Hannah’s lips tightened. “But I did.”
“I know — and we should have believed you.”
“Even the part about Franklin talking to me?”
The smile faded from Jenn’s eyes. Her hand fell away from Hannah’s wrist. “Well ...”
Hunter shot her a warning glare.
“Sure,” Jenn said. Her conviction was lacking, but Hunter was pretty sure Hannah hadn’t picked up on it.
Until Hannah smacked her fork flat on the table and tucked her chin to her chest.
“No, you don’t believe me. No one does.” And then she shoved her chair back and stomped out of the kitchen and up the stairs. Her bedroom door banged shut.
Echo scrambled up from his place beside Hannah’s now empty chair. He ambled to the bottom of the stairs to gaze after her. After a few seconds, he came back to sit beside Jenn, sniffing the air as he tried to detect if she had any scraps for him.
Jenn shooed the dog away and gave Hunter a ‘what the hell?’ look. “Can’t I say anything right?”
“Her feelings were hurt,” Hunter said. “You know how she hangs onto things. Give her five minutes to brood about it, then take her plate upstairs and apologize to her.”
“Apologize? For what? Sometimes I think it doesn’t matter what I say.” After moving the empty serving bowls and pots to the sink, Jenn took the dishwashing soap from the cabinet underneath. “Besides, if tomorrow she tells us little green men landed in the backyard and offered her a ride through a wormhole to another galaxy, are we supposed to believe her then? Seriously, I don’t know where this is coming from, but I don’t want her thinking she can go on about talking animals in front of anyone and everyone.”
“It’s a phase, Jenn. Hannah’s had a rough year. Dr. Pruitt said the effects of the trauma could manifest in a number of ways.”
Groaning, Maura clamped a hand to the side of her head. “Here we go again,” she muttered. “Hannah, Hannah, Hannah.”
Both Hunter and Jenn looked at their oldest daughter, as if suddenly aware of her presence.
Maura slid her plate back and flattened her palms on the table. “Does anybody care that I had three kills in my volleyball game today? Coach Rawlings says I made the difference between losing that match and winning. He also says maybe if I go to camp this summer and get better at my overhand serve and learn to block, I could get a scholarship for college. But I’d really have to train hard and hire a strength trainer and do everything I could to get my name out there, like play in select traveling leagues and stuff.” She lifted her chin and looked from one parent to the other. “So ... can I?”
“Can you what?” Jenn asked, the irritation in her voice as pointed as the prickly thorns on a cocklebur. Flipping the faucet lever up, she squirted a long stream of dishwashing liquid into the sink.
“Go to camp? This summer in Indianapolis. Of course, someone would have to drive me up there. But it would get me out of your hair for a week. Then you could focus on Hannah the whole time.”
“Of course you can go,” Hunter said. “But not because we want to get rid of you.”
A light scoff escaped her. “If you say so.”
“Maura,” — Jenn flipped around to glare at her, suds clinging to her hands — “that’s enough!”
“Sorry,” Maura shot back snidely. “But it would be convenient for you.”
Jenn tensed visibly. Bubbles dripped in foamy clumps from her fisted hands onto the floor.
As soon as they resolved Hannah’s issues at school, Hunter would be sure to set aside some time just for his oldest daughter. In the meantime, Jenn had to understand that Maura’s jealousy wasn’t unfounded. “Jenn, she has every right to feel —”
“Don’t. You. Start.” Jenn jabbed a finger at Hunter three times. “Quit being the peacemaker, for once.”
“What?” Where was this coming from? Maura was being an obnoxious tween and while he didn’t expect Jenn to tolerate it, why was she coming after him now? He made an effort to keep a lid on his emotions. Right now he just didn’t want it to turn into a shouting match that Hannah was likely to overhear. “I’m just saying that here we have a daughter who is doing her best to be her best. You have to take that into account and —”
“I take it Maura didn’t tell you she got detention today for talking back to her teacher?”
Maura slumped, her body threatening to slide under the table, her indignation replaced by a smoldering air of betrayal. She’d obviously confessed to her mom earlier, but Hunter was sure she hadn’t told him because even though Jenn was the one to act stern, she never did much to reprimand the kids beyond a burst of shaming. Hunter was the one who would have levied Maura with a week’s worth of grounding — and she knew it. Still, she wouldn’t misbehave without reason.
Hunter’s glance slid to Maura. Then he turned his gaze back on Jenn. “While I don’t condone misbehavior of any sort, if she’s acting out, it’s probably because —”
A knock, so soft that it almost went unheard, sounded at the front door. Hunter and Jenn looked toward the door, but Maura kept her head down. Tension hung thick in the air. Finally, Echo trotted to the front door to peer through the sidelight. He gave a soft ‘woof’, then ran back to Hunter as if to escort him to their guest.
“That’s odd,” Jenn said, her fuse temporarily snuffed. “He barks at everyone except your parents. And since when do they stand out there and wait for an invitation?”
Rising, Hunter rolled his shoulders in a shrug. “Let’s find out, shall we, Echo?”
He had no idea who it could be. They rarely had visitors this far out in the country. Recently, Jenn had told him that having a dog had made her feel safer in their house. Echo may not have been very intimidating as a guard dog, but he was as good a watchdog as any. Except now.
Echo’s bobtail wagged in a tiny, almost imperceptible circle. He pranced on his white sock feet beside Hunter all the way to the door, always two steps ahead as if to tell him to hurry up.
A vaguely familiar face, distorted by the intersecting lines of the decorative oval window of the front door, stared back at Hunter. Apparently, Heck Menendez had made a favorable impression on Echo. Hunter opened the door.
“Dr. McHugh.” Heck had his hands shoved deep in the pockets of his bulky winter coat. He was a full five feet back from the door.
“Hello ... Heck.” A frigid wind bit at Hunter’s nose and he had the sudden urge to pull the hood of his sweatshirt over his head. He swept an arm toward the living room. “It’s freezing out there. Come on in.”
“I don’t want to intrude.” Heck glanced toward his house, his body turned sideways as if to make for a quick exit. “It’s probably your suppertime.”
“You’re in luck — we just finished. And anyway, I need to shut the door and I’m not coming out there.”
Heck blinked several times. Finally, he came inside, but just far enough for Hunter to shut the door.
“Now,” Hunter said, “what can I do for you?”
“Who is it, Hunter?” Jenn came to stand in the open doorway to the kitchen, wiping her hands on her pants legs. “Oh ... hi.” Her voice dipped at the end, as if she’d been expecting someone with a giant Publishers Clearinghouse sweepstakes check — not the grumpy next-door neighbor.
“Mrs. McHugh.” Heck’s voice was equally lacking in enthusiasm, but it was hard for Hunter to tell if that was because of Jenn’s lukewarm reception or just the way Heck was in general.
“So ...?” Hunter turned to face Heck again. “You needed something? I’d invite you in for dessert, but we don’t have —”
“Dessert, yes. Funny thing. I was gathering the ingredients to make a German chocolate cake from scratch when I discovered I’m fresh out of eggs. I never run out of eggs, but this morning I made myself an omelet and apparently used the last of them. Forgot entirely.” Heck touched a gloved hand to his thick, dark hair, threaded with the barest hint of silver. “Age creeping up on me, I suppose.”
“Do we still have some, Jenn? I haven’t checked in a few days.”
“Sure, plenty.” She tipped her head, one brow raised ever so slightly, as if she sensed Heck was just making an excuse to drop in. “How many do you need, Heck?”
“Four ... if that’s not too much to ask?”
“Not at all,” she replied as she went into the kitchen, her tone noticeably friendlier now. The soft whoosh of the refrigerator door opening sounded, followed by a drawer opening and closing.
Hunter and Heck stood looking at the doorway, waiting for her to reappear. When she didn’t, Hunter broke the silence. “Special occasion?”
“Pardon?”
“Just wondering why you’re making a cake. Our girls would have cake every day if they could, but we try to reserve them for birthdays. Not so much because of the calories, but because if you give Hannah too much sugar you pretty much have to peel her off the ceiling and it’s impossible to get her to go to bed.”
“Ah, yes, a birthday.” Heck glanced at the family photos arranged in a giant grid on the wall above the couch.
“Yours?”
“No.” His words came out so soft Hunter barely heard them. “My wife’s.”
Since Heck lived alone now Hunter assumed he was a widower. It was an awkward subject to broach, but Hunter was curious. “So, your wife, when did she —”
“Here you go!” Jenn strode into the room with a basket handle looped over her wrist. The eggs were tidily cushioned in a tea towel. She handed the basket to Heck. “I put six in there. That way if you need eggs before you get to the store again, you have a couple extra.”
He held the basket at arm’s length for a few moments, as if he were going to thrust it back at her. His lips parted, remaining open while his mind worked at a thought. But all he could manage was a nod and: “Thank you.”
Five seconds later he was out the door. Jenn and Hunter shared a glance.
“Don’t you dare let him pay us back in eggs, Hunter.” She marched back into the kitchen.
Hunter followed her, but before he could tell Jenn about Heck’s wife, Maura blurted out, “You won’t believe what I heard the other day.” Before either of her parents could reply, she got up, plate in hand, and went on. “My friend Linds is friends with Izzy Pinkerton and her aunt’s hairdresser said that she heard Mr. Menendez was a fugitive from Columbia. Something about a drug cartel.”
Crossing her arms, Jenn turned away from the sink. “Oh, really now? Your friend’s friend’s aunt’s hairdresser?”
“Yeah, but that’s not all.” Maura put her plate and silverware on the counter. “She heard he moved here because he was being investigated for transporting Mexican immigrants over the border in a van, mostly girls my age and younger, to be used as child slaves. But they couldn’t prove anything, so he went where the media wouldn’t bug him. Which is here — Nowheresville, Kentucky.”
“Funny how he doesn’t have an accent, since he’s from Columbia,” Hunter said jokingly. “Or is it Mexico?”
“He’s probably been here awhile. I bet he took some lessons to get rid of his accent. Foreign actors do that all the time.”
“Maura Irene McHugh,” — Jenn took her daughter by the shoulders and imparted her sternest look — “you shouldn’t spread wild rumors like that. How would you feel if someone said something about you that wasn’t true and then four more people repeated it? Pretty soon, everyone in Faderville would have their own version of things.”
“But it could —”
“But nothing. I know for a fact that the hairdresser you’re talking about, Brandy Janssen, claimed to be the love-child of Cher and Elvis.”
Maura’s forehead creased. “Who?”
Rolling her eyes, Jenn let go of her daughter. “Never mind. Just don’t let me catch you repeating that, okay?”
“Ooookay, sure.” Maura gathered her backpack from the mudroom to go up to her room. “But why does he live alone out here?”
“Lots of older people live alone, Maura.”
She started for the stairs. “Yeah, but he’s just ...” — she shrugged a shoulder — “kinda weird.”
Hunter tapped her arm as she went past.
Maura spun around. “What?”
“You’re grounded.”
“For calling him weird? Geez, sorry. I take it back.”
“For talking back to your teacher.”
“How long?”
“Until further notice. I’m calling your teacher tomorrow to get her side.”
Deflated, Maura trudged up the stairs and closed her door — firmly, but not quite a slam.
Jenn put a hand on her hip. “For a while, I thought you were going to take her side.”
“Just because I understand why she’s acting out, doesn’t mean I’ll excuse it.”
They spent the rest of the evening in quiet domesticity — Hunter at his makeshift desk at the coffee table, and Jenn toting laundry upstairs in between bouts of prodding Maura to finish her homework. Hannah never did come back downstairs to finish her supper.
The girls had been put to bed and Jenn and Hunter were snuggled up on the couch watching their favorite reality talent show when someone rapped at the front door.
“That has to be Heck,” Jenn said lowly.
Hunter went to the door. When he opened it, Heck was already halfway down the driveway, the beam of his flashlight lighting his way back home.
For a few moments, Hunter couldn’t quite figure it out. Then he looked down. There, sitting in front of the door, was a cake — or three-fourths of a German chocolate one, actually — neatly encased in a plastic container. Hunter picked it up. Taped to the top was a note:
‘My wife would have wanted to share this with you.’
“Thanks!” Hunter called, but the wind swallowed his words and Heck kept on walking down the road.
chapter 21: Hannah
Every day, Hannah thought about ways she could get out of going to school. Mrs. Ziegler was nice enough, but Hannah wasn’t comfortable with the other children. She didn’t understand them, didn’t like all the noise they made, and was never sure if they liked her or not. Every time they whispered to one another, she wondered if it was something about her. She heard things, words, snatches of conversation, like: ‘strange’, ‘weird’, ‘always alone’, ‘why doesn’t she talk?’, and ‘is something wrong with her?’
If anything, being at school was worse than she ever imagined it would be before she started going. All the noise and motion and goings-on made her jittery and nervous. It was so hard to concentrate. At home, it was calm and quiet. She could think there.
What if she did something bad? Would they tell her not to come back to school, then? It would have to be really bad. Patrick Mann had tortured Franklin, yet he hadn’t been kicked out of school. True he wasn’t allowed anywhere near the new mouse’s cage and he spent a lot of time at the principal’s office, but it was almost as if he actually liked the extra attention that acting out brought him.
No, Hannah didn’t want people to notice her, for good or bad reasons. She especially didn’t want her parents to be upset with her.
The only way out of having to go to school was to get sick. Hannah avoided washing her hands. She only pretended to take her vitamin in the morning, hiding it in her mouth until her mommy looked away, and then slipping it to Echo. She stopped washing her hands. When it got cold, she didn’t put her coat on until someone made her. But nothing seemed to work. She didn’t get sick. She could’ve faked a tummy ache or sore throat, but that, again, would be lying.
After that first visit with Dr. Liming, Hannah was more confused than ever. Both her parents sat her down that night and told her to keep it to herself if animals spoke to her. Not telling someone, they said, wasn’t the same as lying, in this case. It was so confusing.
Things only got worse when, in November, her parents decided it was time for her to ride the bus with Maura. Her mommy was starting back at work part-time, and so the extra time
she’d be afforded by not driving Hannah to school made her schedule easier.
Patrick Mann was not on Hannah’s bus, but there were a lot of older kids: fourth, fifth, and sixth graders. Not only were they big and loud, but bossy. Hannah sat in the front, right behind the bus driver, Miss Beverly. It was the only safe place she could find. Her sister didn’t want to sit with her and she had no friends. When they got to school in the morning, she always waited until all the other kids got off the bus before going inside. Miss Beverly never said anything more to her than ‘Have a great day’, and that was just fine with Hannah.
During recess, Hannah always stayed inside and drew pictures. Before any of the other kids came back, she hid them, because she didn’t want anyone to see what she was doing. She never felt her pictures were as good as she wanted them to be. Especially not after her mommy and Dr. Liming had mistaken her little blue penguin for a common bird, as if it were a sparrow or crow.
Then one day, they had a substitute, and it was raining and too cold to go outside for recess, so Mr. Panki-Something-or-Other — Hannah wasn’t sure since he’d only mumbled his name once and hadn’t written it on the board — made them all go to the gym. Hannah wanted to let him know she always stayed in the room while Mrs. Ziegler graded papers, but she didn’t know him at all, so she didn’t say anything.
Knots of snakes formed inside her tummy as she entered the gymnasium. When she realized she’d left the room without her backpack — and Faustine — panic filled her chest.
She glanced at the clock on the wall. Twenty-two minutes until they went back to the room. Sound bounced off the concrete block walls and metal rafters, ringing inside her ears. Kids were running back and forth, lobbing basketballs at the hoops, jumping rope off to the side. Others stood in clumps, talking and laughing. Occasionally, one would glance at Hannah, then say something to the person beside them.
Say That Again Page 17