Lovely Wild (21 page)

FORTY-FOUR

“SURELY YOUR MOTHER
wouldn’t approve of that shirt.” Grandma’s lip curled as she held it up.

Kendra hadn’t really been thinking of buying the black, fitted T-shirt with the picture of a zombified Bettie Page and the neon green lettering that said “F*@% you, I found Jesus” on it, but as soon as Grandma took it from her hands and hung it back on the rack it became the only shirt she wanted. She took another off the rack and held it up. “She wouldn’t care.”

That was probably true. If Kendra came home with that shirt, her mom would probably look it over, shake her head and simply tell her that she couldn’t wear it to school or out in public. Mom wouldn’t forbid Kendra from having it, she’d just make sure Kendra understood the consequences of wearing it.

Grandma frowned. “Even
your
mother wouldn’t allow you to wear a shirt like that, Kendra Jean.”

Kendra hated the way Grandma said “your mother” only a little more than she hated the way she used her full name. She didn’t put the shirt back. She hung it over her arm as she moved to the next rack of clothes.

“You’re not buying that shirt.”

She looked at her grandmother. Ethan had ducked away to look at a glass case full of buttons and bumper stickers, so it was just Kendra and Grandma facing off over a rack of T-shirts with dirty slogans. Kendra’s heart pounded, but she gave her grandma a blank look.

“Sure I am. I have my own money.”

“It’s not a question of money,” Grandma said. “You can’t buy that shirt, it’s filthy. And disrespectful.”

“Maybe that’s why I like it,” Kendra said.

For a moment she thought Grandma was going to burst into a screaming hissy fit right there in the store, but she just shook her head. She closed her eyes and pinched the bridge of her nose as though she had a very bad headache. When she opened her eyes, she bored right into Kendra’s skull with a glare.

“Your father will never approve of it. I’m sure about that.”

Kendra frowned. That was true. Her dad wouldn’t like the shirt at all. And with a price tag of twenty-nine-ninety-five, it was kind of an expensive way to throw a tantrum. “He barely pays attention to anything I wear.”

“Well, he should.”

“Grandma, can I get this?” Ethan held up a package of gummy candy that looked like a hamburger complete with lettuce, tomato and onion, and fries on the side. “It’s gum.”

“Sweetie, let Grandma buy you some better gum than that. Come on, this store is nothing but junk.” Grandma turned to go as Ethan put on a sad face and prepared to put the gum back.

“I’ll buy it for you,” Kendra said.

“Kendra.” Grandma had a warning tone in her voice.

Kendra ignored it. “Mom doesn’t care if we have gum. C’mon, monkeybrat. Let’s pay for this stuff.”

Behind her, Grandma let out a long, low sigh. Kendra pulled out two twenty-dollar bills from her wallet, all the money she’d saved up from her allowances since before they went to Pine Grove. There’d been no allowance since then, and she’d felt bad asking for it, not that there’d been anything to spend it on, anyway. Now the brand-new bills felt stiff in her fingers. She put it on the counter next to the shirt she didn’t really want and the gum her brother really didn’t need.

Back out in the mall, the monkeybrat chattered nonstop to Grandma while Kendra held back, the bag holding her purchases clutched so tight her fingers cramped. Grandma was ignoring her, which was cool with Kendra, whose rebellious nature had been totally tapped out. Was the shirt worth it? Probably not, but she’d been unable to stop herself from buying it, anyway. Now it made the bag so super heavy she wanted to dump it in the nearest trashcan.

No, what she wanted was her mom.

Kendra let Grandma and Ethan walk ahead of her as she pulled out the stupid flip phone her dad had given her to replace the one she’d lost, and tapped in a text to her mom.

I want to come home.

Her phone buzzed a moment later. She grabbed at it, but saw it was only a message from Logan. Any other time this would’ve made her squee, but now she just tucked it back in her pocket without answering.

FORTY-FIVE

THERE WAS A
book with pretty pictures and many words. Mari could sound out a few of them if she ran her finger along the black letters on the white pages. She liked the pictures better, though. Colorful ink drawings of mermaids, a sea-witch.
Puss in Boots.
Mari knew the fairy-tale stories because the forest prince had read them to her, over and over again. The forest prince, like the one in the stories. He looked like the boy in the picture. Golden hair. Golden skin. The happy prince, the one made of gold.

The forest prince brought her food when there was nothing to eat. He untangled her hair when the knots were too thick even for the comb. In the snowtime, the forest prince made sure the stove always had wood to burn.

Gran used to chop the wood, but she didn’t anymore. She used the ax to kill chickens, too. Mari used her fingers to twist their necks until they stopped squawking. The ax was too heavy for her to lift, and the forest prince said it was too sharp for a little fairy girl. She could hurt herself. He cut the wood and stacked it on the back porch so Mari could put it in the stove.

The forest prince’s name was Andrew. That was what Gran called him when she used to talk. Gran didn’t talk now, not even when Mari sang to her. Gran didn’t do a lot of things she used to. Mostly she just sat and stared at nothing Mari could see.

Mari pushed her fingertips over and over the lines of the pictures, lips moving as she tried her best to figure out the meaning of the words. It was called reading. She wanted to know what these lines and squiggles said, but all she could do was look at the pictures and remember the stories the forest prince told her.

She heard the crunch of sticks in the woods and the book flew from her hands. She was on her feet, ready to run, heart pounding, but then the forest prince stepped out of the trees and crossed the yard to get to her.

“Mariposa.” He grinned.

Mari squealed with delight. Giggling as he tickled her, she kicked her feet high in the air. He was so tall. When he lifted her, she flew.

“Just like a butterfly.”

The forest prince put her down, her feet bare on the wooden boards of the back porch. They were cold. The snowtime was coming, she could tell by the way her breath blew out in front of her like smoke and by the way Gran shivered and shuddered unless Mari piled her with blankets, but it wasn’t here yet. The wind pushed the pages of the book so they fluttered like a butterfly’s wings.

Mari rubbed her tummy, put a hand to her mouth.
I’m hungry.

“I brought you food.” Andrew shifted his backpack from his shoulders. Opened it. Inside were good things to eat. Cans of beans, a box of rice. A package of snack cakes, only a little squashed. An open bag of chips.

Mari dove for the chocolate cake and tore open the plastic. It was so good she licked the wrapper while Andrew laughed, watching. His hand passed over her hair. She’d tried to pull it back in a ponytail this morning, but the rubber band snapped and she couldn’t find another.

Some for you?
Mari offered the last few crumbs.

Andrew shook his head. He looked at the sky. At the woods beyond the flowers in the yard. He’d be leaving soon. Mari knew this because he always left. Andrew was a prince of the forest. The wicked queen didn’t like it when he visited here. He could never stay long.

He had taught her lots of things. How to find good things to eat in the woods. How to build a fire and keep it going—because even if she was too small to chop the wood, it was still up to her to keep the stove burning. Andrew was the one who taught Mari how to keep completely still when They came and Gran told her to be quiet and hide.

Read to me?

“Come here.” Andrew pulled her onto his lap and opened the book.

She knew all the stories, but she would listen to him read them to her over and over again. All the days. Sleepy, Mari let herself sink into his warmth. His breath on her face smelled of chocolate. He pressed his cheek to hers.

Stay,
she said when he got up to go.

“You know I can’t.” Andrew looked around the porch. “If I could, I would stay here with you always, Mariposa.”

Why not?

Andrew frowned. “They’d come looking for me, and they’d find you. Take you away. So even though I have to go, it’s for your own good.”

No go.

“No.” He shook his head. “I don’t want you to go. I have to take care of you. Make sure you’re safe. That’s my job.”

Why?

Andrew looked surprised. “Well...I love you, Mariposa.”

She didn’t know what that meant. He took her hands and curled the fingers against the palms, then pressed first one, then the other, to her chest over the beating part. Then he took them and put them on his face as he looked carefully into her eyes.

“When you want to make someone else happy, or keep them safe,” he said, “or when just being with them makes you feel like a better person, that’s love.”

Love.
Her fingers curled. Pressed to her chest.
Love?

Andrew nodded. “I want to take care of you, make sure you’re all right.”

I love you.

He grinned and ruffled her hair. Then squeezed her. “I have to go check on Gran, but I’ll be back later.”

Gran had been asleep for a long time. When Andrew came back, his face was full of words even though he only had a few to say. “Mari, what happened to Gran?”

Mari shook her head, not sure what he meant. Gran was always that way now. In her chair. Knitting or mumbling to herself. Sleeping next to the stove. She didn’t even wake up long enough to eat, which was okay with Mari because it was messy, trying to feed Gran. She can’t chew. Her teeth are gone, the ones in the jar she keeps next to her on the table are never in her mouth.

Andrew shook his head. “Mari, listen to me. How long has Gran been...asleep?”

She shrugged.
I don’t know.

“Think! One sleep? Two? More than that?”

She wasn’t used to him shouting, and Mari’s lower lip trembled. Hot tears filled her eyes. Andrew became a blur. She took a step back, then another. Her shoulder knocked into the door frame.

She held up her hands, fingers waving.
Many
.

Andrew walked back and forth, fast and faster. “This is bad, Mariposa. I have to go.”

Don’t go.

But he went, as he always did. He came back again before she’d even had one sleep. He didn’t bring food, but he took her hands and squeezed them.

“Mariposa, you have to listen to me.” Andrew looked out the window to the front place of grass. “They’re coming.”

They. Them. The ones in cars. They came to take Gran away. They came to bring her back. They didn’t know about Mari because Mari always, always hid.

Mari ran into the kitchen. Beneath the table, her special place. She dove into the pile of blankets she shared with the dogs. It was dark under there, tiny spots of light shining through the holes in the knitted blanket hung over the tabletop.

“Mari, no. You don’t understand! This time, you have to come with me.”

Mari clutched at the blankets. Andrew’s feet slapped on the floor, but from the front door Mari heard voices. Voices of Them. They’re shouting, something about Gran.

“I’ll come back for you, Mari. I promise. I’ll come for you.” Then Andrew was gone. The back door didn’t slam behind him, it closed as softly as a whisper.

“When was the last time someone was out here? My God,” said one of Them. Big shoes made lots of noise on the floor beside the table. “It’s filthy. She’s been dead a least three or four days, maybe a week. Christ.”

The sound of water running in the sink. More feet. More voices. More Them. Mari buried her face in the blankets and waited for them all to go away.

This time, they didn’t.

“Jesus Christ.”

One of Them had lifted the blanket, making it light under the table. A face, a big face, covered in hair, eyes open wide.

“There’s a kid in here!”

Mari wasn’t fast enough to run away. They grabbed her. Held her tight. She kicked. Screamed. Bit. They held her. Held her down. They shouted, they whispered.

“Honey, what’s your name? Can you tell me your name? Oh, God, Glenn.” This was a lady Them, with yellow hair like Andrew’s. Big blue eyes. “Look at her. Have you ever seen anything like it?”

“We’re not gonna hurt you, sweetheart,” said the man Them with the hair on his face.

Mari screamed.

“Shh, shh, honey, it’s okay.” The lady Them held out a cookie. Mari knew cookies, but she wouldn’t take it. Not from this lady Them. “Can you tell me your name? And come out here? I’ll give you this cookie.”

“How about this?” The man Them held out a snack cake. “Found a couple of them on the counter. Maybe she likes these.”

“Can you tell me your name, sweetie? Are you hungry?”

Mari was always hungry. She patted her tummy, put a hand to her mouth.
I’m hungry.

“Holy shit,” said the lady Them. “Glenn. Do you see that?”

“Look at her. She’s crazy.”

The lady Them and the man Them squatted on the floor in front of Mari. The man Them tossed Mari the snack cake, and she tore the plastic from it to shove it in her mouth, greedy in case they took it away.

“I think we need to call social services,” said the man Them.

“I think we need to call more than that,” the lady Them said.

* * *

This is what Mari remembers when she uncovers the book. It’s been tucked down deep in one of the boxes, below a stack of papers it seems nobody thought were very important. The book’s smaller than she remembers, but she cradles it against her chest. She presses it to her cheek, her eyes closed, and breathes in the scent of the paper.

She understands now, why she fell in love with Ryan. Why he became her prince. The boy in her long-buried memories had planted that need to be saved within her, and she’d spent the rest of her life thinking that was what she needed.

Who could blame her? She had no memories of her infancy, though someone must’ve taken care of her before she was old enough to fend for herself. She’d spent the first eight years of her life learning that if she cried there was nobody to listen. If she hurt herself, nobody to offer comfort. Being taken out of this house had been terrifying, yes, and she’d fought it. But even a child who’s been taught to fear the touch of strangers can quickly learn how much better it is to be fed and clothed and kept clean—even if that means being poked and prodded and tested.

They’d given her other toys to replace the dirty, battered butterfly that no longer lit up. A doll with blond hair and a soft dress, a stuffed duck, a stack of blocks. Mari had kept none of them. There was very little in her life she’d ever kept for sentiment, though those same parenting magazines that had warned her about the trials of potty training had also shown her it might be important to tuck away keepsakes for the sake of her children, even if she herself felt no special connection to a blanket or a doll. She had a box for each child in her closet at home, and she did try to put things away in it she thought they might like someday.

Suddenly, though, this book in her hands is more than a collection of words and pictures. This book is a tangible, memorable bit of her past that isn’t like the pages of notes someone else took about her, or even the videotapes she doesn’t remember being recorded.

Like her memory of the stuffed and glow-faced butterfly, she remembers this book.

And she remembers the boy who tried as best he could to save her.

“Andrew,” she says aloud just to test it. She looks through the windows to the grass outside. There’s no more sign of any footprints, but she remembers those, too.