Sara Lost and Found (23 page)

“Okay with us?” From the looks on their faces and their hugs, tears, and laughter, I feel like I've given
them
a birthday present.

“I'll get right on it,” Dad says, starting for the phone.

“And I'll get right on the cake!” Kevin shouts, making everyone laugh.

By the end of the day, I'm so tired, I can hardly move my legs. I plug the best present I got—new earbuds—into my ears and listen to more songs.

Lexie comes in second with the picture of us in the newspaper in a frame. She also gives me a tattered book called
Dicey's Song.
I look at the print and hesitate.

“It looks harder than it is,” she says. “You'll see. It's a great book.”

Skeeter gives me his prize catch: a beautiful orange-and-black monarch butterfly that he's framed and labeled. “I didn't even have to kill it. It was already dead when I found it,” he tells me, grinning. The card with it says,
All the better to bug you with.
I grin back.

Still, my biggest wish is the one thing I didn't get.

Lexie stops by to see if I want to go trick-or-treating door-to-door to collect for the SPCA. But I feel so sure that Anna is going to show up, I tell her I'd rather stay home.

Every time the doorbell rings and a chorus of “Trick or treat!” filters through the windows, I race to open the door, studying every one of the trick-or-treaters, even the ones who are too short or too tall, hoping that one of the hidden faces might be Anna's. After an hour of searching, I give up.

Kevin and Dad return from trick-or-treating with a whole pillowcase full of candy.

“I'll share with you, Sara,” the droopy dragon promises.

“Share cavities,” Dad grumbles. “Shall we take one last drive and end the big day with some ice cream?”

“Ice cream!” Kevin jumps up and down.

I force a smile, twisting a strand of hair around my finger. Ice cream is not what I wished for either.

*  *  *

A full moon lights up the October sky. I spot a star—the one right by the moon—and wish my big wish for the thousandth time that day.

As we pass Lexie's house, I see her through the window, still dressed like a cat and chasing Skeeter around the front room.

“We think we should tell you something, Sara,” my new mom says, breaking through Kevin's excited chatter about all the goblins and creatures he saw. “I know Lexie and her family wanted it to be a big surprise and all, but I don't want you to be unprepared.”

“Unprepared for what?” I ask, sensing that something bad is going to happen. Have they changed their minds already about the adoption?

“Unprepared to see Anna,” she says quietly.

“Anna? See her?” I force myself to breathe.

“Mrs. Craig says that Anna's supervisor needs to test Anna's behavior around family—around you.”

At first, no words come out. Then: “I can't wait for you to meet her,” I blurt. “You'll really like her. I mean—she's got this great red hair and these green eyes. And she—”

“Sara.” Mom cuts me off. “Sweetheart. There's more. We could only get permission for
you
to see her, not us. One step at a time, remember?”

“Yes,” I answer, barely above a whisper.

*  *  *

The visitor parking area at Maple View Center is nearly empty. We park and enter one of the buildings. The head of the center, a large man whose hair is as white as his coat, leads the Chandlers to an office and then motions for me to follow him down a long hallway.

His voice echoes in the hall as he explains their procedure for visitations, how this one is special because it's my birthday and the Chandlers wanted me to have a special gift, and more things that I block out.

My thoughts turn to Anna. Will she recognize me? Will she remember I'm her sister? Does she still have Abby?

He opens a door to a room that has a wide mirror against the back wall. A table with four chairs sits in the middle of the room. Against another wall is a cream-colored couch, and a floor lamp stands beside it. Besides that, the room is empty.

“We had an incident with Anna just a bit ago,” he says, motioning toward a chair. “This room is the lab where college students and parents can observe the behavior of the kids. Until I get clearance, I'll have to ask you to wait in here. Are you okay with that?”

I look through the mirror, searching for Anna, and nod.

A side door opens, and Anna walks in with an attendant. Anna doesn't see me, because of the special glass. I want to pound on it and call out her name, but I sit glued to the chair and stare. My sister blurs into a rainbow of colors. I wipe my eyes with my sleeve. Anna looks good.

Her hair has grown longer. It comes down to her chin. She's clutching Abby. An arm has been fashioned out of tinfoil to replace the missing one. I reach into my pocket and take out the real arm—something I carry with me everywhere—and prepare to give it to her. I notice she's wearing her half-heart necklace. I reach up and finger the other half on the chain around my neck, wanting to press them together like in the old days, when we played games and made promises.

The attendant says something quietly to Anna. Without warning, she whirls around and swings Abby, but the attendant is fast and catches the doll midswing. She pulls it from Anna's hand.

“No hitting, Anna. Use your words,” the attendant says over and over. “Use your words. I have a very special surprise for you, but you have to use your words, Anna.”

She circles Anna with her arms. Anna struggles, but the lady doesn't let go. A low, gritty, angry growl comes out of Anna. It grows louder and louder until it turns into a scream. I hold my hands over my ears, wishing I could comfort her and tell her everything is going to be okay. But it isn't okay.

When no more screams will come, Anna's mouth opens and closes soundlessly, like a fish. Her face is flushed, and her body droops over the nurse's arms. The lady looks over her shoulder and says to the glass, “We'll try this again when she's more ready.” Within moments, the attendant that had let me into the lab shows up again.

“I'm so sorry,” he says in a low, deep voice.

When I look through the glass again, I can see a shadowy image of myself, but I can also see through it to the observation room on the other side. It's as if I'm seeing myself actually standing in the room beside Anna. It's not the same as being with her, but it plants the image in my mind that I can memorize and picture long after I leave.

I hug my arms around myself to keep my thoughts steady. Anna is trying to get Abby from the supervisor.

“What do you have to do, Anna, to earn back your doll? Try to remember.”

I feel an arm slip around my shoulders and look up to see Mrs. Chandler. “Are you okay?”

I nod, swallowing back a lump of hurt. Tears stream down my cheeks. I wipe my eyes and look back into the room where my sister sounds more animal than human.

“Someday, soon—” I start to say, then stop.
Words get broken,
Anna had said. I didn't want to make another promise I couldn't keep until I was sure. Until I was really, really sure I'd get to see my sister again. “At least she has Abby,” I say, and sigh, hoping the doll is enough.

“And she has a lot of caring people around her to help her get past all the pain she has bottled up inside,” Mrs. Chandler says quietly.

Kevin slips into the darkened room.

“That's your sister?” He presses his face against the window.

“Shhh.” Mrs. Chandler pulls him into a hug. “Give Sara some space.”

On the way back to the Chandlers', Kevin remains unusually quiet in the car. He reaches over and takes my hand, hugging it to him as he stares out the window.

“Thank you for taking me to see her,” I blurt to Mrs. Chandler. “Do you think the center will give us another chance anytime soon?”

Mrs. Chandler takes in a deep breath and lets it out slowly before answering.

“Right now, it's all up to Anna, Sara. The doctors are worried about your safety and Anna's, and she has to go through the treatment program and prove she can manage her emotions.”

“How long is the program?”

“Six months.”

“Six months?” I say, louder than I mean to. “That's like forever.”

“It feels like it, but when Anna gets through the program, she'll be able to visit with you, talk with you on the phone—”

Six months. Can Anna do it? Can I?

The thought gets caught in my throat. “Did Anna know I was there?”

“I think they were waiting to see how she behaved, Sara, before telling her, so no. I don't think she did.”

Maybe that was better. I know if it had been me, and I found out I had missed a visit from her, I would be sick to my stomach.

Maybe not knowing was best.

THAT NIGHT, I TOSS AND
turn. Voices slip in and out. I walk toward the voices and open a door into a room. No, into a garden. My new mom and Mrs. Craig are bent over something. I move up silently behind them.

“Is it a weed or a flower? I never can tell,” Mrs. Craig is saying.

“It's beautiful, whatever it is,” my new mom answers.

“But is it a weed or a flower?” Mrs. Craig repeats. She has a small garden hoe in her hand, ready to cut into the dirt and through the roots.

A new voice speaks. I can't see the face. “Weeds. Weeds. Too many weeds. Rip them out. Get rid of them. Weeds, weeds, too many weeds,” the voice sings over and over, keeping a beat, like Mrs. Craig's garden hoe hacking at dirt.

I squint, trying to see the face, trying to match the voice to one I've heard before, and I groan.

“It's all right, Sara. I'm right here.” I pull out of my dream and open my eyes. I see a shadowy figure sitting on the bed.

I can just make out Mrs. Chandler's face as she bends down and kisses me on the cheek. “It's okay, sweetheart. Everything is going to be okay. I know that you hoped seeing Anna would be different. In time, it will, Sara. In time. But now you must sleep. We're right here with you. Relax.” Her hand brushes over my forehead.

I drift back to the garden. The ground around the remaining flowers is freshly churned. Holes gape where other flowers used to be. The flowers, deep red and purple, reach for the sun. I smell their light perfume. They smell like my new mom. My feet sink into the soft dirt. It covers my toes, rooting me.

Weed or flower? Weed or flower? A breeze blows through my hair. Weed or flower? I try to move but can't. Another voice, this one deeper. I try to place it. It's coming closer. What is it saying?

Let me put my arms around you. I can never live without you.

“Daddy!” I reach for the sky, my arms as thin as twigs. My hands are leaves waving in the wind.

“Daddy?” I force my eyes open.

“It's okay, Sara. You're safe. I'm here.” A different face presses close to mine. I take in a deep breath and smell soap. Toothpaste. I look again. My new dad's face is smiling, but his eyes are scared. I see the fear in them as I'm pulled back into the garden.

“Rest, Sara. Mom and I are right here. We aren't going to let anything happen to you. Sleep.”

*  *  *

The doorbell buzzes and buzzes. I jolt awake. In a chair beside my bed, my new dad sits up straight and rubs sleep from his tired eyes.

I frown. “How come—”

“The doctor gave us some medicine to give you, to help you rest. You cried out in your sleep, and your mom and I took turns staying with you,” Dad explains.

I sit up and rub my aching head, then smooth out the blanket—a comforter covered with red and purple flowers, just like the garden in my dream. I hear the soft padding of feet coming up the stairs.

“Knock, knock.” Mom grins sleepily at me from the door. “You have a visitor.”

“Anna?” I jump out of bed and grab my robe, bumping against her on the way out. “Anna?” I race downstairs. But the visitor isn't Anna.

“Lexie. Hi.” I force my face to look happy. Lexie is holding a box with holes in it.

“Hi, Sara. Can we talk?”

“Yeah, sure.” I lead her up to my room. Mom and Dad pass us going down.

Mom sneezes.

“Bless you,” we both say at once.

In my room, I curl up on the bed and pat a place beside me, just like I used to do with Anna. “What's in the box?”

Lexie sits, and a cat, meowing loudly, pushes against the lid of the box and then jumps out onto my bed.

“Sneaker!” I scoop her up and frown. “You're not going to tell me you're giving her away, are you?” I study Lexie's face for signs of bad news, but she shakes her head.

“No, no. It's not that.” She takes a deep breath. “Our dads got together,” she says, “and have helped Mrs. Craig get permission from the court to let Anna be part of a therapy program involving animals.” She pauses to let the words sink in. “They've agreed to use pet therapy to try to help Anna with her problems”—Lexie hesitates—“instead of you.”