snuggles next to me, her head on my chest, and listens to my heart until her breath gets slow and she falls back to sleep.

For long minutes, I wait. I watch for the monster she fights in the dark of her mind, and swear that I will kill it if it dares to come near us.

In those moments, I know that deep inside, Baby’s scared. Not of the men, not of Daddy or Kat or of me, but of something else. Something that came before us, maybe. I do not ask her what it is. But I know what it
looks like. I know how it feels.

A mother who smokes up and steals. A man who creeps like shadows in your room.

Knock knock
.

I hold her tight and stand guard.

I’m right here. It’s just me
.

Sleep now
.

Sleep
.

Sleep
.

Night. Room 4.

I know there will be trouble the moment he walks in. His eyes are freezing. I smile, I coo, I arch, I stroke his shoulder. Nothing warms him up.

I climb into bed, smile again, and call him
baby
.

Nothing. Eyes like stones. They drop on me, hard, and don’t say a word.

I wait. I don’t know what he wants.

“It’s okay,” I finally say. “We don’t have to talk.”

Then he’s on top of me, so fast I’m not sure what’s happening. He pushes me down, mashes my face into the pillow. Hard. Too hard. I can’t breathe.

“Shut up.”

I kick my feet, try to reach behind me to grab him. He pushes down harder.

I hear a zipper.

No
.

Blood slams through my veins, pumping loud in my ears. I see things. Calvin’s face on me. Mama in the doorway. Blood on my sheets at Daddy’s. I grit my teeth and push back against him till my mouth is free.

Get off me. Get off me!

I scream it out, as loud as I can: “Daddy!”

He picks me up like I’m nothing and slams me up against the wall. His hand comes fast against my cheek, a wet slap that burns. Then he hits me again.

“Shut up.”

I scream louder and kick the wall behind me.
Kat. Please!

I see Calvin again, the doorknob turning. Me, hiding in my closet like a mouse. Nobody’s coming. Nobody’s coming for me.

The door busts opens. Boost, his giant body like a truck, slamming into the trick. Daddy’s right behind him. Then Kat. Daddy looks at my face, his eyes on fire, and slams his boot into the trick’s ribs. He picks
me up, like I’m something precious, and carries me outside.

“It’s all right,” he whispers. “Let me see.”

I turn my face. He touches it softly, wipes a drop of blood from my lip.

“You’re okay, Peach,” he says. “It’s not that bad. We got you.”

Behind us I can hear Boost beating the man. “You don’t ever touch her face, you hear me?”
Bam. Bam
. “You don’t never lay a hand on our girls, you stupid mother. . . .”

Bam bam
.

I do not speak, but deep inside my heart feels like it might bust open. I am so happy.

They’ll kill for me. Daddy and Boost. I wish Mama could see this, could see me in his arms. I wish Calvin was here. I wish he’d try to touch me now.

“You all right?” Kat asks. I nod and nuzzle Daddy. He holds me tighter.

“Good kickin’, girl.” Kat winks. “Good screamin’ too. That’s how we do.”

Bam bam
.

Daddy right here.

This is how we do.

We. Together.

August

I will make us a home.

I am always awake before the others. I gather our laundry, straighten up the bathroom, and creep into Devon’s room.

“We need food,” I whisper. Eyes half-open, he pulls forty dollars from the drawer of money next to the bed, taps into his phone, and hands me the key. “Get some bacon,” he murmurs, and rubs my head with his big hand. “Boost’ll meet you there.”

Down the stairs into the steamy outside. Surf Avenue is busy with people pushing strollers, carrying folded-up chairs, towels over their shoulders, children in bathing suits trailing behind them, squealing in high, happy voices. Beyond the street, over a sandy hill, is the ocean. I make a left toward Mermaid Avenue, my back to the water.

I don’t like to see the kids playing. It makes me think about Grandpa. Even Mama, back when I was little and she wasn’t so bad.

The bodega sells everything we need. A dozen eggs, bacon, cheese, butter, bread, orange juice. Boost is outside with a kid they call Fuse. He’s smaller than Boost, with a thick stubby body and eyes that dart around beneath the visor of his red hat. I don’t like him. He talks too loud, like he’s always mad.

They nod as I enter, Boost peeling a giant orange. I shop quickly and hurry back home.

I cook a big pan of scrambled eggs and cheese, the bacon extra crispy just for Devon. Kat comes out, rubs her almond eyes. I make four plates, with toast and juice. She brings one to Devon, who’s lying in bed, checking his phone.

Baby’s still asleep. I pull back the towel on our window and let the light pour in. I shake her gently.

“Breakfast,” I whisper.

“I’m tired,” she grumbles, her warm fingers in my hand.

“I made cheesy eggs,” I whisper. “Your favorite. C’mon.”

It take her long minutes to wake up.

She sleeps too much. I think she’d sleep forever if I let her. But I won’t, because it’s not normal. She needs
to be awake. She needs to eat better. She stumbles to the couch, her face puffy and grumpy. We sit together, me and Baby and Kat, and eat in silence.

Kat curls up her legs, balancing the plate on her knees, and turns on the TV. A girl in a bikini, with orangey-tan skin and big hair, talks into the camera about how her boyfriend just broke up with her. Then she’s at a bar with a group of people and a boy with no shirt on and shiny bulging muscles. They get drunk, he carries her home.

Kat rolls her eyes and turns the channel.

“Can I watch
Nemo
?” Baby asks, wiping egg from her chin.

“No,” Kat grumbles.

Baby sighs, pulls a chair to the window, and stares at the amusement park in the distance. The Ferris wheel turns slowly, a car ticks up to the top of the roller coaster, then plummets. If you listen carefully, sometimes you can hear the shrieks. People yelling, “Whee!” into the salty air.

“Can we go there?” Baby asks.

“No,” Kat says again.

“How come?”

“Daddy says it’s dangerous. Too many cops around. They’ll snatch you up and take you away.”

“But we could be careful. We could pretend we’re sisters. You could be my mommy!”

Kat rolls her eyes. “We ain’t goin’ there, Baby. And I ain’t your mama.”

Baby sighs and rests her chin on the windowsill. “Someday I’m gonna go, and I won’t take you with me.”

“Go ’head. See what happens.”

“I will.”

“Fine. I don’t care.”

“Yes, you do.”

“No, I don’t.”

Devon shuffles out into the living room. I gather our plates and wash them in the kitchen. Baby bounces over to him, links her chubby arms around his neck.

“Can I watch
Nemo
?” she begs.

“Sure,” he says, patting her head.

Baby plops on the couch and sticks her tongue out at Kat.

“Whatever,” she grumbles. “Sit on the floor, Baby. I gotta fix your hair.”

Baby slides to the floor. Kat combs her hair back
with a fat brush, smooths it with her hands, ties it tight at the top of her head in a round puff of fuzz.

“You pullin’ too hard!”

“Hold still,” Kat commands. On the TV, Nemo’s parents fuss over their unhatched eggs and imagine how great their babies will be. But the mother will be dead soon, and only one egg will survive—Nemo, with his broken fin. Baby doesn’t like that part. She closes her eyes and hums to herself so she doesn’t have to see.

Kat brushes her hair. Baby winces and tries to pull away. “Ow!”

“Sorry,” Kat says. Then, a little softer, “I’ll be gentle.”

Devon checks his phone. I wipe down the counters, stack the clean plates, and make three sandwiches for later.

“I want braids like Peach,” Baby says.

“You only twelve. You ain’t old enough.”

Baby sighs and leans her head on Kat’s lean knee. “I don’t wanna be the baby no more.”

Daddy smiles down at her. “You always be our baby.”

And Kat laughs softly, tilting her face and turning a thought in her head. “Maybe not,” she says to him. “Maybe not.”

The poster is taped to the window of American Suds. A girl with blond hair and neat bangs, in a yellow dress with tiny white polka dots, grins out at us.

M
ISSING:
C
RISTINA
W
AKEMAN

L
AST SEEN ON 7/14 AT
G
REYHOUND
B
US
S
TATION
, A
TLANTIC
C
ITY

16 YEARS OLD

$
1,000 REWARD FOR INFORMATION

C
ALL
(800) 642-TIPS

The air inside the Laundromat is heavy and wet, our dirty clothes tumbling noisily in the machine. Small shorts and tiny shirts and Devon’s red tank tops. Baby’s face is inches from the poster, like she wants to crawl inside it. Kat and I stare too.

“She’s so pretty,” Baby says, touching the girl’s face.

“Bet she ain’t pretty no more,” says Kat.

Boost laughs. “True enough.”

“You know who got her?” Kat asks him.

“Nah. No one we know. C’mon now. Pickin’ up a blond girl? That ain’t us.”

I don’t know what he means.

“Why?” I ask, but Boost doesn’t answer.

“Look. Someone’s holding her!” Baby says, pointing a chubby finger. An arm is draped around the girl’s shoulder. In the background is green grass, the corner of a white house. Boost shakes his giant head, his lips pushed together like he’s annoyed.

“Bad business,” he says, and sits on a hard chair next to a mother with a little boy in her lap. She glares at him and moves away.

“A thousand bucks! That’s crazy money!” Baby’s round eyes are glued to the poster. “She must be famous or special or something, for someone to pay that much money just to get her back. Think they’ll find her?”

Kat shrugs and folds her long arms. “Who cares?” she says, but she doesn’t turn away. Cristina keeps grinning, frozen and happy in her sunny dress.

Baby’s eyes fall a little. “Maybe she just got lost. Like Nemo. Maybe that’s her daddy’s arm. Maybe he the one lookin’ for her.”

The mother watches us carefully from the end of the long row of chairs, her little boy fiddling with a book. I smile at him, and he holds it out to me.

Curious George
.

My heart catches in my throat. “Maybe she’s like us,” I say. “We’re missing, too, right? I mean, sort of.”

Kat spits a bitter laugh in my face. “Look at that girl. She ain’t nothin’ like us. Ain’t nobody puttin’ up posters for us.” She grips the paper, Cristina’s face tearing in half, crushed in Kat’s dark hand. The little boy twists up his nose and leans into his mother.

“You only missin’ if somebody looking for you.” Kat’s words slice through the air. “Understand? We ain’t missin’, Peach. We just gone.”

Night. Room 5. Kat burns the end of my braids with a cigarette so they won’t come undone.

“I want a whole,” I say.

The pill clicks on my teeth, washes down my throat in an orangey wave.

Kat takes two.

We don’t talk for the rest of the night, but I know we’re both thinking about her.

Cristina Wakeman. The girl someone is looking for.

In the morning I crawl into bed, my brain thick and heavy and thumping. And when I hear Baby dreaming, shouting and tossing and fighting off the comforter, I cover my face with my pillow.

Shut up, Baby
.

Please. Just shut up
.

September

Kat’s not herself.