The Summer Kitchen (40 page)

As soon as Rusty got home, no matter what it took, I’d get him to see that the only thing we could do now was a start-over. While Kiki was still asleep, we could pack everything, then load up and go. We couldn’t wait any longer. Even Rusty’d have to see that now.

After I finished helping Kiki clean up, I put her to bed. Opal wanted to get in with her mama, so I let her climb up with the doll and the book. Kiki laid back against the pillow and pulled Opal down, too, but Opal didn’t mind. Opal held the book up and started reading it while Kiki’s eyes fell closed, and her breaths grew longer and slower, until she was out cold.

I walked away and left them there. I remembered how it felt the last time my mama held me.

I laid on the sofa reading, hoping Rusty’d come home earlier than he said. Sometime after dark, my eyes went to burning and I couldn’t keep them open anymore. Finally, I pulled the kitchen chairs in front of the door, just in case Kiki woke up and tried to leave with Opal. Then I got in my sleeping bag, closed my eyes and listened. I heard the partiers drive by cheering and screaming, headed for the clubs down on Greenville. I heard the Mexican guys rattle up in their truck, play their music loud and hang out for a while. I heard the baby cry next door and the mama holler at Angel to get it. I heard Kiki moan in her sleep, and Opal cough, and move around, and settle back down. Then I didn’t hear anything.

I dreamed about Mama. We were in a hammock somewhere, just the two of us, rocking back and forth under a clear blue sky. I wanted to talk to her, to tell her about Opal, but I just laid there for a while, because it seemed like we had all the time in the world.

“Mama,” I said finally, and she tucked my head under her chin, like Kiki did with Opal.

“Ssshhh.” Her breath brushed over my hair, gentle like the breeze. Her fingers twined with mine, and I looked down at our hands, but they were brown and white like mine and Opal’s.

Thunder boomed somewhere. Mama held me tighter, so I wouldn’t hear it.

It got louder again, shaking the ground, traveling through Mama’s body into mine, pulling me away. I felt her arms slip free. “Mama!” I called. “Mama!” I was screaming, but at the same time, I knew the sound was nothing more than a low moan. I felt my body jerk, heard the thunder rumble, knew the sofa was underneath me, felt the scratchy sleeping bag. Something banged once, twice.

Air came into my body in a big gush, and I jerked up, awake so sudden it hurt. My heart flapped around like a wounded animal trying to find its feet.

Someone was banging on the door. . . .

I heard a voice.

Uncle Len’s voice.

“Kiki! You come outa there. Y’hear me? You layin’ up wit’ that boy? You come on out here!”

The bedsprings squealed in my room. The air turned solid in my throat until I was choking on it. I pushed my hand over my mouth so I wouldn’t make a sound. My legs tangled in the sleeping bag as I tried to get up, and I landed hard on the floor, then scrambled to my feet with my blood pounding in my ears, screaming to my body,
Wake up! Wake up!

The bedroom door banged against the wall and lightning flashed, shooting bright strips through the blinds. I caught the blurry outline of Kiki by my room. “Stop!” I hissed. “Don’t open the door!”

Uncle Len pounded again, rattling the door so hard the wood split around it. The clock fell off the wall and crashed against the floor. The lightning died. The room went dark. I heard Opal squeal and run across the floor like a little mouse.

“You come outa there, Kiki! Get out here! I’ll rip this door down . . .” The sentence ended in a string of dirty words, and then everything went quiet. The hinges creaked and strained, the screws groaning against the wood. “Come on, baby. Open up. I don’t wanna hurt nobody. Just you an’ me, baby. You an’ me, an’ Opal. Hey, Opal. Come see Uncle Len. I’ll get you a bike. A new bike. You like that? C’mon, open up.” He waited to see if anyone would answer.

Lightning flashed, and I saw Kiki halfway across the floor. Opal was holding on to her mama’s T-shirt.

“No!” I whispered. I ran to get between her and the door, hit one of the chairs and sent it skidding into the kitchen. “Stop. No!”

“Ssshhh.” Kiki’s hand touched my face just like Mama’s did in the dream. In the strobe of light, her eyes met mine, then she vanished, and I could only feel her hand, then not even that. In the darkness, I heard her bend down and pick up Opal.

My mind raced. I tried to think of a plan, some way to stop her. I couldn’t fight both her and Uncle Len.

The hinges groaned again. In another minute, he’d get through. . . .

“Ssshhh.” Kiki’s voice was barely there. Her clothes rustled as she moved, then she pushed something into my hand. The wall shook. Wood splintered. A piece clattered to the floor. I felt something in my hand. Shoes. Her shoes. I didn’t understand at first, then I did. I put on the shoes. The lightning sparked, then she was gone in the darkness again. She put Opal in my arms, and Opal wrapped herself around me, her fingers digging into my shirt, holding on.

The door gave way, jerked against the burglar chain. Wood cracked, high and loud.

By now, someone’s called the police,
I thought, and then,
He’ll be inside before they get here. . . .

Kiki moved us into the space between the wall and the back of the recliner, beside the door. She pushed me down, and plaster sprinkled over us like rain. I smelled wet pavement, heard Uncle Len so close, heard his hand come through the door, try to work the chain loose, then he backed up and hit it with his shoulder again. Plaster rained down. I curled myself over Opal.

“Ssshhh,” I whispered against her ear, the fluff of her hair brushing my lips.

“Just a minute, baby.” Kiki’s voice seemed strange, too calm, almost friendly. “Just a minute. Let me get it.” The sky flickered. I watched her move the chairs, push the door closed. Silence filled the room, slowed the moments, made her breath loud as it trembled inward, then out. Her fingers shook, loosening the chain.

The door opened a crack, pouring a narrow slice of light over Opal and me, then widening into the room.

“Where’s he at!” Uncle Len boomed. “Where’s yer boyfriend?”

“He’s not here, baby,” she said, sticky sweet. “Nobody’s here but me.”

Uncle Len stepped inside, hovered so close I could smell the sour scents of cigarette smoke, beer, and sweat. “Where’z Opal?” He snaked out a hand, caught Kiki’s wrist. “I heard Opal.”

Pressing harder against the chair, I squeezed Opal so tight I didn’t know if she could breathe. She was stone still in my arms, her heart fluttering against my stomach like a leaf caught in a storm.

Be still, be still. Don’t move. Don’t make a sound. . . .

“No one’s here, baby. That was just me.” Kiki leaned into him. “You can look.”

“Where’re they hidin’?” Uncle Len pushed Kiki back but held her wrist, so that she snapped like a ball on a tether. “You hear me, Opal? Time-da go home. I gotta come git you, you gonna be sorry, little girl. You better come out.”

Don’t move. Don’t move. Don’t answer.

“They went out the back. Let’s just go, baby. Let’s go on home, okay?”

“They’re here. Yer boyfriend’s here.”

“It’s empty, see?” Kiki backed up a step, drawing him like a dog on a leash.

The space by the door widened. One step, two. Should I try it? Could I make it? What if he saw us? Could Kiki slow him down enough?

He caught his toe on a chair leg, stumbled forward.

I inched Opal higher on my chest, gathered my legs under me like a cat. They shook, rubbery, numb, uncertain. What if I couldn’t run in Kiki’s platform tennis shoes? What if I couldn’t get us out?

Go, Cass Sally. Run.
Mama’s voice was inside me.
Now. Go now.

Uncle Len caught his balance. I stood up. The recliner vibrated. Thunder shook the ground and lightning slashed the sky. I bolted into it, raced down the steps to the parking lot. The street was dead, all the apartments closed, the convenience store dark across the street.

“Hey!” Uncle Len’s voice roared after us as the thunder died. “You get . . . get back here!”

I didn’t stop. I held Opal and ran, a pulse hammering in my ears until I barely heard Kiki scream.

Don’t look back. Don’t look back. Just run. Just run.

I felt the pavement pounding underneath my feet, Kiki’s shoes, too big, sloshing around in the water. I tripped, caught myself with one hand, got back on my feet.

Run. Just run.

Uncle Len’s truck roared to life behind us, then backfired and died. Opal screamed and held on tighter. I bolted over the bridge and kept going. My heart hammered, but my legs felt like all the blood had drained out.

I passed the church, ran for just a second in the glow from the sign out front, heard a shutter slapping against the building. Thunder shook the sky as I crossed over and went by the bookstore. Glass bottles and MJ’s wind chimes clattered wildly in the storm, the sound rushing away down the street.

I looked back. The headlights were coming out of the apartments. The truck fishtailed on the wet pavement, hit something and high-centered, the tires squealing. Lightning streaked overhead, then thunder boomed. The truck busted loose and peeled out. Headlights shined toward us, lighting up the street.

Run. Just run. Just run.

“Wildfire” played in my head, and my mind went clear. I thought of the girl in the blizzard, racing after her pony, fighting to get him to a safe place.

I knew where she ran to.

I knew where she hid from the storm.

I ran toward that place as the truck bounced over the curb, hit something and spun out, then finally squealed back onto the road. The engine roared, then was drowned out by an explosion of thunder.

I rounded the corner onto Red Bird with the headlights coming closer. I didn’t know if he’d seen us make the turn. Maybe he hadn’t seen us.

It wasn’t much farther now. . . .

Chapter 23

SandraKaye

A storm blew through sometime in the dark of morning. The crash of thunder pulled me from a light sleep, and I lay watching the room flicker in the glow from the television. I’d muted the sound and let myself drift off to the late show, trying to ignore the fact that I was going to bed in an empty house. Christopher had slipped away to Holly’s for an overnight, and Rob had found yet another reason to work late, so as to avoid further conversation about the café. No doubt he was hoping that if he ignored the issue for a few days, I would get over my whim, and life would return to normal. Then we could discuss his taking the job at Johns Hopkins.

A rapid pulse jittered in my neck now, as if something ominous were hiding just beyond view; I could feel its presence, even though I couldn’t see it yet. Through the floor, I heard the hum of the downstairs television. Rob must have returned home sometime after I’d fallen asleep, but he hadn’t come up.

A flash of lightning and a clap of thunder eclipsed everything. The TV caught my eye as I felt for my slippers under the bed. The image was cockeyed, partially hidden by the footboard. I couldn’t comprehend it at first. A news brief was on. There was an image of Cass’s apartment complex.

A feeling of unreality swept over me like a sudden bout of vertigo.
It’s part of a dream,
I thought, and let the slippers fall from my hand.
You’re still dreaming. It isn’t real.

Thunder rumbled outside again as I fumbled for a mental grasp. Blinking hard, I looked at the television again, took in the scene—the apartment complex, police cars, flashing lights glaring against the rain-slick street, a SWAT van, two fire trucks, and drowsy, confused residents standing behind them wrapped in blankets.

Crawling across the bed, I fumbled for the remote, searched for it among the sheets, a burst of adrenaline sharpening my thoughts, fastening my gaze to the screen while I tore at the twisted bedding, trying to turn up the sound.

My eyes cleared, and I could make out the banner at the bottom of the screen.
Hostage crisis.

I found the remote beneath the covers, ripped it loose, turned on the sound.

A female newscaster was standing under a streetlamp next to several blanket-clad families. The SWAT van and a fire truck provided a backdrop as she attempted to make sense of the story. “. . . began with an apparent domestic disturbance in apartment One-A. Neighbors reported a man pounding on the door sometime after three a.m., the sounds of an argument, then an apparent struggle, during which some of the family members, possibly children, may have exited the home. The man in question, who was not a resident here, then allegedly attempted pursuit in his vehicle, but may have returned to the apartment, and may be inside with at least one female hostage. Police have received no response after repeated attempts at contact, however, and are unsure whether the suspect may have fled prior to police arrival, possibly leaving behind one or more victims. SWAT teams are currently assessing the situation. . . .”

My heart and mind stilled. Outside, the thunder halted and everything was impossibly silent. The thoughts that had been crowding in all evening, the issues that had seemed so important, ripped away like watercolors on rice paper, smeared, and disappeared.

I imagined Cass and Opal, either trapped in the apartment or hiding somewhere in the dark right now. Somewhere . . .

This can’t be happening. This can’t be real. It’s a mistake.

I’d had the same thought the night Poppy was attacked. It didn’t seem possible that such violence, which seemed vaguely unreal when you saw it on television, could be happening to you, to someone you loved.
This story won’t end like Poppy’s. It can’t.

I pictured Cass and Opal somewhere safe, allowed myself to think of nothing else.
They’re safe. They’re safe. They’re all right.
Rushing around the bedroom, I slipped on clothes and grabbed my purse, then ran downstairs.

A dim light flickered from the media room as I reached the hallway, reminding me that Rob was home. If I woke him, would he come with me? Would he come because I asked him to, because I needed him?