The Day She Died

by S. M. Freedman

  “Um. Me?”

  Donna shrugged. “Is it important to you? Or would you rather go around all the time with your head in the clouds? All you seem to care about is scribbling in your notebooks and playing with your friends. And how is that helping anybody?”

  She was spared from answering by the creak and slam of the front door. Moments later, Button squelched into the kitchen. She wore her pink tracksuit and two-pound ankle weights. Her salt-and-pepper curls glistened with dampness.

  “My Frida!”

  Donna’s mouth pursed at the nickname.

  Button swooped down and wrapped her in a damp hug.

  “Happy birthday. Biz hundert un tsvantsik, you should live to one-hundred and twenty.”

  “Danken,” she said, and kissed her grandmother on the cheek.

  “You’re nine, can you believe it?”

  What was it about her age that was so hard for adults to grasp? “Well, yeah. I’ve spent my whole life getting here.”

  “Eve,” Donna said, but one corner of her mouth curled into a smile. Seeing it eased the pressure that had been building in Eve’s chest.

  Button pinched her cheek affectionately. “That you have, clever girl.”

  Putting on the kettle for tea, Button asked what her plans were for the day.

  Taking her chance to get out of the house unimpeded, she said, “Sara’s planned a picnic. And other surprises. She’s expecting me in fifteen minutes.”

  “Chores,” Donna said.

  “They’re already done. And I even cleaned the bathroom, so tomorrow’s are done, too.”

  Donna scooped more cottage cheese into her mouth. Score one for Eve.

  “Do you have time for a present before you go?” Button asked.

  “Yes!”

  “Not until after dinner,” Donna said at the same time.

  “Nonsense.” Button barely looked in Donna’s direction. She poured steaming water into the teapot, gave the tea a quick stir, and set it to steep. “Do what you want with your gifts, and I’ll do what I want with mine.”

  “Mom, I told you —”

  “Yes, yes. But this is a little something extra.”

  Donna looked suspiciously at her mother. “What is it?”

  “You’ll have to come see.” She opened the kitchen door and stepped outside.

  Donna and Eve slipped on shoes and followed her into the yard. They crossed to the storage shed at the back of the property. The ankles of Eve’s jeans were soaked by the time they reached it.

  At the door, Button turned to her and held out a key. “This is yours, my Frida.”

  She took the key and, at Button’s nod of encouragement, slipped it into the lock. The door opened inward, and she paused nervously on the threshold.

  Button reached around her and flicked on the light. “Go on, dear.”

  The space had been cleared of boxes and junk, and the walls had been painted a matte grey and lined with the same kind of rolling shelving she’d admired at a funky art gallery downtown. Already on display were a dozen pieces she’d painted in the backyard. There was a giant pile of blank canvases stacked under the window, and a large easel sat in the corner next to a wooden stand filled with tubes of paint, both oils and acrylics, a set of new brushes, and a mixing palette.

  “I had them put in those natural light bulbs, since you won’t get any north light in here,” Button said. “I hear they’re the next best thing.”

  “Mom, this must have cost a fortune.”

  Button smiled at Eve. “Do you like it?”

  She flew into her grandmother’s arms, knocking her backward. Button crowed with laughter, stroking her curls away from her forehead.

  “Is that a yes?”

  “This is the best birthday present ever!” She rained kisses on her grandmother’s cheeks. “Thank you, thank you, thank you!”

  “Eve doesn’t need to be wasting more of her time —”

  “We’ll discuss it later.” Button’s tone of voice brooked no argument, but Donna wasn’t about to let it go.

  “Stop encouraging this obsession of hers. She’s never going to do anything with her life if she stays locked up in here all day.”

  “What nonsense,” Button said. “Who raised you to be so foolish?”

  “I did, thank you very much, since you were never around —”

  “Well, I’m sorry I had to start working after your father’s first heart attack. I suppose you would have preferred to starve.”

  “Please stop,” Eve said, but neither listened. They never did.

  “You’re always doing things like this! Trying to make up for my shitty childhood by spoiling my daughter.”

  “She’s my granddaughter, and someone should do something nice for her once in awhile.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean? You think I don’t take care of her? She wants for nothing.”

  “She wants for a father,” Button said.

  Donna threw her hands up in the air. “Not this again.”

  “A child needs a father, not a number picked out of a catalogue. In my day —”

  “Oh, yes. Do tell me how much better things were when women couldn’t make choices about their own bodies.”

  “Please, please stop,” Eve said.

  “Choices!” Button tsked. “Everyone should do whatever they want, whatever makes them feel good. No need to worry about repercussions. Want a baby? Sure! Just pop on over to the sperm bank —”

  “You’re oversimplifying again —”

  “Who needs a man around, anyway?”

  “I take care of everything around here,” Donna said. “All the bills, food, everything. And need I remind you, without me here you’d be in a government-assistance program, dying by inches in some old folks’ home.”

  “Oh, yes. Don’t ever let me forget! Ikh bin an alter shkrab, I’m no better than a worn-out old shoe. Thank you, Donna, for not throwing me in the trash.” Button’s face crumpled, and tears ran down her cheeks.

  Eve flew to her grandmother’s side and wrapped her arms around Button’s slender waist. “Stop it! Just stop it!” she said to her mom.

  Donna threw her hands up in the air. Her face was almost purple. “It’s an act! This is what she does. She knows I’m right, so she brings on the waterworks.”

  She squeezed her grandmother’s waist even tighter, pressing her face against Button’s chest.

  Voice trembling, Button said, “I wanted to do something nice for her birthday.”

  “Nice. Sure,” Donna said. “Where’d all the stuff go?”

  Button sniffed. “To donation, much of it.”

  “Mom, a lot of it was my stuff. I didn’t give you permission to get rid of it. And my files were in here. You better not have thrown them out.”

  “What do you take me for?” Button said.

  “Oh, gee, where should I start?”

  Eve pulled away from her grandmother and stomped her foot. “Stop it!”

  Donna spun on her. “Go on, defend her like you always do. Enjoy your little club of two, and roll your eyes at me behind my back. You think I don’t know? Let me tell you, you have no idea what it was like for me growing up in this house. The woman you call Grandma is very different than the one I call Mom.”

  “That’s enough, Donna,” Button said. Her bottom lip trembled.

  “Yeah, it is. I’m just wasting my breath. As usual.” Without another word, Donna left.

  They stood in silence for several moments, and then Button gave her hand a squeeze. “Sara will be waiting for you.”

  “Right.” Eve wiped her eyes with a sleeve.

  “Go ahead, dear.”

  “But will you be okay?”

  Button sighed and said under her breath, “Besser oyf der velt nit tsu lebn, eyder onkumen tsu kinder.” Better to die than become dependent on your children. Eve heard that one a lot.

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Now, what do you have to be sorry for?” She curled Eve’s fingers around th
e key and gave her a watery smile. “This place is yours now. It will still be here when you get back. Go enjoy your birthday.”

  She gave her grandmother a hug and another kiss on the cheek. “Thank you. It really is the best present I’ve ever gotten.”

  Button waited while she turned off the lights and locked the door, and they crossed the yard side by side.

  “She’s really mad, isn’t she?”

  “Mah Nishtana. Don’t let it ruin your day.” Button pulled open the kitchen door and went to pour her tea.

  “Button,” she said, hoisting her backpack onto one shoulder.

  “I love you, too,” Button said without turning. “Now go run around with Sara like a couple of forts in roosl.”

  Eve giggled as she always did at the idea of farts rolling around in a pickle barrel. She blew a raspberry into the palm of her hand in farewell, and headed out the door.

  “What a witch. I wish she’d take a long walk off a short pier.”

  Sara leaned back on her elbows, blond hair hanging behind her. They’d spread their picnic blanket near the edge of the Foil, where there was a good view of the pond and the river beyond.

  She giggled. “Sara.”

  “I’m sorry, but she is. I don’t know how you can stand it.” Sara pulled her ponytail over the top of her head and used the ends to cover her forehead in a decent imitation of Donna’s severe bangs. Her lips curled down in disapproval. In a raspy voice she said, “When are you going to stop fiddling with those stupid paintbrushes and do something useful with your life?”

  “That doesn’t sound like her at all.”

  “That’s exactly what she said when I was over last week. Exactly.”

  “She wanted me to join the leadership club. That’s all.”

  “Oh yeah, that’s all.”

  Eve pulled out her sketchbook and pencils. “Let me draw you.”

  Sara wrinkled her nose and stuck out her tongue. “C’mon.”

  With a dramatic sigh, Sara lay back on the blanket and closed her eyes. “The life of a model.”

  “Sorry it’s such hard work.” She pulled her pencils out of the box and lined them up beside her on the blanket.

  “You must be bored of my face by now.”

  “A little.”

  Sara plucked a pretzel off the blanket and chucked it at her head. She ducked it easily. Using the black pencil, she did a rough sketch of Sara’s face and body, erasing and redrawing until she felt she had the proportions right.

  Sara reached for a handful of sour gummy bears and popped them into her mouth one at a time. “Mom thinks I’m getting fat.”

  “It’s a growth spurt. You always do that just before you grow another inch or two.”

  Sara tugged at her shirt, which clung to the area around her belly. “So I am getting fat?”

  “Maybe you should stop eating so much candy?”

  “Screw you.” Sara stuffed a handful of the candy into her mouth. She chewed defiantly, cheeks puffed and lips glistening with sugar.

  “Just trying to help. And now you look like an angry squirrel.”

  Sara sat up, blue eyes flashing. “Better than an anorexic poodle.”

  She didn’t know what the word anorexic meant, but it clearly wasn’t a compliment. She pushed a mass of curls away from her face. “Not cool. I can’t help how I look.”

  “Exactly.” Sara sounded like Donna in lawyer mode. She dropped the rest of the candy back in the bag and stared moodily at the pond below. Her eyes looked shiny. “Danielle and Margie can eat anything they want and still be skinny.”

  “But they’re snots.”

  “Yeah. But they’re pretty snots.”

  “They’re giant stupid booger heads. You got the brains in the family.”

  Sara gave her a knowing look. “Leigh’s okay.”

  “For a boy.” She hoped Sara wouldn’t notice the blush that heated her cheeks at the mention of his name. Time to change the subject. “I think there’s room for a desk, if you want.”

  “What?”

  “In my art studio.” She loved how those words rolled off her tongue. “We can put a desk in there for you. You can have somewhere quiet to write.”

  The Adler home was many things, but quiet wasn’t one of them.

  Sara sniffed and wiped a sleeve across her eyes. “You’d do that?”

  “We can get another key made at McGill’s. I’ve got some money.”

  “I can pay for it. And we have some old furniture in the attic. I bet I can find something that would work.” Sara turned to her, smile back in place. “Thanks.”

  “Just don’t forget about me when you’re rich and famous.”

  Sara giggled. “I never would. Doodlebug and Gumdrop forever.”

  She placed her hand over Eve’s, their palms touching, and ran a gentle finger over Eve’s wrist. It sent a shiver all the way up to her scalp.

  “Our hearts are joined together,” Sara said.

  She completed the ritual, solemnly running her finger across Sara’s wrist. “Always and forever.”

  Letting go, Sara said, “Maybe we can write something together? I’ll write and you can do the drawings.”

  “Cool.”

  While they munched their way through their food, Sara outlined the story and Eve drew some sketches. As morning gave way to afternoon, heavy clouds rolled in and the river darkened to the colour of slate. The quicksilver plants rustled in warning and fat raindrops began to fall. A storm was coming in, and fast.

  Eve tucked her sketchbook and pencils back into her bag. “This is going to get worse before it gets better. Maybe we should go search your attic.”

  Sara glanced up and nodded agreement.

  Eve was zipping her backpack closed when Sara grabbed her arm. Surprised, she looked up and noticed how pale Sara had become. Her jaw worked in a funny, nervous kind of way.

  “Are you okay?”

  “I …” Sara stared at the forest on the north side of the Crook, and she automatically turned to look.

  “No, don’t!” Sara scooped an armful of picnic supplies and stuffed them into her bag. A plastic container upended, spilling a rainbow of candy onto the dirt. Her hands trembled. “Keep packing! Pretend everything’s normal.”

  “What’s going on?”

  “Someone’s watching us,” Sara whispered out of the corner of her mouth.

  “Where?”

  “Don’t look! Let’s just get out of here.”

  “I bet it’s Annabeth and her stupid girl gang. They have nothing better to do than follow us around and try to steal our stuff.” Eve stood and scanned the treeline, blinking back raindrops.

  Sara tugged at her sleeve. “Help me pack.”

  “They threw your scooter into the yard of Groaning House last week. Don’t you want revenge?” Groaning House had been abandoned for as long as Eve could remember, and it was obviously haunted. Everyone knew it.

  “But we got it back,” Sara said.

  “No. I got it back. I had to climb over the fence and dig through grass as high as my shoulders, while Snottsworth called you a scaredy-cat and kept hitting you in the arm. I want revenge, even if you don’t.”

  There was a flicker of movement in the forest, as though someone had come close to the treeline before disappearing back into the shadows. Were they running? They probably were, the cowards.

  Her heart kicked into high gear and she leaped forward, ready to give chase.

  “Eve, no!” Sara grabbed her shoulder, pulling her back.

  She was a half-foot shorter and twenty pounds lighter than Sara. Under normal circumstances she wouldn’t have stood a chance. But conscious thought had slipped away, replaced by the primordial need of a hunter smelling blood.

  “Don’t be a chicken.” She ripped free of Sara’s grip and ran for the forest.

  “What are you doing?” Sara called.

  She was going to make them pay. That’s what she was doing.

  There was a flash of movement
in the trees directly ahead.

  “Hey!” Her voice didn’t sound like her own. It was deep and commanding.

  She thought she heard them giggle, and a white-hot rage swelled within her. She vowed that when she was through with them, they wouldn’t find anything funny ever again.

  “Hey, you glitter bitches! I’m coming for ya!”

  “Eve!” Sara called from somewhere behind her. “Eve, come back!”

  No way. The cesspool of anger and humiliation she kept stuffed deep inside had been unleashed. She was tired of feeling weak, of feeling like a stupid dreamer, of feeling as worthless as the crud on the bottom of someone’s shoe. And since she couldn’t attack the real source of her rage, the glitter gang would substitute just fine.

  With a warrior-like whoop, she flew over rocks and tree roots without feeling the ground beneath her feet. She imagined them running ahead of her, now scared silent except for the panting of their breath. She bet they could feel her closing in.

  She burst into a clearing and saw them directly ahead of her. “Gotcha!”

  Except it wasn’t them.

  Her brain struggled to process this new reality, but her feet kept going.

  It was a man. An actual grown-up. In the Crook, there was more chance of spotting a unicorn than a grown-up.

  He ran with his jeans sagging around his hips. He tried to pull them up as he stumbled forward. He had black hair, which was dirty and tangled around his shoulders. His shirt clung to his back, wet from the rain. He gave a panicked look over his shoulder, and she saw that he had a hooked nose and a bushy black beard.

  And then he tripped. Like a torpedo, he launched toward a stand of trees. When his head hit the broad trunk of a Douglas fir, it made a crunch so horrible she felt the reverberation in her bones. He hung in midair for several seconds, in defiance of the laws of gravity, and then fell in a crumpled heap. He rolled over with a winded moan and his gaze fixed on the sky above.

  “Holy shit,” someone said, and she looked up to see Sara’s brother, Leigh, standing several feet away. The smoke from his joint fogged around him in a noxious cloud. He shook his head as though trying to clear it, and coughed out a cloud of smoke. Turning red eyes on her, he said, “Eve, what the hell?”

  “He was,” she paused for a gasping breath, “watching us. Me and Sara.”