Livvie Owen Lived Here (7 page)

I wanted to go home, but walking here was such a bad idea that I did not want to walk anymore. “I've learned,” I said out loud. Miss Mandy was always telling me to stop and take stock of what I'd learned, and, once in a long while, I thought to obey. “I've learned something today.” Sitting firmly on the bench as the rain blew away and the light started to come, I remained planted like the trees overgrowing themselves along the fence line. My fists rolled up, pinkies wrapping around my ring fingers, thumbs pressing on my middle knuckles. I pressed my thumb knuckles into the spaces behind my ears so my hum got louder inside my head. “Hmmmm. Hmmmm.”
Furious G notes, one after another. If I could stop the pressure, I could get this situation under control. If I sat long enough, someone would come and get me, like the bus that day. They were going to have to do it. I simply could not do it for myself.

Orange Cat found me one day when I was lost in Walmart, and that was how he joined us. He was chasing a moth, quite unconcerned, through the lawn and garden section when I saw him, and the minute I did, I knew he was for me. He was only a little scrap of a thing then, and so tiny it was almost difficult to imagine him getting as fat as he later would. He was striped and his baby kitty belly was tight and bloated with worms. His meow sounded like sandpaper on rusty metal. I picked him up that first day, his stubby little legs sticking out in all directions, and he immediately bumped his face against me to claim me. Somehow, with Orange Cat cuddled up under my chin, his baby claws kneading, I was able to focus and find my way back to the toy department.

The entire three years Orange Cat was in my life, I felt calmer and happier than I ever did before and certainly since. Touching him was like touching my mud mug or sliding my feet into my slippers. He was pure comfort, like my nine blankets or my real estate book. He also happened to be my best friend.

The little collar around my wrist, his very first, was all I had left of him and I rubbed it and rubbed it, but it didn't feel the same as petting him. I sat on the bench while the sun came up, and by then the sky thought the rain had never been. Maroon and dark purple worked up from the horizon first, followed by streaks of ice blue that shattered the blackness all the way up to the stars.

“Dumb stars,” I said to no one. “Where were you three hours ago?”

I figured it had to be seven by now. It almost never got light until we were all piled in the car, on our way to school, and that was right about seven. My slippers were still soggy and I could tell they were going to dry stiff. They would never feel right on my feet after this.

Some time ago, I had become aware of my hands. They were, quite on their own, acting out a finger play I didn't remember. Something about a church and a steeple, I thought, but I couldn't be certain.
I had never been good at charades, although my hands apparently thought otherwise.

From the bench, I could just make out the world beyond the factory gate. Lights were beginning to spring on in houses. Cars were beginning to chase each other, out on the main road. Headlights dimming as the sky grew brighter. Windows catching the glint of the sun.

The factory whistle, apparently, was not something that wanted to be chased or caught. Six o'clock had come and gone and I hadn't heard so much as a single note. My feet crossed and uncrossed. My hands continued their play, over and over, fingers tepeed like a building, then flipping to interlace like the people inside. I had never really understood the point of such games. I think maybe it was something I'd seen Natasha do once, but I hadn't the faintest clue when.

I was calmer now and thought I could probably walk home, but I'd been sitting for so long that I wasn't sure whether I should change my game now. If I planned on walking home, I should have done it three hours ago, when the world was still dark. It was light now. It was day. What if I walked on a different street than the one Karen and Simon used when they came looking for me? What if I got turned around and only
thought
that I knew the way home?
Every five minutes I sat, I was five minutes closer to my family coming to find me. I was afraid by standing I would restart some kind of cosmic timer, so I stayed seated even as the wind picked up, even as the school day started without me.

And sure enough, not five minutes later, I saw the first headlights of the day arc off the main road onto Pendleton Street, bumping their way across the potholes to the factory gate.

Still, I didn't stand. My eyes roamed to the trees leaning gracefully over the fence toward the Sun House. There was something to be said for putting down roots. I was a girl with a tentative grasp on emotions and there was no telling which ones Simon and Karen would be experiencing this morning. Beginning to rock, just slightly, I kept my humming to a minimum, just barely this side of under my breath. The car took shape and became definitely ours, which was a relief in spite of my concerns.

They must not have seen me right away, because the car stopped just shy of the factory gates and wavered toward the Sun House like it was going to turn in. It was not the same car we'd had back then. Our car back then had been a Nova and we lost it for a while. Three cars later, it was a red Toyota Tercel that finally laid its headlights across me and, that
mystery solved, began bouncing once again in my direction.

I stretched out one leg and my knee crackled at the change of positions. A little more carefully, I followed with the other leg. The Tercel picked up speed, then shimmied in the mud and slid to an ungraceful stop by my bench. Doors were flung open and feet hit the ground. And
still
I didn't stand.

“You've done it now, Livvie Owen,” I whispered, careful to keep this, like the humming, just under the surface of a whisper. “You've caused quite the uproar now, young lady.”

I needn't have whispered, because no one could have heard me over my father's strong voice shouting, “Olivia!”

And my mother right behind him, still in her slippers, with her hair down on her shoulders. She must have been as confused as I was about what was okay to wear out of the house, and when. “Livvie? Are you all right?”

They were both shouting and I wasn't sure when I should answer, because they both kept asking. Simon swept me up off the bench, standing me on my sleeping feet so quickly I almost toppled over. I couldn't have fallen, though, not with his arms tight around me. “Are you all right? Are you all right?”
Over and over so quick it made my ears dizzy. I didn't have language all of a sudden. I could have made use of a Velcro strip like G's.

“Livvie, what were you thinking?” This was Karen, more sensible than Simon. She assessed me quickly with her eyes and figured out I was okay. “When we woke up and you were gone—Livvie—what did you think you were doing?”

This question, so much more interesting than a simple “Are you all right,” stopped Simon silent and he, too, stepped back to look at me. His warm hands stayed on my forearms and I let him hold me up.

“I—”

That one word, all alone, came back, so I said it two or three more times.

“I—I—”

“Let's—” Simon said at the same time, talking over my “I”s. “Let's get her in the car. It's freezing out here.”

Between them, as if I might escape again if they gave me an opening, they led me to the car. The inside of the Tercel was warm and I worried about my wet clothes soaking up the seat, but I didn't have the words yet to explain.

Karen guided me into the backseat and slid in beside me. “Don't worry about the water,” she said in a voice higher than her usual one, like she couldn't
believe I would hesitate about something as silly as the car's upholstery. Karen was like that. She understood without understanding. Knew what I was worried about, but not why.

Simon was more of a “why” kind of guy, so it was him I fixed my gaze on as my language finally started to come back.

“I heard the factory whistle at eleven-forty-eight last night, and I wanted to investigate.”

Karen's hands found my face. “Tell me you haven't been here since eleven—”

“I went to Natasha first. I slept in there for a while. But when I woke up because Lanie was snoring so loud, and I went back to my room, I wanted to—I wanted to know. Because Natasha said maybe you have to be in a certain state of mind to hear the whistle and if it's only whistling for people in a state of mind like mine, I want to know how come.” There were too many feelings all tangled up in my head for me to make sense of one or to settle on something. Karen stayed stiff, holding me at arm's length as Simon put the car in reverse. We bumped and sputtered across the weeds and the ruts of the factory road, long unused by anyone but us.

“Olivia, what would possess you?” Karen pleaded. The crinkles around her eyes got deeper and then something horrible happened, something I couldn't
remember happening for a long time. Karen's eyes started shining extra bright as if there was water forming in them.

I reached out one cold hand, finally shaken loose from its absurd finger play, and stroked it down my mother's cheek.

“I made you cry,” I observed. “I didn't want to do that, Mom.”

Her stiff arms folded into soft Mom ones, and she drew me tight into her embrace.

We were almost back across town when the hug finally ended. Drawing back, she looked me in the eye and I was relieved to find hers dry.

“We'll talk more later,” she said. “You need to go to bed for a while.”

I blinked twice. “But it's a school day.”

“Honey, you've been out all night and you're a mess. Let me get you cleaned up and you can catch up on some sleep.”

“But it's—but it's a school day.” A weird sort of panic started trailing up from my stomach to settle in my throat. “I'm not supposed to stay home from school unless I'm sick. That's called skipping.”

“Livvie, honey, you're too tired for school. Sometimes that's the same thing as being sick.”

Now tears started forming in my own eyes and I drew my knees up to my chest. “I never meant to do
something serious enough to stay home from school. I only wanted the whistle to stop. I only—I—Karen, I didn't mean to. Just let me go to school.”

“Liv—”

“Please, just let me go to school. I'll be okay.”

“Livvie, honey—”

“Okay, I'm going. That's all. I have to go to school and fix this.”

“Olivia.” It was the first time my father had spoken since the paper mill, and his voice had changed from the worried tone he'd used there to a tone I hadn't heard him use in years. The anger in his voice made my own voice silence quickly. “Go to bed,” he said, quieter, as he put the car in park.

I nodded tensely and opened the passenger door. Karen followed me out, but Simon stayed behind the wheel.

“Isn't Simon coming?” I asked my mother.

“He's got to drive your sisters to school.” Her tone was still funny, but her arm slipped around my shoulders as she led me to the door.

Lanie met me on the steps, hair swept up into an elaborate set of braids, purple sweatshirt almost looking new from her embroidery. She flung her arms around me at the door and squeezed me tight, then stepped back and frowned at me fiercely.

“Geez, Liv. Do you know how bad I was going to
feel if I called you stupid and then you ran off and died like Orange Cat?”

The excitement of the night, coupled with Lanie's odd behavior and the mention of Orange Cat, was simply too much. Standing on the wooden step with one hand on the storm door, I started to cry. And that, like everything else, was something I just couldn't do the way you were supposed to. Great whooping sobs came bursting out of nowhere and I grabbed Lanie around the neck and held her tight.

“God, calm down. Jeez.” She sounded scornful and slightly disgusted, much more like herself than she had a moment ago, but her hand wound around and patted me awkwardly. I sniffled and got ahold of myself, peeling myself off Lanie's shoulder. She straightened her purple sweatshirt and wrinkled her nose at me.

“Mom, I think she got snot on my shoulder,” she hollered.

Karen was spared answering by Simon's sudden short blast on the car horn. I looked down at him. From up here on the steps, he looked different. Too big for the small car he drove. Too angry to be
my
Simon.

“Lanie, we'd better get going.” This from Natasha, who came rocketing out the door and down the stairs, edging sideways between me and Lanie. “Dad doesn't
look too happy to be waiting, and having to drive us to school on top of it—well—I just don't think we'd better make him wait much longer, that's all.”

Bewildered, I watched Natasha land at the bottom of the stairs, having taken a flying leap off the second step up. Mom's hand tightened on my damp elbow for a second. I wasn't sure what I had expected, but I knew Natasha ignoring me was just as out of character as Lanie hugging me, no matter where I had been that night.

“Hey, Natasha . . .” I said uncertainly, but there was still something wrong with my voice, and it wasn't loud enough for Natasha to hear me over the car's running engine and Lanie's prattle about her ruined sweatshirt.

“Come on, Livvie,” Mom said, firmly guiding me by the shoulders into the house. “Let's get you warm and in bed.”

“But Tash . . .” My voice trailed off as my hand trailed behind me, pointing backward at the Tercel disappearing down the hill. My arm suddenly felt very tired and I let it fall limply at my side.

Karen looked at me with something I think was called sympathy. “She'll be all right. You just scared her, Livvie.” Eyes casting away from mine, crinkles getting deeper again by half. “You scared us all. Lord God.”

I started to cry again, gentler this time but no less sudden. “I'm sorry. . . .”