The kitchen is yellow with bright blue woodwork. There are glass bottles on the windows with red liquid inside like maraschino cherry juice and several blue bottles shaped like old fashioned cars with tiny little beads of colored candy inside. There are a bunch of dandelions that have turned brown on the windowsill in a jelly glass. Very fancy white organdy curtains are tied back at the window over the sink. A couple of geraniums on the sill have bright red flowers blooming. The sink stands on four legs and the garbage is underneath, in a paper bag with grease spots. Bunny is afraid it will split open right then if she stares at it. There are boxes on the counters, and piles of clothes.
“Getting ready to move,” says the woman. “That’s how come the sale. You like bananas sliced in? We’re going down to North Carolina. My daughter’s got a place down there now. My husband died last winter. Sometimes I think he’s right in the other room. I doze off in the chair and think, well, he’s just in the other room and then I think where is he? Carl? I call and then I realize. It takes getting used to.” As she talks the woman is oiling a skillet and pouring pancake batter in. It smells good.
“I know what you mean,” begins Bunny hesitantly. She wants to ask who bought the shoes.
The woman has an ear cocked toward the screen door. “Rennie? Get some change from over to Tyson’s.” She turns back to Bunny. “Sorry, honey, what?” But Bunny isn’t in the talking mood anymore.
“Now tell me the god’s honest truth,” says the woman, putting a blue dish down in front of Bunny, then a fork and knife. “You can’t be more than fourteen years old, can you?”
Bunny clears her throat. She has rehearsed this line. “I look young for my age. I’m almost eighteen.”
“Uh-huh. You don’t mind if I don’t believe a word of that, do you?” The woman smiles. Her bottom teeth are crooked.
“You can believe what you want,” says Bunny firmly, “but I’m going to be eighteen next month.” She wishes she had another cigarette to light up and blow smoke around. The boy Rennie comes into the kitchen.
“Somebody wants the washing machine,” he says, and glances at Bunny. “But she wants it for thirty-five. You go talk to her.”
“Get this little miss the syrup out of the fridge, will you?” She pronounces it “suurup,” not “sirup.”
“Are you running away?” Rennie asks when his mother has left.
“No.” The tablecloth is red and sticky. The pitcher of syrup sits on a white saucer.
Bunny takes another big bite of pancake.
“You want some coffee?” The boy has his hand on an aluminum coffee pot. “Cream and sugar?” He holds out a small pitcher and points to the sugar bowl.
“Yes, please,” says Bunny. Bunny pours more syrup and takes another bite. She takes a mug from the boy’s hand. From outside come the yells and laughter of children. One of the dogs starts barking again. The boy sits down in the chair next to Bunny and pours himself a cup of coffee. He is one big freckle, Bunny thinks. She touches her own pale cheek.
“She’s going to ask you if you want to stay for lunch.”
“Well,” says Bunny, “that’s very nice but I’m in a hurry.”
“She thinks you’re running away.”
“Well, I’m not. I’m meeting my father in New Hope.”
“New Hope? You’re a ways from there.”
“Well, of course, I know that.”
“New Hope’s over on the Delaware River. I went rafting there one time. You get in inner tubes and the current takes you. Is that what you’re going to do?” As he speaks, Rennie gets up and slides another pancake onto the spatula, slips it onto Bunny’s plate. She has eaten three.
“I don’t know,” says Bunny, pouring on more syrup.
The screen door bangs and a little girl runs into the kitchen. She is wearing a torn red dress and her feet are in a pair of very dirty white sandals. Her hair has been pulled back into a ponytail tied with a soiled red ribbon. Her face is grubby, her eyes a very dark brown. She must have been eating a Popsicle because she has a big pink clown mouth around her own mouth. She is also wearing a pair of dangle-down rhinestone earrings. Around her neck is a necklace of pink candies on an elastic string.
“Who are you?” she asks Bunny, sidling over to stand next to her, putting the string of candies into her mouth and starting to chew thoughtfully.
“My name is Mary,” says Bunny. “Who are you?”
“Nina. What are you doing here?”
“I’m on a trip,” says Bunny.
“Do you have any brothers?” the child asks.
“I have a sister.” Bunny takes a bite of pancake.
“Where is she?”
“She’s older than I am.”
“But where is she? With your momma?”
“She’s traveling right now.”
“Where?”
“I’m looking for her,” says Bunny. “You ask a lot of questions.”
Rennie brings a sausage over. “She’s a pest. You’re a pest, aren’t you, Nina.”
“He’s not my real brother,” says Nina, climbing into Bunny’s lap. “His name is Rennie. I hate him.”
“Nina,” says Rennie, “you are a pest.”
“Rennie ate my pie.” She shifts her position on Bunny’s lap and her hard little bones dig into Bunny’s thighs.
“You gave it to me.”
“I didn’t mean for you to eat it.” Nina’s lower lip trembles.
“Don’t give it away if you want it yourself.”
Nina decides to change the subject. “We used to have some rabbits.” Nina points to a wire cage Bunny can now see on the back porch.
“What happened to them,” asks Bunny.
“We ate them.” A big tear rolls down Nina’s cheek. “We ate them and Grandma told me it was chicken.”
“Nina. Don’t tell all your business.” Rennie’s voice is stern. “There wasn’t nothing left to eat just then. You want a sausage?” he asks Bunny, but she shakes her head vigorously.
So much talk is making Bunny nervous. Rennie keeps trying to heap more food onto her plate. What is going on? Why is he being so nice? She reaches her left hand down in her jeans and finds the button. Good. Still there.
“They took it for forty,” says the woman, who comes back into the kitchen wiping the back of her neck again. “I feel the heat something terrible. No time to be cooking. But things can’t always wait, can they now.” She is stirring something on the stove, sprinkling salt into a big pot. “Did you eat up good?” she asks Bunny, smiling. “Your arms are like little sticks, aren’t they, Rennie? You need some meat on those bones, I swear. Why don’t you stay for lunch.”
“Oh!” A little shriek escapes Bunny. There is a big cage on the back porch—why didn’t she put two and two together before? That was why all the kids had fallen silent when she’d walked past them. The garage sale was just a trick. They’re going to stick her in the cage and fatten her up and then cook her in the pot.
Bunny puts her fork down. She can’t swallow at all. She gets up and she takes her knapsack. “I’m just going to check something,” she says in a hoarse voice, and Rennie and the woman look at her blankly. “I just need to take a quick look at something outside,” she says, edging toward the door. There is another car pulled up and two very fat women are climbing out of it. One of them has her hair in curlers. They look at her curiously. Are they going to eat over? Bunny walks quickly to the bike. “I bought this,” she says in a loud voice. “I bought this fair and square.” Rennie comes running over and puts his hand on the handlebars. Bunny thinks she will die right then and there. Die and then get eaten.
“Watch the brakes downhill, Mary,” he says, and slides something over her left wrist. A Mickey Mouse watch. “Here,” he says. “You need to know what time it is.” Bunny doesn’t know what to say. “Okay,” she manages to croak out, and she gets going, over the gravelly driveway and onto the narrow road, pedaling as fast as she can.
“Hey!” she hears t
he woman calling after her. “Hey! You want some sandwiches?”
BUNNY ONLY SAW her dad a couple of times but she liked him. Now and then she took his memory out and ironed it, so to speak, before putting it back in her brain. Bunny stored things in her mind this way, like a linen closet. He was sad and didn’t say much. The last time was about nine years ago. They went to the swing set and he bought her two chocolate ice cream cones and mostly he kept shaking his head and saying he was sorry and Bunny kept saying, “Oh, that’s okay, Daddy,” the word “Daddy” strange and special in her mouth, and she was proud to use it but wondered what would happen next. She was glad nobody was around to hear her say “Daddy” because they might ask, Who does she think she is? But actually it was just him and her at the end of the block on a hot August day. The playground was pretty small and grass never grew there really and her feet kicked up little puffs of dusty dirt because by mistake he had picked out the wrong swing, the baby swing, but she was proud of him anyway and proud to be with him, her own daddy, and she fixed it so her legs went stiffly out in front of her. He pushed her, and his hands at her back—up in the middle, higher than her waist, careful—she can still feel them if she shuts her eyes.
“Oh, you stupid baby,” says Bunny to herself now, because she is crying. “You big baby.” The bicycle is weaving along the road and it doesn’t have any gears and the brakes aren’t so hot but at least it goes, and Bunny wipes her eyes with her left hand. It’s the stupid brownie. You have to eat them more frequently or your body doesn’t know how to respond and drags out all the stupid sad stuff. She should just throw them away right now. But she doesn’t. She isn’t going to eat any more of them but she isn’t going to throw them away yet either. After a while Bunny walks off the road and into the woods. She is still crying. She stays there leaning against a tree until she stops. When she has finished, she wipes her face and goes back onto the road.
3
SHE FEELS OKAY now, riding a bike makes her feel okay, pedaling, and she knows nobody was going to eat her up. For a while she kept looking behind her to see if the fat ladies were giving chase, but she calmed down. She is glad she left fast, before she said anything embarrassing. A couple of old cars have gone by, leaving clouds of black smoke. Burning oil, thinks Bunny, trying to hold her breath. She passes a little house. There is laundry hanging on the line and while she is looking at the big sheets flapping she almost rides over an animal squashed on the road. It is horrible, flat as a pancake. There isn’t any blood, just this flat thing with its tail curled like a question mark.
She needs to keep away from weird thoughts so she concentrates on counting to eight, then counting to eight again. Nothing will charge out of the woods at her, not if she maintains a steady rhythm with the pedals. Bears can probably sense something, like sharks in the ocean can pick up irregular movement. One two three four five six seven eight. The sky is darkening again. Somewhere in the distance Bunny hears thunder getting ready, like a giant clearing his throat. Though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death. She could really go for a handful of Chiclets. That was partly why she brought so many quarters, Chiclet machines. They were good for energy and for getting cheered up, so sweet and interesting in her mouth.
Anyway, there aren’t any bears around here.
She passes a bunch of red trash, paper cups and hot dog wrappers. Somebody threw their stuff out of a car, how nasty. She rides over a paper cup just for fun. She loves her bike, she wishes she could make it rear up like a stallion on its hind legs. She is letting her bike weave big S’s all over the road since there aren’t any cars. WELCOME TO AUGSVILLE POP. 653 reads a sign on her left with three bullet holes through it. The road changes into a street, Augsville. Bunny slows down and drives straight. How small. A few little stores, and a post office. There is a luncheonette sort of place called Paul’s with a green-and-white striped awning which looks friendly and old-fashioned. She stops there, leaning Old Paint (it is embarrassing, but she has named her bike) against a little tree out front. The sidewalk is cracked. It feels weird to be off the bike at first, as if she doesn’t know how to walk on the earth, as if she is five miles high and her feet are down there, so far away she can barely feel them. A bell chimes when she opens the screen door. It smells nice inside, like ice-cream-scoop water and peppermint toothpaste. The worn wooden floor is so slanty that if Bunny dropped a marble it would roll to the back of the store. There are two aisles that go to the back, where she sees the cash register and a lunch counter, on the right.
“Hi there.”
“Oh hi.” Bunny looks over to see a woman behind the luncheonette counter. She’s wearing a pink-and-white checked dress with white buttons. Above her pocket it says June in flowery red script. The soda fountain is green Formica with red stools and a mirror on the wall behind. You could sit here and stare at yourself while you sucked up a black and white.
“Haven’t seen you around.” June is wiping the counter.
“No,” says Bunny. “I haven’t been here before.”
“Don’t fall for the quarter.”
“What?”
June points to a silvery circle on the floor. “The quarter. See it?” Bunny nods and starts to bend down. “No. You try to pick it up and then you get a shock.”
“Hasn’t worked in years, Junie,” comes a man’s voice from the back of the store. “You know that.”
“Oh, well, I won’t try anyway. I already have some quarters.” Bunny jingles her pockets.
“Looking for anything special?” June speaks again. She is leaning on the counter now, her chin in her hands. Why does everybody ask questions?
“Not really. Is there, like, a makeup section?”
“Nothing fancy sweetheart, go past the depilatories. No. Yes. Now look to your left.”
Bunny picks out an emerald green waterproof masacara. There is a rack of postcards next to the makeup and Bunny takes her time choosing one. Most of them are of fishermen catching fish, but there is one of a waterfall and Bunny buys that and a ballpoint pen. Bunny walks down another aisle past shaving cream and shampoo and stops in front of the toothpaste. “I don’t know how I could have left my toothbrush back at my aunt’s,” she says moments later, laying everything out on the counter in the back of the store. Bunny smiles at the gray-haired man behind the cash register but he isn’t looking at her, he is pricing the toothpaste. “Two packs of Marlboros please.”
To Bunny’s relief he rings up the cigarettes, no questions asked. He even throws in a book of matches. Bunny pays and thanks him and then she walks over and sits at the lunch counter. There is a man with a bunch of keys hanging off his belt sitting at the farthest over stool. He is leaning over his plate. His back is so broad, he reminds Bunny of Mook—god, he could be Mook’s long-lost brother or something. June is filling his coffee cup. Bunny minds her own business and and takes out her postcard and new pen. “Dear Merle,” she writes in very tiny print, “Wish you were here. I’ll see you pretty soon I hope. Love, Bunny.” And then she makes up an address: “1314 Fountain Road, New Hope Pa.” That is in case anybody is watching. She doesn’t know Merle’s address.
“What can I do you for?” June is standing in front of her now, holding her pad and pencil.
“Could I have a Coke please?” Bunny covers the postcard with her left hand.
“Anything to go with that? Cheeseburger, honey? BLT?”
“Oh, no thanks,” says Bunny, sliding the card and the pen back into the paper bag. “Just a Coke.” She is suddenly wondering if Merlie had come this way and sat here on this exact green stool and looked at this exact same worn spot on the counter. Bunny would like to think so, it makes her feel closer to Merle. Maybe some of Merle’s molecules are still in the air, even. Bunny takes a deep breath. The waitress sets a Coke down in front of her. “Thank you,” says Bunny.
“Don’t mention it.”
Bunny is thinking about Merle so hard that she is sure Merle was actually here. She wants to ask them if anybod
y remembers seeing her, but it was a while ago now. She wonders if Merle came in and maybe mentioned where she was headed. Bunny frowns. She always comes up against the ice here. She sticks her hand in the pocket and feels the button. It is soft and smooth in her hand. She should be looking for another sign, but so far there is nothing besides a hunch. She shivers a little, and digs into her knapsack to make sure her jacket is still there. The scarf. Her tarp. It has begun to rain.
“Bob’s got his raffle again,” says June, looking out the window. “Gonna ask us to buy a five-dollar ticket to a two-dollar show. What do I want with a free hairdo anyway. My sister owns the damn beauty parlor. I can get it for free anytime.” June pats her short blond hair.
“Is that so,” snickers the man five stools down eating a hamburger. Ketchup spurts out and Bunny thinks of Dracula. “Hey, Paulie. June says she can get it for free anytime. What do you say to that?” From somewhere in the back the other man laughs. “Tell me where, honey,” he says. “Just tell me where.”
“Can it,” says June. She lights a cigarette and blows an enormous smoke ring that hovers in the air as big as a hubcap. Bunny can’t take her eyes off it. While she’s watching June blows another smaller ring right through the big one. “You meeting someone, honey?”
“Yes. At the corner over there,” she says. “My father. We’re from New York City,” she adds, as if that explains everything.
“Tell you why I asked. Got a couple of doughnuts going begging. You take them with you. What’s your name, sweetheart?”
“Honey,” says Bunny. “I know it’s a weird name, but that’s what my daddy wanted to call me the second I was born. ‘Isn’t she a honey,’ those were his exact words.”
“Sounds like you’ve got a fine daddy,” said June, stubbing her cigarette out. “You tell him I said hi, will you?”
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