The Orphan Daughter

by Cari Noga

  But even if he doesn’t look like Daddy, Mr. Livingston acts like Daddy. He laughs and puts his arm around Jason and smiles, and even though I can see four other people, Aunt Jane and Jared and Jason and their mom, Mr. Livingston fills up the whole iPad. Missing Daddy fills up my whole heart. I look up at the blue sky that hides the I-love-you stars. I wish I could see them, because then it would be nighttime, the Livingstons would be gone, and I wouldn’t have to watch anyone else’s family together.

  Now Aunt Jane is talking to Jared’s mom. She nods and they all look over at me. I wish I could read lips. Now Jared is getting bigger, and bigger, and bigger. He’s walking toward me. I stop recording.

  “What are you doing?”

  “You’re done already?” I say, ignoring his question.

  “Jane said I could keep you company. Tell you about school.”

  School. Here. My stomach gets that funny feeling. I don’t want to think about anything else new. “Won’t your mom make you come back?”

  He shrugs. “Jane’s the boss, she always says.”

  “Huh.”

  “I like Jane,” he continues. “I don’t like farming, but she’s cool.”

  “She’s cool?” I think about the cool people I know. Tomas, the weatherman at Mom’s station. Alan, my swim teacher at the Y. Graciela, maybe. Not Aunt Jane.

  He nods. “She doesn’t stand over me all the time, telling me what to do.”

  “Try living with her.” Aunt Jane isn’t bossy, I guess. But she isn’t much of anything—not nice, not mean. Not strict, not nosy. Not motherish.

  “She said we could get some lemonade. If you want.”

  I hesitate, then remember the stepping stumps. I can do it now. “OK.”

  Jared walks alongside the circles back to the house. I watch him sideways, looking at his feet. He doesn’t even notice the grass.

  “So it’s middle school, and you change teachers for every class.”

  “We did that at my old school. That’s no big deal.” I shrug.

  “Every class?”

  “Not every class, I guess.” Ms. Kedzie was my main teacher, but I had different teachers for French, art, and New Media.

  “And you get to pick some classes. Electives.”

  “We did that, too.”

  “Like what?”

  “New Media.”

  “New Media?” He says it like the words aren’t English. “What’s that?”

  “It was, like, a little bit of English and a little bit of computers and a little bit of art.”

  “All in one class?”

  I nod as we go into the house. “We made stuff, like a class blog.”

  “Yeah?” Jared leans his elbows on the counter, sounding interested.

  “We had a poetry contest and a photography contest. We put the winners on the blog. We made a video.” The “New York, New York” video. I pour lemonade into two glasses.

  “Cool.” Jared sounds impressed.

  I shrug. It didn’t seem cool then; it just was. “What’s your favorite subject?”

  He takes a long drink. “It was recess. In elementary school.”

  “That’s not a subject.”

  “It’s my favorite, though. We had a zip line on the playground.” He finishes the lemonade and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand.

  “Huh.” The school playground. It’s probably grass. But he’s talking about his old school.

  “Yeah. And there’s a big hill that goes down from the parking lot. In the winter, we went sledding.”

  “I’ve never been sledding.”

  “Never?” Jared’s mouth falls open, and his eyes bug out. “New York sure is different.”

  “Meow.” Lexie and Sarge arrive in the kitchen together and sit down in front of the door. Ever since Lexie followed him out, Sarge tolerates her a lot better.

  “You’ve got cats.” Jared sounds envious. “My mom’s allergic.”

  “So was my dad.” I say it without thinking.

  “Your dad?”

  “Never mind.” I can’t believe I mentioned him. Daddy and Mom are private, only for me to remember. I feel like the turtle we saw on our field trip. If you left him alone, you could see his head and he walked around. But when someone poked at him or picked him up, he pulled in his head and legs.

  “My mom said your dad died,” Jared says. “Your mom, too.”

  “I said, never mind.” How did Mrs. Livingston know?

  Sarge swipes a paw at the door and meows louder. So does Lexie.

  “Looks like they want to go out,” Jared says, moving toward the door.

  “No!” I jump in front of him, blocking it. “Not Lexie. She’s an indoor cat.” I scoop her up. “Now you can open it.”

  Jared cracks the door, and Sarge darts through it. Lexie wriggles frantically in my arms, but I hold her tight.

  “Close it now!”

  Jared does and I let Lexie drop, but not before she’s scratched my arm. A red line springs up on my skin.

  “Ouch! Bad kit—” Wait. I said I wouldn’t complain. I grit my teeth.

  “What’s the big deal? Why can’t she go outside?” Jared follows me down the hall to the bathroom.

  “She just can’t. She’s from the city.” I wash off the cut. It really stings.

  “So?”

  “So she’d be scared outside.”

  “Doesn’t look like it.” Jared points to Lexie, who’s plopped back in front of the door and is mewing as loud as she can.

  “What if something got her? A raccoon or a skunk or—” I don’t know, but there must be more animals around here. I peel the papers off a Band-Aid and lay it over the cut. I’ll need at least three more to cover it.

  “Looks like she can take care of herself,” Jared says, nodding at my arm.

  “Forget it, OK? She’s my cat and she stays inside.” I glare at him.

  “OK, OK. Jeez,” Jared says, backing up toward the kitchen. “I’m gonna go back outside.”

  “Wait! Don’t open the door!” I run back down the hall, but it’s too late. Lexie’s gone again, leaving me stinging and alone.

  I prop the door open and do the food-dish thing. Jared and his family leave. He doesn’t come and say goodbye. Like I care, anyway. When Aunt Jane comes in, she’s holding my iPad.

  “Oh, thanks.” I grab it.

  “You should be more careful where you leave it,” she says.

  “I just forgot.”

  “OK.” She looks at me for a long minute. “So you have a Facebook account?”

  Did she see Graciela’s messages? Does she know I want to run away to Mexico?

  “Aren’t you kind of young?”

  She didn’t see. I shrug. “Everyone does.”

  Or saw and didn’t read. Or read and doesn’t care. That’s probably it.

  She sighs. “Well, I guess if it’s done, it’s done. Just be careful about who you make friends with online.” She puts her hat back on and heads for the door. Out to the garden. Again. Then she turns around.

  “Juan’s coming by later with new glass for your window. You can sleep upstairs again tonight.”

  I wonder if the mirror glass got swept up with the window glass. Probably. Nothing left of the mirror at all. And yes, Aunt Jane would probably actually be glad if I moved. Step on a crack, break your mother’s back. Step on the grass, make her car crash. Move to Mexico, Aunt Jane’s happy to see you go. Briefly, her smiling face as we did the double high five flashes in my head, but I push it away.

  Juan shows up by himself instead of with Miguel, driving a beat-up old car that spews black smoke. He’s smiling for the first time.

  “Compré un auto,” he tells me. “Amo los Estados Unidos.”

  He bought a car, so he loves the United States? Doesn’t he have one in Mexico?

  He shakes his head. “No hay trabajo in México. Sí no hay trabajo, no hay dinero.”

  No work, no money. Just like Esperanza said. But Graciela and her family have money.
I’m sure of it. How else can she go to boarding school?

  He carries the new pane of glass upstairs. I go into Matt’s room to get my quilt and pillow and phone. Lexie still hasn’t come back. I flop onto the bed with the “Bi–Ch” encyclopedia. Maybe the cat section will tell me how to lure Lexie back.

  But it doesn’t. I’m so tired of being alone! Now Jared won’t be back for another week, and he’s mad at me, anyway. Maybe I should have been nicer, but he was asking about Daddy. I can’t talk about him. Or Mom. Like the turtle, I’m only safe in my shell, even if it’s lonely inside.

  The desk cover is still cracked the way I left it the first time I came in here. Idly I jiggle the knobs, trying to unstick it. It slides up a bit, then gets stuck on the right side. It’s open enough now that my hand slides underneath, though. I feel a stack of papers and push it to the left, then jiggle the knobs again. Almost. I slip my hand underneath again and push the papers over more. The cover slides freely now, disappearing into the top of the desk. I did it!

  Underneath are a bunch of folders with typed labels. Automatically I read them. Medical records, school records, insurance policies, bank and miscellaneous financial, car accident, apartment.

  School records? Apartment? Aunt Jane doesn’t go to school or have an apartment.

  And then, tucked behind the folders, I see it. The bag, the gray velvet jewelry bag with the drawstring top that I watched Mr. Langley give Aunt Jane through the crack in the door.

  “Lucy? ¡Ya he terminado!” Juan’s voice accompanies his footsteps down the stairs from my room.

  All done, and just in time, too.

  The gray velvet bag tucks neatly into my hand. Upstairs I hide it in my middle dresser drawer, in between two winter sweaters.

  Chapter 32

  JANE

  It’s been almost a week since the storm, and I still haven’t filed an insurance claim on the roof repair. The big question is whether it’ll be worth it. I doubled the deductible to twenty-five hundred dollars after Jim left, and I had to cut costs by any means necessary.

  But when I pick up the phone to call in the claim, the message tone beeps, and William Langley’s formal voice fills my ear. “Mrs. McArdle, William Langley in New York. I have some news on the apartment. Please call at your earliest convenience.”

  That could be good news for my roof repair bill. Of course, the money’s to be spent on Lucy’s behalf, but since the gash in the roof is right over her room, I’d say fixing it qualifies.

  “Mrs. McArdle,” he says, after the same cool assistant connects me.

  “Jane, remember?” Mrs. McArdle hasn’t existed for five years.

  “Yes. Well. Jane, then. How is Lucy?”

  “She’s fine.”

  “Settling in well?”

  I sit down at the kitchen counter, contemplating the question. Didn’t voluntarily leave the house for weeks except on piggyback. She still spends hours with her earbuds and phone. On the other hand, she and Jared seem to have hit it off. She’s showing a faint interest in the farm, even if she won’t admit it. Lexie’s runaway attempts illustrate acclimation, and now the stepping stumps have empowered Lucy. Going out to the barn today was a huge step.

  “There’s been some adjustment, but I think she’s making progress.”

  “Good. Very good. That’s the most important thing, after all.”

  His last words raise an antenna. “After all” is a justification.

  “Every girl should have a sister, after all.”

  “After all, you still have your son.”

  “Matt’s grown up and on his own, after all.”

  “You have news about the apartment?” I say.

  “Yes. The apartment has sold.”

  “That’s wonderful!” I sit more upright, unknown weight sliding off my shoulders. Roof repair, therapy for Lucy.

  “However, in the process of arranging the closing, I discovered unknown financial obligations.”

  The antenna flickers up on my unease meter. “What do you mean, exactly?”

  “A second mortgage. A rather substantial one, taken out more recently.” He pauses. “One that the proceeds from the apartment were insufficient to cover.”

  “You mean they were—” I search for the word, trying to remember it from all the housing-crisis stories on NPR a year or two ago. “Underwater?”

  “That’s correct. The estate, however, was also in possession of the payout of the life insurance policies, both the network’s and their personal ones. Those assets have offset the debt.”

  Why can’t he speak plain English? “The life insurance paid off the second mortgage.”

  “Yes.”

  “And how much is left for Lucy?”

  “Unfortunately, very little.” He clears his throat. “Actually, the jewelry that Gloria bequeathed directly to her daughter constitutes her largest asset from the estate.”

  “The jewelry I brought back in April? That’s all that’s left?”

  “If it wasn’t already in your possession, I believe that, too, could have been lost.”

  In other words, Mrs. McArdle, things could be worse. After all.

  Chapter 33

  LUCY

  It’s CSA delivery day, and Aunt Jane brings back six of her bins.

  “I just don’t understand. If you know you’re going on vacation, why wouldn’t you arrange for someone else to pick it up? Such a waste.”

  “What happened?”

  She keeps talking to herself like she hasn’t heard me. “I should raise prices next year. Clearly, people don’t value what they’re getting.”

  “What don’t they value? What’s the matter?”

  “Six no-shows today. I waited an extra hour, but either they’re out of town or just forgot.”

  I look at the piles of stuff. Tomatoes and onions, carrots and cucumbers. I recognize a lot more than I used to, but I still don’t know what the long green things and big purple blob things are.

  “Now it will all just go to waste. I don’t have time to do market this weekend.”

  “Why don’t you put it out on that stand?” Every day cars slow down as they drive past, then speed off again. There’re lots of stands like it on this road. Some are just a table with a money jar. Aunt Jane’s is a lot fancier, with a counter and some shelves. I can see into it from my window. I don’t know why she doesn’t use it.

  “I suppose I could.” She sounds doubtful. “I haven’t used that stand in two years.”

  “I could do it.”

  “You?” Her eyebrows climb up her forehead.

  “Yeah!” The stepping stumps go out to the mailbox. The farm stand is right next to it, practically. I could sit out there and sell the things, like that Amish girl at the farmers’ market. Earn money for a plane ticket to Mexico! Plus it would be something to do. I’m so, so, so bored. All of a sudden I really want to. “Please, Aunt Jane? Please, please?”

  “Well, OK. Actually, I think that’s a great idea. But we’ll have to clean it off first. I’m sure it’s filthy. Full of spiderwebs.”

  “Spiderwebs?” I pause. Step on a crack, break your mother’s back. Step on a spiderweb—Nothing. “OK. How do I do that?”

  “How do you clean?” She shakes her head as she disappears into the mudroom, returning with a yellow bucket, but she’s smiling, too. “Soap and water. Fill that up at the sink.”

  Water splashes out of the bucket as I lug it along the stepping stumps, plus an armful of old towels. At the farm stand I hesitate because it’s a long step from the stump to the platform part of the stand. I swing the bucket up first, then jump. The stand shakes a little when I land, but I feel safe. There’s a slanty roof built over the platform, and some shelves under the counter. The back panel is painted red to match the counter, with white letters that say “Plain Jane’s Produce.” It’s like a solid wooden boat, floating on the sea of grass.

  “Here.” Aunt Jane’s voice behind me makes me jump. “Start with this.” She hands me a bro
om. “That’ll knock most of the cobwebs down.”

  I poke the broom into the back corners and sweep it across the white letters. It looks better right away. I jab it under the counter to sweep the shelves. It hits something that I drag to the front.

  “Hey, what’re these?” I lift a bunch of flat pieces of wood onto the counter. “Peppers, tomatoes, onions,” I read as I turn them right side up. There’s lots and lots, each with a word that looks like it’s sort of burned into the board, with hooks sticking out the bottom and these little wire loops on top.

  “The old signs,” Aunt Jane says in kind of a dreamy voice. “Matt made these in Scouts. I forgot all about them.” She traces her finger into the grooves of the T and O on the tomato sign, then takes the pepper sign and slides the loops of that onto the hooks of the tomato sign. “They hang below the mailbox, see?”

  “Cool!” The signs hook together into kind of a ladder listing everything so that people driving by can see. I never noticed before that the mailbox post has its own set of hooks. “What do we have for today?”

  “Tomatoes and peppers and cilantro. Those will probably be the most popular. People can make salsa,” she says, sorting through the signs. “And eggplant and zucchini.”

  “What are those?”

  “Those purple and green things you were looking at inside.” She laughs. “Now get busy cleaning. Look, here’s a customer already.” A car is slowing, its turn signal blinking.

  “Told you.” I feel triumphant. “Oh, wait, it’s just Jared.” The quiet car is the giveaway. Most people drive noisy trucks like Aunt Jane’s, but theirs hardly makes any noise at all. “Why are they back?” They were already here this week.

  “Rebecc—er, Mrs. Livingston said she’d like to come more often. It’s just her and Jared today. He can be your assistant.” Aunt Jane waves as Mrs. Livingston stops the car and Jared gets out. I haven’t seen him since he let Lexie out, and I pretend I’m busy with the broom.

  “New project today,” Aunt Jane says. “Jared, come with me to the house. I’ve got an old price list somewhere. When you’re all set up, hang up the signs.”

  “Good to see you back in the realm of roadside commerce, Jane!” Mrs. Livingston says, laughing extra hard the way she does. “That’s how I first discovered Plain Jane’s, you know. We were on our way to the lighthouse and I saw . . .” then I can’t hear them anymore.