Daddy would be back. Blevins always managed to get out, and Daddy wasn’t the waste of skin his predecessor was.
“Don’t worry. As long as you have me, you’ll have Daddy. As long as you behave yourself.”
The spark disappeared from her eyes, and the laser stare returned.
“So, who’s coming with us? Your mother or your grandmother?”
“You should go away by yourself.”
“Who do you love best?”
“Idunno.”
“Aw, come on. Pick one.”
“Idunno.”
“Here’s the deal, Little Piggy. It’s you, me, Daddy—and either Mommy or Gramma. You get one. Who do you want to tuck you in at night?”
Her eyelids fluttered. Her eyes rolled back in her head.
“I think you should go alone. Now.”
“Not going to happen, Little Piggy.”
Her mouth clamped shut, and she rocked in her chair. He nudged her. Whether her twitch was a reaction to him or just a coincidence, it didn’t matter.
He was getting to her.
[55]
Abby
I AM NOT LISTENING TO the Ceiling Man.
“Pick one, Little Piggy,” he says, but I ignore him.
I think I must build a new wall. My yellow bricks are broken and crumbly, and I do not think I have enough to build a wall.
“Abby.” The Daddy-whisper is back.
I do not answer.
“Abby. What did you do in the garage?”
I am Abby in a Box and the Woodsman is gone, but I do not tell the Daddy-whisper. I do not want to be in trouble.
“Can you do it again?” the Daddy-whisper says.
I do not think I should do it again. I think it was a Bad Thing, and the Woodsman would not want me to do a Bad Thing. I think the Daddy-whisper is not the Woodsman.
“Idunno,” I say. It is the truth. I do not know if I can do it again, but I know I do not want to do it again.
The Daddy-whisper is in a box, but I can hear him. When the Ceiling Man’s friend is in the box I cannot hear him. Blevins is the Ceiling Man’s friend. Blevins is dead and I think I killed him.
I think Daddy is the Ceiling Man’s new friend.
“I know who the Ceiling Man is,” the Daddy-whisper says.
“I do not know who the Ceiling Man is. I only know he is, and I think you should not be his friend,” I say.
“I am not his friend.”
I want to believe the Daddy-whisper, but I do not think I should.
“Abby, what goes best with peanut-butter?”
“Dill pickles. They are vegetables.” I whisper, but I do not want to be an Abby-whisper.
“What does my smile mean?”
“You love me very much and will never hurt me.” The Daddy-whisper says the words with me, but I say you and me and he says I and you.
I think maybe the whisper is my dad. I think I want the whisper to be my dad. I think I need the whisper to be my dad. I think sometimes what I want and what I need are the same thing.
“One goes with us. One stays behind,” the Ceiling Man says.
“Abby,” my mom says, but I shush her. She should not talk now.
“Abby,” my gramma says, but I cannot listen.
«Pick one, Little Piggy.» The Ceiling Man laughs.
“Abby, breathe,” the Daddy-whisper says.
My mom should say Abby breathe, but I breathe and the Ceiling Man stops laughing.
“I spy something tall and strong,” the Daddy-whisper says.
“My brick wall,” I say, but my wall is broken.
“No, Abby, you,” the Daddy-whisper says.
“I need more yellow bricks,” I say, “but no crumbly bricks.”
“Abby, why yellow bricks?” the Daddy-whisper says.
“Because they are not red,” I say.
“Your turn, Abby,” the Daddy-whisper says.
We are playing I Spy with My Little Eye.
“I spy with my little eye something warm and safe,” I say.
Daddy and I are not good at I Spy. He never sees what I see and it takes me a long time to see what Daddy sees. Sometimes we play for one hour and sixteen minutes and nobody guesses right.
I do not think we have one hour and sixteen minutes left.
The Daddy-whisper does not guess what is warm and safe. He does not even try to guess.
“Take care of your mother and grandmother,” he says.
“I am,” I say.
“Remember, silly people see only what they want to see,” the Daddy-whisper says.
The Ceiling Man is not silly but maybe he sees what he wants to see. I know what the Daddy-whisper wants me to do. I do not hear his words, but I feel them. They are in my chest, and I should not let them out.
I do not know if I can do what the Daddy-whisper wants me to do.
“I do not want my mom and Gramma to go away. I do not want red ceilings, and I do not want to be Abby-in-the-Box,” I say.
The Daddy-whisper says something, but I cannot understand him. My head is full of fog, and my mouth is full of dirt and pennies.
«Daddy can’t help you, Little Piggy,» the Ceiling Man says. «He’s gone.»
“Abby.” I hear the Daddy-whisper, but he is far away.
“Peek-a-boo,” he says and I cannot find him.
“Wait for the Woodsman,” he shouts.
«Enough,» the Ceiling Man says, and the Daddy-whisper is shushed.
The Daddy-whisper is the Woodsman and the Woodsman is gone.
I am alone.
“I am not lost in the woods,” I say.
[56]
Carole
ABBY IS ROCKING. NOT HER self-comforting rock and not her furious rock.
Her rhythm is methodical, focused. She’s concentrating. Her mouth moves and her face suggests a heated argument, but she doesn’t make a sound—at least not one I hear.
Rather than dancing her fingers, she grips Livvy’s quilt, pulling the blanket so tight that I picture the taut fabric shredding. The strained seams burst and the colored patches rip loose, flutter away, and disappear. Except the red ones. The red ones float to the ceiling. They cling and spread until the white ceiling turns blood-red.
“Do not do that.” Abby pauses her rocking and speaks.
I don’t know what I did.
Across the table, Jim sits motionless. No, he’s not still. His mouth opens and closes in slow motion. He’s trying to tell me something, but all I hear is the empty howl of the wind.
I need to help him. Call an ambulance. Do something, anything, but I can’t move. My husband is dying, and I can’t help him.
“He is not the Woodsman,” Abby says. “We should not go on an adventure.”
I promised Abby an adventure. So had someone else. Blevins? Blevins was dead.
“We have a hostile intruder and we must go to a safe and secure place. It is on Devon’s list.”
Abby’s mouth stops moving, but I hear her speak. Her tone soothes. Her words don’t. I sway, matching her steady cadence.
The kitchen fades. The yellow tulips on the walls, the blue curtains on the windows, and Evelyn’s silly smiling teapot cookie jar are all still here, but I see through them, to somewhere else. Somewhere I don’t recognize.
I’m reminded of the slide shows of my youth, faded transparencies of my parents’ past vacations projected on a white screen, bright and transparent. My father steps in front of the screen and blends into the images of beaches or mountains or amusement parks. He is in two places at the same time.
Abby and I stand in front of the screen. The kitchen is a wavering image, projected from a point I cannot see. It warms my skin and repeats and reflects around me, an infinite number of grinning cookie jars.
I am here, but I am no longer here.
“Abby, we cannot be in two places at the same time,” I say. Familiar words. I’ve said them a thousand times.
“It is not possible but it is true,” she says
.
“Is this Abby-land?” I wonder at my sense of peace and know it’s unnatural. I don’t care.
“Maybe. I do not know.”
In the kitchen, Jim’s face is twisted and cold. He reaches out to me but does not break through the screen. He’s in pain. I have to help him, but I’m absorbed into the flickering Kodachrome of maybe Abby-land and I can’t reach him.
“Mom, you have to help,” Abby says. “We must build a wall. You and Gramma must be safe.”
At my feet, a pile of yellow bricks. I didn’t notice them until now. I don’t know if they were there all along or if they just appeared.
I don’t know anything.
“We must build a wall,” Abby says.
Yellow bricks. “Are you Dorothy?” I ask.
“I am Abby.”
“Listen to her,” Jim whispers, but I can’t find him.
The fog closes in on me. Not fog. Something dense, viscous, odorless. It invades my ears, my nose, my mouth. I can’t—
“Breathe, Mom. Breathe.”
The magic words. The fog returns to mist, and I breathe. The mist is heavy with the scent of cookies. Oatmeal chocolate chip. Abby’s favorite.
The slideshow speeds up. The kitchen is gone. Snapshots of Abby’s past flash by. Some too fast to see. Some pause, flicker, and melt into the mist. Some I recognize. Some I don’t. So much information in no order. Third grade. Abby sits behind a boy with red hair. David Besom.
Colors swirl around me, but I don’t see them. I feel them, taste them, breathe them. The yellow bricks radiate warmth. The blue air is sweet and cool. The purple is a scent. Purple flowers. Lavender. The scent of comfort. No red. Abby hates red. I am in Abby-land, but I don’t know how or why. I should be frightened. Terrified. Instead, I’m serene. Accepting.
Insane.
“Abby?”
“This is the secure place,” she says. “Devon’s list says proceed, if possible, out of line of sight of windows and doorways and to the nearest classroom or secure space.”
Abby is no longer my Abby. Alice stands before me, brave and strong in the madness that is Wonderland.
“I am Abby,” she says, and she is.
Dreaming. I’m dreaming and I need to wake up.
“You need to build the wall,” Abby says.
I’ve fallen down the rabbit hole or through the looking glass, and I’ve lost count of the impossible things I’ve believed before breakfast.
“You should be brave like Alice and I will be brave like Jo,” Abby says.
Abby’s always liked Little Women better than Alice. The thought is inane, but so is the situation.
“Listen to her,” Jim says.
“I must get Gramma. You must build the wall.”
She is gone.
I kneel and pick up a yellow brick. Its warmth comforts me. I will build Abby’s wall.
The warmth flares and pain sears my hand. The brick crumbles. The fiery dust turns orange then red as it filters through my fingers and disappears into the mist.
Laughter fills my head.
“The Ceiling Man,” Jim whispers. “Ignore him. Listen to Abby. She’ll protect you.”
I have no words to answer him. I reach for another brick. I don’t know what else to do.
[57]
Abby
GRAMMA’S FACE IS BLUE AND PURPLE.
«You wouldn’t choose, so I chose for you,» the Ceiling Man says.
“No,” I say, but it does not help. Gramma’s eyes are bulgy and round like hard-boiled eggs and I do not like them. The Daddy-whisper says I am tall and strong but I think I am small and weak.
«Oh my, Grandmother dear, what big eyes you have,» the Ceiling Man says.
“Breathe, Gramma, breathe,” I say but it does not work.
“You are strong and brave,” the Woodsman whispers.
“I am Abby-in-the-Box,” I say.
The Ceiling Man laughs, and he disappears.
My gramma breathes.
[58]
Carole
ABBY IS BACK, AND THE Queen of Hearts is with her. I wait for her to shout, “Off with her head.”
“No red,” Abby says.
The Queen is gone and Evelyn is here. An image of the kitchen flickers across her face. It’s pale, as if there is too much light in the room or the projector’s bulb is going dim. The blue glow of the oven clock stands out amidst the washed out tulips of the wallpaper. I strain to read the numbers, and the kitchen fades and disappears.
“I brought you help,” Abby says.
I need help. Only three bricks lay end to end. The rest burned and crumbled, leaving my hands blistered and raw.
“The wall will keep us safe,” Abby says.
Three bricks are not a wall. How can it protect us? I want to ask but can’t find the words I need.
“Trust Abby.” Jim’s whisper comes from above me and below me.
“Look,” I say and hold out my hands. I’m not sure who I am showing them to, Abby or her grandmother, but it doesn’t matter. The blisters are gone. My palms are pink and healthy.
“You’ll be fine,” Evelyn says. She kneels beside me and reaches for a yellow brick. It crumbles in her hand just as they do in mine. If they burn her, she gives no sign.
Abby stands behind her grandmother.
“You should build the wall,” she says. “We must keep the wolf away.” The brick she holds is firm and whole, but she makes no move to place it on the wall.
“Abby, where are we?” I ask.
“Idunno.”
There is a snap behind us, and the mist is gone. The air shimmers, waves of heat rising from the scorched asphalt of a summer parking lot, but I’m bathed in pleasant warmth. I feel no pain when the bricks flare and crumble in my hand.
Evelyn and I turn from our thankless task. Livvy’s quilt hangs behind us. It is Livvy’s quilt, but it’s either grown or we have shrunk. It moves back and forth, swaying in a breeze, but the air is still. It’s rocking, like Abby. I am looking at the pale blue backing, but through it I see the intricate patchwork of the quilt top. The colors glow. The red is gone. The bottom edge is stained with mud and grease.
“I’ll never be able to get those stains out,” Evelyn says.
“Seriously?” I turn to my mother-in-law, unsure whether I am relieved or irritated at her injection of reality into my—what? Dream? Hallucination? Insanity?
I expect to see Abby standing behind her. She’s not there.
“Abby!”
“She left,” Evelyn says.
I know that Abby is on the other side of the quilt and in danger. I must go to her, but Evelyn wraps her arms around me. Not a hug. A trap.
The harder I fight, the tighter she clings.
“Let me go. Abby’s not safe.” I cry and scream. She doesn’t listen.
“We need to stay here.” She’s calm. It takes no effort for her to hold me, no matter how hard I fight.
“I need to get Abby!”
“Jim said we should stay here.”
“Jim’s dead,” I say. It’s not true. I hope it’s not true, but I want to hurt her, to shock her. I want her to push me away and let me go.
“I know,” she says, her serenity unbroken.
My sobs overtake me, and I collapse against her. Her embrace is warm. I stop fighting. The steel bands melt away and I smell lavender.
“Please let me wake up,” I say.
[59]
Abby
DADDY SAYS, “PEEK-A-BOO! Where is Abby? Is she lost? I can’t find her!” I am small and under the blanket and do not want to be lost.
“Here I am!” I say.
My mom and Gramma should not say, “Here I am!” They are not small and they are not lost. I must keep them safe.
I think I should stay with my mom and Gramma. Behind Livvy’s quilt, it is warm and safe and smells like cookies and comfort. In front of Livvy’s quilt, it is cold and scary and smells like dirt and pennies.
The Ceiling Man is no
t behind Livvy’s quilt.
My mom says, “Is this Abby-land?” I do not know what Abby-land is. Abby-land is what my mom says when she thinks I am not paying attention to what is happening around me.
I think the Ceiling Man wants to go to Abby-land but I do not think he should go there.
Ms. Colley points at the map of the United States on the classroom wall and says, “This is Maryland. Its capitol is Annapolis.” Maryland is yellow. Maybe Mary is a girl and she is like me and Maryland is where she goes when she rocks.
I am rocking but I cannot stay behind Livvy’s quilt. I must be brave. I must leave Abby-land.
“Here I am,” I say, and Livvy’s quilt is behind me.
I think the Ceiling Man is here but I cannot find him.
I must wait.
The Ceiling Man says, “I’ll take you on an adventure. It’ll be fun. You’ll see, Little Piggy.”
I am not a Little Piggy and I do not think we will go to Maryland.
Abby-land is not on the map and I do not know what color it is but it is not red. Maybe it is blue. Maybe it is yellow like Maryland. I do not think I should let it be red.
I want to go find the Ceiling Man but I know I must wait.
Daddy says, “Patience, Abby. Patience.”
I am being patient, but it is hard.
When I am small and angry and not patient and cannot stop screaming, Gramma Evelyn says, “Look at the state she’s in!” but she is not pointing at a map. State is a slippery word. Maybe Abby-land is a state.
I think the Ceiling Man will come and the Woodsman will go away. I will be the Ceiling Man’s new friend and live in a box.
I do not want the Ceiling Man to go to Abby-land. Maybe if it is not on the map he will not find it.
There is no clock, and I do not know how long I must wait.
I am not the Ceiling Man’s friend and I do not want to be the Ceiling Man’s friend. I do not want Abby-land to be red and I do not want to be Abby-in-the-Box and I do not want to be lost.
The Daddy-whisper says, “Abby, you must be brave and strong. I know you can do it,” but I know I am remembering Daddy talking. He is quiet now.
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