The Roanoke Girls

by Amy Engel

“I forgot to pay you for fixing my car.”

  Cooper laughs. “I had other things on my mind.”

  My body thrums. “Yeah, I remember.”

  “It’s all right to call me,” he says, when neither one of us hurries to fill the pause. “You don’t need an excuse.”

  “Okay,” I say, but I’m uncomfortable suddenly, my skin itchy and too tight over my bones.

  I hear the sound of a cigarette lighter, the rush of air into Cooper’s lungs. “Want to meet up tonight for dinner?” I don’t respond, and he exhales. I picture the smoke floating away from him, tangling in the humid air. “Chinese okay?” He sounds as awkward as I feel.

  “Osage Flats has a Chinese restaurant?”

  “In the loosest sense of the term. I think lo mein is about as exotic as they get. And even that’s only mediocre.”

  “Oh.”

  Cooper sighs. “God, we really suck at this, don’t we?”

  “The worst,” I agree.

  “Does six o’clock work? I’ll come pick you up.”

  “Cooper…this isn’t a date, right?”

  He hesitates before answering. “It’s whatever we want it to be, Lane. How about two old friends having dinner?”

  “Yeah, I can do that,” I say. Although I’m not sure I can.

  “If it makes it easier, think of it as sustenance before the main attraction.”

  And that goes a long way toward making it better. I’m able to laugh, at least. The panicky feeling isn’t gone, but it’s faded to something manageable—the snarling monster back in its cage.

  —

  Cooper is late. I’d hurried through a shower before spending longer than I wanted to admit picking something to wear. I went back and forth between shorts and sundress, feeling like a fool as I stared at my reflection in the full-length mirror behind my bedroom door. What did it matter? It wasn’t a date. And whatever I wore wouldn’t be on my body for long anyway.

  When Cooper still hasn’t arrived by six fifteen, I go outside and sit on the porch swing to wait. The cicadas who live in the oak trees at the front of the house are singing their full-bodied song, loud enough to almost drown out the sound of Cooper’s truck rumbling down the drive. I get up to meet him, smoothing my hair back behind my ears as he pulls to a stop.

  “Wow,” Cooper says when he’s climbed the porch steps, his gaze lingering on me. “A dress. Should I have brought a corsage?”

  “Very funny.”

  He smiles and crosses to where I stand. His body backs me up against the wall, pinning me in between his outstretched arms. “Hi,” he whispers. He dips his head and kisses me, first at the curve of my jaw and then on the mouth.

  “I thought you said dinner first,” I murmur against his lips.

  “What an idiot I am.” Cooper sighs. “I’ve got to learn to keep my priorities straight.” But he pushes away from me. “You ready?”

  “Yep. I’m dying to see Osage Flats’s version of Chinese.”

  “One bite may change your tune.”

  Cooper opens the passenger door for me, and I climb in. “Where is this place?”

  “On the western edge of town, where the Laundromat used to be.”

  “Where do you live?” I ask, for the first time realizing I have no idea. In my mind, Cooper still lives in his parents’ house, although I know that can’t be the case.

  “The old Stevenson place. I’ve been renting it for a few years. I’ve had to do a ton of work, but it’s getting there. Figure I may buy it eventually.”

  “You didn’t want to live in town?”

  Cooper laughs. “Nope. I like my privacy.”

  “So you can howl at the moon?” I smile, remembering the times we lay under the stars in the fields behind Roanoke and Cooper bayed to the night sky.

  “Seem to recall making you howl at the moon a few times yourself,” he teases, chuckling as my cheeks burn.

  Both windows are rolled down, and my hair whips into my face, blinding me. I hold it back with my right hand, elbow balanced on the window frame. “Air-conditioning broken?” I ask.

  “You can’t smell anything with the windows up.” I’d forgotten this particular quirk of Cooper’s. He’s right, though. I smell a whole world in the hot rush of wind in my face: ripe wheat, a hint of smoke, the faint tang of skunk, the warmth of his skin. We ride without speaking, and Cooper reaches over, covers my left hand with his, his callus-rough thumb rubbing circles on my skin. My breath catches in my throat, and he smiles, never taking his eyes off the road.

  “You’ve got to be kidding me.” I laugh when he pulls over to the curb in front of a small gray cinder-block building on the outskirts of town. “China Boy? How’d they come up with that name? Not very politically correct.”

  “I don’t think Osage Flats has gotten a handle on political correctness yet.”

  The restaurant is practically empty, and Cooper guides me to a booth in the back, fake red leather on the benches and chipped faux wood for the table. The air is heavy with the smell of grease. The decor consists of cheap paper fans and a “kimono” that looks more like a bathrobe. “They do know China and Japan are different countries, right?” I say, sliding into the booth.

  “I wouldn’t count on it,” Cooper says, settling across from me.

  “I’ll let you do the honors,” I tell him, ignoring the finger-stained menu. An older woman with a cloud of dyed blond hair brings us two beers without asking and takes our order with a smile at Cooper and a pat of his cheek.

  “Still working your magic with the ladies,” I say, and Cooper laughs. I poke his arm with the end of a plastic chopstick. “So, tell me about Kansas City. How’d you end up there?”

  “How do these stories always start?” he asks me with raised eyebrows. “It was a woman.”

  “Aaah. You followed her to Kansas City?” I pretend I’m talking about someone I don’t know, pretend it doesn’t sting to imagine Cooper with a girl who was more to him than a fun time in bed.

  “Basically. I met her at a wedding. Remember Mike Tucker?” When I nod, he continues. “He got married in Kansas City and I went to the wedding. She was a bridesmaid.”

  “This bridesmaid have a name?”

  “Kim. Kimberly.” It doesn’t seem to pain him to talk about her, although I doubt Cooper would show me if it did. “Anyway, there was tequila involved, and after a wild weekend we came up with this half-baked plan that I’d move up there and start my own business.”

  “What happened?”

  “Oh, it was fine for a few months. Then things started to settle down into real life. She was a nurse, worked long hours. Most of the time we barely saw each other. I couldn’t manage to fit into life there, kept dragging my feet about getting a business loan, moving into her place. She figured out she’d been slumming about the same time I was ready to come back home.”

  He says the last part without any trace of self-pity, and I do us both a favor by not arguing with his assessment. I know from personal experience it’s probably the truth, remember how Jeff always tried to steer the conversation away from my past at parties, never wanting to admit he’d married a runaway with a GED and a tenth-grade education. The things that attracted him to me in the first place—my youth, my lack of pretension, my blank-slate life he hoped to rewrite—became just more embarrassments by the end.

  When the food comes, we dig in to limp noodles swimming in an overly salty sauce, chunks of meat that might be chicken, might be something else. I’m thinking maybe Sharon could get a part-time job in the kitchen.

  “You’re right,” I say, “this is terrible.”

  “Keep eating.” Cooper eyes my plate. “Sustenance, remember?” His smile is knowing and filled with sex.

  I roll my eyes at him, trying to ignore the surge of heat in my belly. He’s always been able to do this to me—one word, one look is all it’s ever taken. I’m probably the surest thing he’s ever found. I let my gaze roam around the restaurant, and when it returns to our table Cooper
is watching me, his beer bottle hovering halfway to his mouth.

  “What?” I ask.

  “Nothing.” He gives his head a slight shake. “Just never thought I’d see you again.”

  “Yeah, me neither.” I used to think about him, though, sometimes, on nights I couldn’t sleep, when I felt lonely and tired of living. Remembered that somehow his touch pulled me apart and put me back together at the same time. Remembered and tried to forget again.

  Cooper picks up a chunk of chicken on his fork, sets it back down without eating it. “Allegra used to talk about you, whenever I saw her. She always wondered what you were doing, where you’d gone. Once she knew you were in California, she thought maybe she’d see you someday on the cover of a magazine or in a movie.”

  I snort out a laugh. “A guy offered me a thousand bucks to make a porno in his garage once. That’s as close as I ever came to the movie-star life.”

  “You take him up on it?” Cooper asks with a grin.

  “Nope. I do have some standards.”

  Cooper’s face turns serious again. “I think Allegra always held on to this sad little fantasy that you’d come back and live with her at Roanoke forever.”

  My throat burns, and I jab my fingernails into my bare thigh, concentrating on the pain in my leg instead of the one in my heart. “Tommy came out to Roanoke the other day. About Allegra. He said she may have been pregnant.”

  Cooper takes a long draw from his beer. “Tommy’s?” he asks finally.

  “I don’t know,” I say, remembering the way Tommy refused to look at me as he drove away. Loyal-to-a-fault Tommy. What would he do if caught between two competing loyalties? “Maybe. But I always thought marriage meant something to Tommy, more than to most people, at least.”

  “Yeah, it does,” Cooper says. “But last time I checked being married didn’t mean your dick stopped working. Look, Sarah’s a nice woman, but if I had to wake up next to her every morning for the rest of my life, I’d blow my brains out. I think if Allegra wanted to keep her hooks in Tommy, it would’ve been an easy job.”

  “Her hooks in him?”

  “Simmer down.” Cooper taps his fork against the back of my hand. “You know what I’m saying. Allegra liked Tommy under her thumb.” He grinds his thumb into the tabletop in demonstration.

  “Yeah, okay,” I concede. “I know what you’re saying.”

  “Besides Tommy, any other candidates for the father?” As Cooper speaks his eyes never leave my face. Not for the first time, I wonder how much he knows. He’s always been observant, his gaze taking in more than people are willing to give away. And he grew up in darkness, knows how it hides in plain sight. Unlike most people, Cooper isn’t afraid of looking into the shadows.

  “Your guess is as good as mine.” I spin a chopstick across the cracked tabletop, and Cooper reaches over and covers my hand with his, stopping the movement. “Tommy thinks she might have left when she found out about the baby. Took off.”

  “But you don’t?”

  “No.” Now it’s my turn to gulp some beer. “If she is pregnant, I’m pretty sure it’s not the first time. That summer…” I pause.

  “Yeah?”

  “I think she had a miscarriage right before the Fourth of July. She wouldn’t ever admit it, but there was blood. And her story was ridiculous.” I don’t tell him about the morning a few days after the Fourth, when I found gouged into Allegra’s floor, the letters a tiny scrawl, not quite fully formed. Just like what Allegra had lost. Baby.

  “Jesus.” Cooper sighs.

  “Yeah.” I push my plate away. Cooper’s hand is still on top of mine, his thumb gliding over my skin. “Putting aside the fact Roanoke was the only home she ever had, it doesn’t make sense for her to leave. If she didn’t run when she was fifteen and scared, why would she run now, when she’s a grown woman?” I take a deep breath. “Maybe she killed herself,” I say to see how the words sound, testing if I can stand to hear them.

  “That’s what I thought at first,” Cooper says. “But where’s her body? And Allegra always struck me as someone who’d leave a note. Make sure everyone knew exactly why she did it. Hell, she’d probably hire a skywriter to give us all one last fuck-you.”

  I let out a watery laugh. “Do you think we’ll ever find out what actually happened to her?”

  Cooper isn’t the type to offer false comfort, to make promises that can’t be kept. He squeezes my hand until my eyes meet his. “I don’t know,” he says. “But I do know if she comes back, she’ll be so happy to see you. She told me once she thought her whole life might’ve been different if you’d stayed.”

  “That doesn’t exactly make me feel better. What did you tell her?”

  Cooper lets go of my hand, drains the last of his beer, and picks up the bill from the edge of the table without looking at me. “I told her I thought my life might’ve turned out different, too.”

  —

  Like the old days, Cooper and I end the evening in his truck. He offers his house, but I pretend I’m too impatient, instead of scared of what walking through his front door might mean. After, he drops me off with a smile and the brush of his fingers down my cheek.

  Roanoke is dark and silent, and I drift, restless without knowing why. There’s a faint light coming from the hidden hallway off the kitchen, and I realize I haven’t walked down it since I’ve been back. As if it’s beckoning me, a dim ceiling light glows above the frame housing the photographs of the Roanoke girls. I stand in front of the frame and study their beautiful faces.

  “Where did you go, Allegra?” I ask her photograph. “What happened to you?” I run my fingers over her teenage face, wondering how much it’s changed in the years I’ve been gone. Even in black and white, it’s impossible to miss the spark of mischief in her eyes. The still-blank spot next to her picture mocks me, and I can’t tell if what I feel is relief or regret at its emptiness. I cover the space with my palm.

  “Allegra tried to put a photograph of you there,” Gran says from the end of the hallway, startling me into taking a small, stumbling step backward. “But the only ones she had were in color. I told her it would ruin the composition.” Gran is wearing a string of fat pearls, and she slides them through her fingers as she walks, her pale pink nails clacking against each jewel. She stops when she’s next to me, close enough to smell the subtle hint of her perfume.

  I look at Gran, but her gaze remains on the photographs. “Tommy told us Allegra tried to call you, right before she disappeared.” She turns her head slowly, runs her eyes over my face.

  “Yes,” I say, swallowing hard. “But I didn’t call her back.”

  “That must be difficult. Knowing she wanted to talk and you weren’t able to make time to get in touch.” Gran’s nails continue to glide over the pearls. Clack, clack, clack.

  Her words punch into my chest like spikes. I stare at her, aware for the first time of exactly what her calm blue gaze conceals. I have no idea how it took me this long. “You hate me,” I say. “You’ve always hated me.” I wish I didn’t sound so sad.

  Gran drops her pearls. “Oh, Lane.” Her smile is full of sympathy, the most maternal she’s ever looked. “I hate all of you.”

  The hall feels too small suddenly, the walls closing in so that I can barely breathe. Beside me, the Roanoke girls wait and watch. “Did you hurt her?” I whisper. “Did you hurt Allegra?”

  Gran shakes her head with a wince, like my question has disappointed her. “I’ve lived in this house more than half my life. Watched him fall in love with you girls over and over again. I know how to endure.” Gran flutters her hand through the air before it settles back on her pearls. “And I know how to deal with Allegra. She’s no threat to me.”

  “I don’t understand,” I say, “how you could let it happen. They were your daughters. Your granddaughter.”

  But Gran is already turning away. “This conversation is tiresome, Lane. Next time, please let Sharon know if you’re not planning to join us for dinner.”<
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  Once Gran is gone, I lean back against the wall. My stomach rolls, heavy with oily Chinese food, and I fold my hands between my thighs to stop their shaking. Charlie is right—this place is no good for me. Already Roanoke is tunneling into me, working its dirty fingers under my skin. Guilt may have brought me back, but the need to know what happened to Allegra has kept me here. Her life is small, limited to this house and a handful of people—Granddad, Gran, Sharon, Charlie, Tommy, Cooper. But those people know pieces of her, not all of her. I’m the only one who has seen the whole picture that makes up her life. Only I can pry out the truths from all the various players. I don’t know if I’m strong or determined enough to do what needs to be done. But I have to try. You’re the only one I can talk to about this. It’s what Allegra wanted.

  —

  The next day, I’m waiting outside the police station when Tommy emerges into the early evening heat. His steps falter only a little when he sees me perched on the trunk of my car.

  “Hey,” I say, “thought maybe you’d wanna go for a ride? Show me the old sites.”

  Tommy glances down at his watch. “Sure, I’ve got some time. Your car or mine?”

  I give my car a dubious glance over my shoulder. “How about yours? Cooper’s got mine running again, but it’s still a piece of shit.” I hop off the trunk. “Like pretty much everything else I own.”

  Tommy smiles, points me toward a blue sedan at the back of the tiny police lot. “Let it air out for a minute,” he says, once the doors are open. The heat of the day barrels out of the interior, smacking into my body like a wall, and I do as he says, waiting until he’s got the air-conditioning running high before I climb inside. The second my back hits the seat, I start to sweat. “Jesus,” I say, “I forgot how hot it is here.”

  “And it’s not even August yet.” Tommy unbuttons his uniform at the neck, slips on a pair of mirrored shades.

  I smirk at him. “Been shopping at Cops-R-Us?”

  “Roger that,” Tommy says, deadpan. “Where to?”

  “Wherever.” I lean forward and unglue my sweaty shirt from my back, for all the good it’ll do.

  “How about out to the old silo, loop around?”