by Dana Becker
April could see this clearly now. Wasn’t she deluding herself? Rose was not coming home. Her sister was gone forever. It was time to start accepting reality.
* * *
And it was with this sudden, unexpectedly sober perspective that April now turned to Joseph, and gave him a long, hard look (she tried to avoid those sparkly eyes of his—which were always such a distraction). After months of anxiety about her probation, April was finally free. She was almost done with the mandatory NA meetings and community service. Of course she could still do these things—and, after developing the habit, she saw the benefits of continuing this work—but she was no longer required by the court to attend. She would no longer have the threat of prison hanging over her head. She could miss a meeting or two, or stop altogether, and no one would care. With more time opening up during her evenings, she could now pursue her recent idea, to become a real, certified chef; she could enroll in a class at the culinary school—which Carmen would help finance—and get started right away.
Joseph had been more than encouraging of her new ambition. He’d done what he could to help her prepare for this fresh chapter in her life. They’d shopped around together for professional knife sets—a requirement for culinary school—but April had been so stressed out over the unexpectedly high cost that she returned home without buying one. And this anxiety then triggered larger anxieties. (“I don’t belong there,” she’d said.) But Joseph had gone to work.
A week later, he showed up to find April, covered in flour, busy in Metropolitan Bakery’s kitchen, anxiously practicing for culinary school. Every day, after hours, she’d been rehearsing various basic cooking techniques and recipes, in her furious and desperate and, in her mind, hopeless effort to catch up with what she imagined were classmates who were far ahead of her. Joseph walked into the kitchen that evening with a brand-new set of knives for her. He had made them himself, in a blacksmith shop, and engraved them with her initials.
“How’d you know how to make these?”
April pulled out a paring knife, admiring its craftsmanship. It felt both heavy and somehow also very mobile at the same time, just like the fancy Japanese knives she’d examined at the store a week earlier, the ones she could never hope to afford.
“My uncle used to do some bladesmithing,” Joseph said. “Taught me when I was a kid.”
“Of course you’re secretly a master bladesmith. Should have guessed!”
And just as Joseph had begun to protest that he was by no means a master, April had thrown her arms around him and hugged him so hard that the tears that had welled in her eyes rolled down her face. He had seemed surprised, unprepared for her emotional response. In his mind, the gift was simply a practical solution to a problem: she needed knives and so he’d made her a set of knives. No big deal.
“Oh, Joseph,” she said. “It’s so . . . sad.”
“What is sad?” Joseph asked.
But April didn’t have the heart to reply.
* * *
Joseph had been such a positive force in her life at exactly the moment she’d needed it. If she’d gotten mixed up with her usual type of boyfriend, some pretty-faced lost boy, some addict, she wouldn’t be sober now. There was no doubt about that. She’d have begun using again, which meant she’d be in jail by now. Joseph had been a steadying force. That was real. The results were clear. She’d made the right decision with him.
But that didn’t mean it could last. It didn’t mean the relationship had a future. She loved Joseph and would always love him for being a kind of guardian angel when she needed one, but the time had come to loosen their bonds, to begin the process of pulling away from each other. There was no future for them. No way forward.
And once April began to pull away from Joseph, she began to see him in a different light. She grew suspicious of him. Especially of his insistence that they meet this shady associate of Ricky’s. What was that about? Joseph’s belief that this meeting would help them find Rose seemed, to April, naïve. She feared the trip would be a foolish waste of time at best, and, at worst, reckless and dangerous. Who was this man? What was his agenda? April resented Joseph for dragging her out and putting her in danger, and that resentment was making it easier for her to pull away from Joseph for good.
April didn’t want to be on this bus. She didn’t want to meet this man whom even Joseph admitted was a shady character. She wanted to begin to deal with truths, even harsh ones. She was done with wishful thinking and delusions. And when she was entirely honest with herself, she could admit that the problem here was Joseph: he was just another delusion she’d had. And even worse—he seemed oddly sympathetic to Ricky, to the person who April knew was behind her sister’s disappearance. As the bus hurtled down the highway, April made a resolution right there and then: yes, she would keep her promise and meet this guy. And when it was over, she’d turn over a new leaf in her life. No more sleuthing for a sister who was dead, and no more pursuing a relationship that was a dead end. When she returned from this trip, all of that was over; it was time for a new start, based on realistic expectations. She would push the cops to do their job looking for Rose. She would cut off all ties with Joseph. And she would begin culinary school and a new life. And she would continue doing the work to stay sober.
* * *
As they got closer to their destination, the stop after Lancaster station—April’s silence deepened. Out of a sense of self-protection she’d decided to refrain from speaking, to harden her shell and just get through this. And her surroundings, the forest and cornfields, the big sky, only deepened her silence. The slow pace of rural central Pennsylvania gave her plenty of space to be alone.
They got off at the same stop they’d used on that magical night when Joseph took April on the sleigh ride through the snowy fields . . . but that had been a lifetime ago. April knew this was the same stop, but it didn’t feel the same at all. Or look the same. They stepped off the bus without exchanging a single word. A horse and buggy was waiting for them nearby, left there earlier in the day by one of Joseph’s cousins.
The buggy ride, too, encouraged silence. Without any explanation April slid into the cab, instead of sitting up front with Joseph on the driver’s bench. He didn’t protest, and it occurred to April that he was probably a bit relieved that she was in back, out of sight of the Amish community. April was annoyed that Joseph hadn’t insisted she join him up front—even though she also would have been annoyed if he had insisted. The situation matched their relationship: there was simply no arrangement that made sense for them. It was a lose-lose proposition.
In the meantime, the pace of the buggy, the rhythm of the horse hooves clopping on pavement, gave her exactly the kind of peace she needed right then.
The ride was long but, as far as April was concerned, it could have gone on forever. But when the horse drew to a stop, April finally poked her head out from the window of the buggy, and she was struck by the feeling of being really deep in the woods.
Having been so entirely lost in thought, she hadn’t quite noticed that the buggy had, many miles earlier, turned off the smooth, highway pavement onto bumpy unpaved country roads, and finally onto even more bumpy forest paths. April wanted to ask Joseph where in the world he had taken them, but she knew the answer: they were nowhere on the map. Suddenly, she felt scared.
Through the high treetops she could see that it was still a bright sunny day, but the foliage was so thick, that it was dark and dusky down below. In the deep forest silence, punctuated by the sound of a breeze in the leaves, April could hear occasional rustling sounds, the breaking of twigs, the sounds of little feet scurrying around. It creeped her out.
For the first time in hours, April spoke.
“Joseph,” she said. “I don’t like this. I don’t like it here.”
In breaking her long silence, her own voice sounded odd to her, strained, and not like her voice at all. Whose voice was it, though? The thought disturbed her even more.
Joseph leaned back
and squeezed her hand—but that worried her, too. And she quickly pulled it back and retreated inside the cab. Even familiar things—especially familiar things—her voice, Joseph’s strong hand, felt somehow wrong. Maybe she should jump out? Maybe she should run? Nothing here felt safe. Just as Joseph was about to speak, to calm her fear, they heard a voice.
“O’er here,” it said.
April’s mouth went dry. Her throat clutched shut. Joseph pulled the horse to a stop. She and Joseph turned around. Behind them, on the other side of the buggy, she saw a small hut—so small, and so much like a mound of earth rather than a human-built structure, that it was barely visible between the trees, even when she was looking right at it. And in the opening of this den stood a remarkably tall, alarmingly straight-backed man, his beard so long and wild that she couldn’t quite see where it ended in the darkness. What she could see, and quite clearly, were two eyes, staring in a fixed and piercing glare, directly at her. This face wore no expression at all. The man seemed to want them to come in, but he made no gesture of welcoming them. In fact, he stood in the doorway as though to block the entrance.
* * *
Carmen was early to court. She was overeager. Today was the day that she’d been imagining and hoping would come for the better part of a year now: after a lot of hard work, many false starts and setbacks, April was finally about to gain her freedom from legal trouble. April was about to be freed from the threat of prison. Having completed her court-ordered programs, the NA meetings, the community service, after passing all her drug tests, staying out of trouble, and getting a steady job, she was now free from the court’s scrutiny. She just needed to show up one last time.
And of course, she still had a record. Which meant that if she got in trouble with the law again, any judge would hold that against her. But April had served out her probation and she could now live and do as she pleased. Her time was, once again, her own. Unfortunately, on the day she was set to receive her walking papers, she was nowhere to be found.
Carmen paced around the hall outside of the courtroom. April was only a few minutes late, but Carmen was already getting worried. Had April really come this far, only to mess things up at the very last moment? It seemed too crazy—or, unfortunately, all too possible, all too typical of April’s history. What worried Carmen even more was that April hadn’t replied to any of her texts that morning. Finally, Carmen walked up to the court clerk, who was growing tired of waiting, prepared to lie and say that April had just called her to say she was on her way, when April suddenly materialized at the end of the hall.
But was it really April?
Carmen squinted for a moment. It certainly looked like April, but she was walking really slowly, as though taking a stroll with all the time in the world.
“Get over here!” Carmen said, waving to her madly. “What’s gotten into you?”
In court, Carmen couldn’t stop looking over at April. She looked different. Not like herself. Emptier, somehow. Something had changed. Something had come over her. Carmen studied her face for clues. Her eyes were dull, her mouth expressionless. There was no energy in her shoulders or back. She seemed to be dragging her feet. Wasn’t this a happy occasion? Wasn’t this the day that she’d been looking forward to for so long?
During a pause in the proceedings, as the judge looked over some documents, Carmen leaned over and whispered to April, “What’s going on with you?” April seemed pained to hear someone talking to her. Without turning to Carmen, April just shrugged. Carmen tried again.
“April. Honey. I know something’s the matter. . . .”
“Tell you later,” April muttered in reply.
Carmen caught the eye of the court clerk, whom she’d earlier witnessed impatiently kicking people out of the room if they chatted too much. She sat back and sighed. She’d have to wait for an answer. Well, Carmen thought to herself, at least April had showed up.
As they walked out of the courthouse, April held her walking papers loosely, absentmindedly, as though ready to let them drop from her fingertips onto the ground and keep on walking without even noticing. Carmen quickly grabbed the documents, folded them up, and slipped them into her purse. She stepped in front of April, put both hands on April’s shoulders and halted her forward motion. She held April in place and looked directly into her eyes. April turned to look at the ground.
“Before we get to what’s eating you,” Carmen said, “and we will get to that in a moment, I think it’s really important to stop and acknowledge that you did it. Honey, you’re free! You earned it. You did so well and I’m so, so, proud of you, kiddo. . . .”
April didn’t look up or move. But Carmen could tell that she was becoming emotional. When Carmen took her into a big hug, the tears came freely.
“I know things are hard,” Carmen said, “but this is a happy day, baby girl.”
“I know,” April whispered, barely audible.
After walking quietly for a few minutes, down a sun-drenched city block, Carmen took April’s hand and said, “Do you wanna tell me what’s going on in that head of yours?”
April must have realized that holding back would probably take more effort than simply coming clean. So she told Carmen what was going on in her head.
She told her about the trip she’d just taken with Joseph, to Amish country, deep into the woods, to meet the shady man whom Joseph believed could help them find Rose.
“Why are you spending time with Joseph?” Carmen said, somewhat exasperated. “You need to stop seeing him. That means totally. Even for Rose stuff.”
“I know,” April replied.
Something in the way April said it convinced Carmen that she meant it.
“Okay, good,” Carmen replied. “I’m glad we’re in agreement there.”
April continued with the story. She told Carmen how the man looked: Amish, but in a weird, backcountry sort of way, not like the well-groomed, polite Amish folks you usually see. He was more of a mountain man. He hadn’t showered recently; his clothes were tattered and dirty; his beard was big and bushy. There was no sign of a family or a farm nearby.
Carmen nodded, knowingly. “Oh yes, I know that type. You don’t see them in the farmer’s markets, or around the general stores near Lancaster.”
The meeting hadn’t taken long, April said. This guy wasn’t one for chatting. They sat down in his little hut, on ramshackle chairs around a ramshackle table. There weren’t even enough chairs for the three of them: Joseph stood the whole time. After sitting there, staring at each other in a long awkward silence, Joseph finally stepped in and asked the guy to say what he knew.
April, recounting the story, stopped. She just shook her head.
“What?” Carmen said. “What did he say?”
“Well,” April said, slowly, “he said that, just a day or two before we’d met him, he’d heard Ricky talking about Rose. And from what Ricky said, it was clear that Ricky had no idea where Rose was.”
“Hmmm,” said Carmen.
“What?” replied April. “Do you believe him, this crazy beard man?”
“I mean . . .” said Carmen.
But April cut her off.
“Look,” April said, “I don’t trust this guy. Like, not at all. I mean, think about it, why was he even with Ricky to begin with? How does he even know Ricky?”
“That’s a good question,” said Carmen.
“Oh, I think it’s exactly the question,” April said, and stopped walking, which forced Carmen, too, to stop. “This weirdo in the hut? He works with Ricky, okay? He’s basically one of Ricky’s guys. I knew he was shady. But when I heard that, I was like, ‘Oh, okay, it’s official.’”
Carmen didn’t reply, but just stood there for a moment, on a busy sidewalk in the middle of downtown Philly, as people walked quickly by them, while she thought about what April had just said.
“So you think . . .”
“Yeah, I think Ricky sent him. No question about it. I think Ricky sends these guys to me to tell me th
at he’s innocent. To try to throw me off the trail. But it’s not gonna work. How stupid does he think I am?”
Carmen, again, stayed silent, trying to process what April was telling her. There was one thing that didn’t quite make sense to her, though.
“I get how upsetting this all is,” Carmen began, slowly, choosing her words carefully, trying not to provoke April. “But I guess my question is this: Why are you so . . . thrown off by this? You seem suddenly out of sorts. And, I mean, this stuff with Ricky . . . it isn’t new. You’ve been on to him for a while . . . so why do you seem so rattled about it this time?”
April suddenly became emotional again. Her eyes welled up. There was clearly more to the story, more that April hadn’t said.
“What is it, honey?” Carmen said, putting an arm around her. “You can tell me.”
“The creepy man,” April said, slowly, choking back tears. “He wanted to prove to us that he was telling the truth. . . .”
She couldn’t go on.
“It’s okay,” Carmen said, squeezing April’s hand.
“He wanted to prove to us that he was for real,” April continued, “so he went into his cupboard and came back with a bunch of things that belonged to Rose. Her shoes, the purple Keds that she painted herself. I recognized them immediately. And her feather earrings. He put them on the table. Just placed them there, without a word. And then looked at us. It was . . . so horrible, Carmen.”