Getting Somewhere

by Beth Neff

  She closes the drawer and says with a lighter tone, “Okay, let’s go investigate.”

  Cassie can barely move. Ellie doesn’t know about Lauren’s theft. She imagines herself scurrying behind Ellie, touching her arm, telling her what she knows. But her mouth is just as paralyzed as the rest of her. Too much is happening at once and Cassie can’t think straight. They’ll just get this noise thing settled, and then she’ll say something, if not tonight then tomorrow.

  When Cassie emerges from the bedroom, Ellie is shining her flashlight toward the kitchen and the living room. The front door is shut and so is the office door. Ellie walks to the latter, tests the knob, finds it locked. Jenna tries the front door and it swings open. She pushes it shut again. Then Ellie notices the closet door, shines the flashlight ahead of her as she moves toward it, opens the door the rest of the way. At her feet lie several puzzle boxes, one tipped open with the pieces spilling on the floor.

  Ellie moves the flashlight up and shines it into the closet, letting the beam of light rest on the empty space that Cassie knows held a tent and a suitcase not very long ago. Cassie lifts her eyes to the upper shelf where she remembers the matching suitcase was stored just as Ellie moves the flashlight beam in the same direction. The tent and both suitcases are gone. Did Lauren steal these things, too?

  Before Cassie has a chance to consider the possibilities any further, Ellie is vaulting up the stairs two at a time, the flashlight beam bouncing crazily ahead of her. Cassie and Jenna stand motionless in the foyer, listening carefully as the floor creaks above them under Ellie’s weight, hear her opening a door at one end of the hall and then another at the other end. They still haven’t moved an inch when Ellie descends, moving more slowly now, and she says nothing as she walks right past them and heads out the front door. Cassie and Jenna follow her out.

  From the porch steps, Ellie shines her flashlight across the yard and sweeps it over the pickup truck, even though they can see it without the light, parked in its usual place in front of the barn. Cassie and Jenna are right behind as Ellie moves down the porch steps and out into the yard, glancing in every direction, even beyond the beam of the flashlight, and then the three of them turn in concert to look back at the house. All the windows are dark and the house seems eerily still and silent, as if holding its breath in anticipation of the morning that is now only an hour away. Slowly, Ellie lifts the flashlight and moves it across the front of the house, past the porch rail, over the flower bed that is now in the deepest of shadows, colors gone gray and nearly black, until their eyes are focused on the place where Ellie’s car, a ten-year-old silver Toyota Corolla, sits most days, unused. The spot is empty.

  Ellie turns to peer through the darkness at Grace’s little cabin. It is dark. Jenna and Cassie stand in the yard, their feet numb with the chill of dew while Ellie moves to the cabin, knocks on the door but doesn’t wait for an answer, opens it, and goes in. The light goes on inside, and it seems like Ellie is gone for a long time. Then, the light goes off again and Ellie emerges, stands briefly in the doorway, staring at something in her hands.

  Cassie watches as Ellie’s head slowly drops to her chest and then lifts again, her eyes, even in the darkness, honing in to focus on Jenna.

  And then Cassie understands. It wasn’t Lauren who took the luggage and the tent. Grace must have been the one getting her own things out of the closet, failed to latch the door in her rush or distress, dislodged the jumbled contents enough that they lost their balance and fell sometime after she left. She has gone, and she has taken luggage and a tent with her, things she would need for a trip. But a trip to where? And why now?

  Cassie’s thoughts are humming like an overloaded circuit. The complaint. The complaint against the program must have something to do with Grace. And Jenna? Cassie has seen and noted Ellie’s reaction and is, at first, tempted to look at Jenna as well, to see how all this is affecting her. But she discovers that she doesn’t want to see her friend’s face, isn’t able to consider all the awful possibilities that Jenna’s expression might evoke. She knows all that she can stand to know right now.

  TUESDAY, JULY 24

  THE GIRLS NEED VERY LITTLE DIRECTION. THEY KNOW what needs to be harvested and how much, are efficient at getting the produce washed and divided into shares for each basket. Even Lauren is quiet, though she is not moving any faster than usual. Sarah is a little surprised she is even helping, since Grace is not here to goad her.

  With no salad greens, no carrots to wash or green onions either, they are finished by early afternoon. New patches of all those things are weeded and growing and thriving, though, and everyone wonders privately how they will ever get everything done, then realizes they may not be here to worry about it.

  Ellie asks if any of the girls want to go along to the CSA pickup. Sarah feels awful about disappointing her, but she can’t imagine going to town right now, riding in the truck with Ellie, trying to make conversation with her. No one else wants to go either.

  Sarah and Cassie follow Ellie up to the house, and Jenna heads back into the garden. Lauren has already gone up, and no one even thinks to ask where she is or wonder how she decided they were done. Sarah and Cassie run up to their rooms to remove their filthy clothes and put on something cleaner, and Sarah decides she will walk back to the marsh, considers asking Cassie to go along. Cassie’s door is still shut when she is done so she heads downstairs and thinks she’ll look at books in the library for a while to see if Cassie might come down. She hears Ellie leave her room, the front door slam, and the truck engine start up, listens as the tires crunch gravel on the way out of the driveway, takes a deep breath as the sound reminds her of Jason’s car following the same pathway only a couple nights ago.

  Sarah was sure it was all over. Grace would tell Ellie what happened, and then both Sarah and Lauren would be sent back to detention. Maybe, Sarah had thought, with Lauren gone, the complaint would be withdrawn and the program would be saved. In some weird way, Sarah could cast herself as the hero, capturing the villain and sacrificing herself to lure danger away from the village, return everyone there to comfort and safety.

  But then Grace was gone, didn’t seem to be coming back. Sarah kept an eye on Ellie, soon concluded that she’d been told nothing, hadn’t seen or talked to Grace since the aborted escape, would possibly never know that Sarah and Lauren had been prepared to abandon her and the program to its fate. It has seemed impossible that they wouldn’t be in trouble for it, might never have to see the look of hurt and disappointment on Ellie’s face. Though Sarah thinks she should be exhilarated by the reprieve, she is, instead, devastated by it. It’s as if punishment for this crime might have lessened the guilt for the more serious ones. And, worse than that, nothing can now prevent her from being here to witness the real devastation when it ultimately comes.

  But Sarah has been able to concentrate on little other than the content of Lauren’s last words to Grace, trying to decide if they contain the explanation for why Grace is now gone. It’s been like sucking a pop bottle that has been empty for hours, every attempt at finding liquid just making her that much thirstier.

  Sarah hasn’t taken a single book off the shelf when she hears the phone in the office ringing. For some reason, she runs across the hall and presses her ear to the door, listens while Ellie’s voice tells whoever is on the line that no one can come to the phone right now, hears a faint buzz as the machine switches on.

  A man’s voice says, “Hey, Ellie. This is Stephen. I’ve done a little footwork here on your questions, and I’ve got some information for you. I think it is mostly good news, though I don’t want anyone getting their hopes up yet. I’m going to be out of the office the rest of today and in court most of tomorrow but, hopefully, we can talk sometime Thursday. Okay. Have a great day. Talk to you later.”

  When Sarah looks up, Cassie is standing at the bottom of the stairs with a stricken look on her face. Then Sarah
realizes what she has heard, puts her hand over her mouth to stifle a squeal.

  “Did you hear that? Did you hear what he said?”

  “I think so. Oh, I wish we could listen to it again.” Cassie has stepped over to Sarah, and Sarah’s mind is racing with the ridiculous thought that Lauren could get them into the office so they could replay the message.

  Sarah says, “It was Stephen Hastings. Did you hear?”

  “That’s what I thought. Tell me what you heard him say.”

  “He said he’s got information and it’s mostly good news, but not to get anyone’s hopes up.”

  “Do you think it’s about . . . my baby?”

  “What else could it be?”

  “Well, maybe something about the complaint.”

  “I don’t think he has anything to do with that. I think it’s about your baby, Cassie.”

  “Okay.”

  “Okay? Just ‘okay’?”

  Cassie smiles and shrugs. “I’m trying not to get my hopes up.”

  Sarah laughs and pretends to slap herself in the forehead. “You know what I think we should do?”

  “What?”

  “I think we should completely ignore his advice. We might as well be hopeful about something.”

  Cassie smiles and then covers her mouth with both of her hands. She is bouncing on her feet, faster and faster, until she bursts into a whirl, her arms extended from her shoulders like wings. She stops abruptly in front of Sarah, takes several shallow breaths that end in a tiny whine, like the mewling of a cat.

  “Okay. How do we do that?”

  “ARE YOU GOING to the river today?”

  “Why do you ask?”

  Lauren shrugs, looks down at her bare feet digging into the soft dirt. “I just wondered. Thought I could walk back there with you.”

  Jenna stands and turns to Lauren, frowning slightly. “Kind of late to feel bad about everything, don’t you think?”

  Lauren looks instantly uncomfortable but quickly hides it, stands up taller, and puts her hand on her hip.

  “What are you talking about?”

  “C’mon, Lauren, What’s the point of pretending now? Everybody is going to find out tomorrow that it was you. What did you tell them? That they tie you up in your room at night? Won’t let you eat? Oh, wait, that wouldn’t be punishment. How about force you to eat? Vegetables. There, that’s it. They make you eat vegetables you don’t like. That would be about your speed.”

  “Shut up, Jenna. You have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  “So, tell me. What am I talking about? What did you say that got this whole thing started?”

  “Why are you so sure it has anything to do with me?”

  “Okay. I’m totally confused. You come back here and ask me if you can walk to the river with me. What did you want to talk about? Did you think we were going to discuss the weather or Paris fashions or if the Yankees are going to pull it out this year?”

  Jenna turns away, is bending back down to the broccoli plants she’s been weeding, when Lauren says, “She wouldn’t have had to run away if it wasn’t true.”

  Jenna pauses, reaches for another weed.

  “I had to tell someone. She can’t be allowed to get away with it. I can’t help it if you were in love with her or something. But you’d better know that you weren’t anything special to her. She was constantly after me, too, and I couldn’t stand it anymore. You know with them it’s just whoever says yes. Maybe you were going to say yes, maybe you already did, but not me. And she took it out on me any chance she could get. Even you had to see that. It’s just wrong and this program is wrong, totally fucked, the work and the sessions and all this shit. Even if I thought I’d actually have to go back, I’d rather be in detention than have some pervert drooling over me and another one who gets her kicks trying to be our mommy. This place is sick, and you’re just as sick as they are if you don’t know that.”

  Jenna is thinking of all the fights she’s had, all those years when the anger would well up in her and the hurt could only be contained by clenched fists and swinging arms. Part of her wants to hit Lauren, to hear her scream. But when Jenna straightens up, Lauren appears to have shrunk and Jenna can clearly see the top of her head where the brown roots are several inches long, forming a dark cap, a nearly perfect line around her scalp where the blonde begins. The haughtiness is completely gone from her expression and her eyes are wide, maybe even a little fearful, and Jenna is almost moved to laughter. But it’s too pathetic, and when Lauren turns her face toward the house, her mouth is turned down and she is blinking rapidly and Jenna can see that she’s close to crying.

  It’s all an act or maybe it’s not. At this point, Jenna doesn’t care, hardly even registers the girl beside her, the skinny arms and the bony knees and the once impossibly shiny hair gone lank and dim, the lacy camisole now stained with garden dirt. Jenna is telling herself that none of it matters and still, Lauren’s words are searing a pathway into her heart, a hot jagged pain that she thinks must be like getting struck by an arrow. She has seen those films where the antelope or giraffe gets hit and, instead of falling, takes off running, desperate to get as far away from the source of the pain as possible, even as the movement and the adrenalin and the pumping blood push the poison deeper and deeper into its heart.

  Jenna takes one more look at Lauren who still seems to be expecting something from Jenna, then turns, wanting to walk, wanting to run, but paralyzed by the palpable sensation that she is taking her last look at everything.

  IT’S LATE, MAYBE close to midnight. The air has barely cooled since the sun went down and feels dense and laden with moisture, though the sky is awash with stars. The frog choir even sounds lazy to Jenna, deeper and less melodic than it did earlier in the summer, and has now been joined by crickets and katydids.

  Jenna has made a decision. It’s as if everything on the page in front of her, the text she had been so anxious to read and understand, has been completely erased except for a single word, the word that tells her what she must do. She has mentally banished her worries for the people around her, can already remember the sense of freedom she always feels when she has managed to escape protective walls, moved past the need for human contact. She is completely alone already with no one to take care of, no one to concern her but herself. She’s fucked things up before, and she will most certainly do it again. The only recourse is to refasten her armor, her only regret that she took it off at all.

  When the screen door squeaks open behind her, followed by the gentle thud of someone’s hand preventing it from slapping shut, Jenna doesn’t turn. She can almost believe she has been waiting, like someone lingering outside a sick room for word of death.

  Ellie sits down beside Jenna and lays a thick pouch of loose tobacco and a pack of rolling papers on the small, round table between them, flicks a lighter, and exhales heavily.

  “Help yourself.”

  Jenna hesitates, reaches for the tobacco and papers, and expertly rolls herself a thin cigarette. Ellie hands her the lighter.

  “Grace is the one who got me started on this stuff. It’s organic, as if that could make any kind of difference.” Ellie laughs a little sourly, takes another drag off of her cigarette.

  Neither one says anything for a while, though Jenna can’t help but notice that Ellie has pulled her chair a little closer, turned her body so her knees are visible just off Jenna’s elbow as two shining globes in the moonlight.

  Jenna doesn’t know where her voice comes from, is almost irritated to hear herself speak.

  “She’s not coming back, is she?”

  “I don’t know.”

  There is a long pause. Jenna gets up and steps to the edge of the porch, pinches the glowing ember off the end of her cigarette into the bushes, and puts the butt into her pocket. She stands
there for a moment, gazing off over the garden, and then turns to face Ellie, though her features are dim, shadowed under the porch roof.

  “I’ve never . . . been any place like this before.” Jenna guesses Ellie is nodding.

  Finally, Ellie says, “No, I suppose not.” She sounds a little sad, but anxious, too, as if she expects Jenna to criticize or complain. Jenna shuffles uncomfortably, fingers the cigarette butt in her pocket. She hasn’t said what she meant to say at all.

  “I mean, it’s a good thing. It’s a good thing you’re doing here.”

  Jenna can hardly hear Ellie when she mutters, “Thank you,” still clearly expecting the conversation to take a nasty turn. It suddenly occurs to Jenna to wonder why Ellie has come out here, if she knew Jenna was sitting on the porch before she passed through the door, or if she comes out here a lot to smoke and is annoyed to have found Jenna in her space.

  Jenna is just ready to go inside, pictures her backpack already lying open on her bed, the last few items waiting to be inserted, when Ellie clears her throat.

  “Um, I guess I just wondered if there is anything you want to tell me. Anything you think I should know.”

  The unspoken accusation hits Jenna like a sock in the stomach. She shouldn’t really be surprised but she didn’t expect to hear Ellie air her suspicions so directly. But why shouldn’t she? Ellie is simply expressing what Jenna already knows—that she has messed it up again, has hurt other people as well as herself, has become that person who can never be anywhere or do anything that doesn’t cause a problem for someone else. Grace would still be here if Jenna wasn’t. That is the only solid ground, the only incontrovertible truth.

  Even without Jenna’s knowing exactly the nature of Lauren’s complaint, Grace’s absence is reason enough for Jenna to convince herself that she has done something horribly wrong, that her feelings, however successful she may have thought she was at hiding them, are responsible for incalculable harm. Even if she hadn’t been the one to mail the letter, hadn’t failed so miserably to predict Lauren’s intentions, to report what little she knew, Jenna knows this is her fault. Her only hope now is that somehow the harm can be contained if she does the one thing she still has control over.