The Sound of Us

by Sarah Willis

  “I’m your friend,” I say. “No one will hurt you.” Please let that be true, I think. I stand, still holding Larissa in my arms, and walk over to the speaker by the door.

  “Hello,” I say, holding down the button.

  “East Cleveland Police, ma’am,” a male voice answers.

  I press the buzzer. “We’ll be okay,” I whisper to Larissa. “We’ll be okay.” Her skin is warm against mine. It’s been a very long time since I’ve held anyone like this.

  One of the two police officers is a woman. “Thank you,” I say as I let them in.

  They’re both in uniform, wearing thick belts with guns and phones and nightsticks.

  “I’m Officer Robert,” the policeman says. “And this is Officer Shelley. You are . . .” He looks down at a pad of paper in his hand. “Ms. Alice Marlowe?” He’s a large black man with a high forehead, the brim of his hat tipped backward as if it doesn’t quite fit him. Officer Shelley is white. The uniform and the heavily laden belt make her look quite solid and strong.

  “Yes, I am,” I say. Larissa still clings to me, her face pressed into my neck. “This is Larissa Benton.” I turn sideways so they can see her better, but she turns her head away. I can feel the softness of her hair against my neck, the unbraided side. Just go away and leave us alone, I think. I’ll take care of her.

  “Would you spell your name?”

  I do. My hand wants to join in, but I’m holding Larissa. Then he asks for my address and phone number, which I give, getting more nervous. Have I broken any laws? When he asks for some identification, and I tell him that I left my purse at home, the woman police officer makes a noise in her throat. I interpret it as, What a fool.

  “Would you tell us why you called?” Officer Robert asks. “I’m not sure I understand. You don’t live here? What exactly is your relationship to this child?”

  “No, I don’t live here. I just gave you my address. I came here around . . .” I can’t think. It seems like so long ago. “Three hours ago. I never met Larissa before.” I explain about the phone call, dialing star 69, convincing Larissa I should come and be with her. The officers look at each other.

  “You should have called us first,” Officer Shelley says. “This was not a smart thing to do.”

  “I know. I know. I’m sorry. But I’m here now, and her mother hasn’t shown up. She said her father’s dead. Her Auntie Teya’s not answering the phone. Something must be . . .” I stop what I’m about to say, which is something must be terribly wrong. I can feel Larissa listening, tense in my arms. Officer Robert nods, seeming to understand.

  “Larissa,” Officer Shelley says, softening her voice. “Could you look at me? So we can talk?”

  She doesn’t budge. “She’s afraid of the police,” I say. “She made me promise not to call, but I did.”

  Officer Shelley continues, ignoring me. “We need to know where your mommy went, Larissa, so we can look for her. Do you know where she went?”

  She shakes her head no. I’m oddly smug that she isn’t talking to them.

  “She said her mother went out to look for a job. I think that was Wednesday morning, but I’m not sure.”

  “And you’ve been here all alone since your mommy left, Larissa?”

  Larissa nods yes against my neck, but she still won’t turn to look at them.

  Officer Robert, who’s been writing all this down, tucks the notepad into his back pocket. “We’ll have to look around. Do you understand, Larissa? We’re going to look around your place to see if there’s something written down about that job—a phone number, or a name. Okay?”

  She shakes her head no. She’s a tough little kid.

  “Well, we’ll have to anyway. I’m sorry.”

  As they enter the interior of the apartment they move with such confidence—as if this is an ordinary thing, just part of the job. It’s one of the hugest things that has ever happened to me. I want to believe it isn’t ordinary.

  “When was the last time you tried the aunt?” Officer Shelley asks me as she lifts papers off the dining room table. She’s not looking at me, but I can tell she’s talking to me just by the disdain in her voice. I am someone she can easily dismiss, just some foolish woman. I am bound and determined to prove her wrong.

  “At three forty-five A.M.,” I say, as if I actually know the exact time.

  “And that number was?”

  I tell her. I’ll remember that number forever.

  “The phone is?”

  I point to where I left the portable by the chair. She goes to the phone and dials the number. Hangs up. “Do you have any idea where your auntie is, Larissa?”

  A shake of her head. My arms are beginning to ache. I lean back against the surface of the dining room table, thankful for its thick legs.

  “Will you please talk to the police officers?” I say softly to Larissa. “They’re just trying to help you.”

  Another no against my neck. I hold her as they look around, go into the bedrooms and the bathroom. “It’s okay,” I whisper to Larissa. Whispering feels like we’re in a conspiracy. I say it louder. “It’s okay.”

  Finally Officer Robert approaches us and smiles gently, tilting his head, trying to get a look at Larissa then shrugging as if it doesn’t matter—he can do his job, even if he doesn’t know what she looks like. She’s beautiful, I want to say.

  “Nothing.” He shrugs his large shoulders. “No phone book, names on papers. We haven’t gone through the unopened boxes, and we’re not going to do that. We’ll have to canvass the apartment building, see if her neighbors know something. It may take a while. You’ll stay here?”

  “Yes. Of course.”

  “We’ll be back as soon as we can, but you might want to sit down.”

  I smile at him, grateful for a little consideration. “I will. Thank you.”

  “Larissa,” he says, tugging at his ear. “Do you know any of the neighbors?”

  She shakes her head no.

  “Thought not,” he says, but nicely. The police officers leave. I can hear them knocking on doors.

  Carefully, still holding Larissa, I move back into the living room and look out the window over the couch, hoping to see a woman running down the sidewalk toward this apartment building, worried and terrified. I want her to be terrified. Plenty of cars, but no black woman running toward home. I turn around and sit on the couch, shifting Larissa so she’s on my lap when I sit down. “They’re going to help us,” I say. Us? How did this child and I become us?

  Larissa slides off my lap and moves over on the couch, back to her corner, chin up, thumb in mouth, Lucy tucked to her chest. She won’t look my way when I speak to her. A little more than twenty minutes later, the police officers come back. They knock on the door, and I get up to let them in. When I turn back from the door, Larissa is standing right behind me and I nearly trip over her. I offer out my arms, but she steps back one step. She doesn’t want to be picked up, but she wants to be near me in case she needs to be picked up, and then I’m the best bet going.

  “We didn’t find out anything helpful,” Officer Robert says. Sweat trickles down from his hairline and he swipes it away. “The neighbors say Mrs. Benton and Larissa moved in less than a month ago. That they kept to themselves. No one remembers any visitors, anything out of the ordinary. We’ll have to contact Children and Family Services.”

  “And that means?”

  “They’ll come here, pick up Larissa, and place her in temporary custody of the county. She needs to be someplace safe while we look for her mother.”

  “I could take her to my house,” I offer, knowing they won’t let me.

  Officer Robert smiles kindly. “Sorry, Ms. Marlowe, we can’t let you do that. I understand how you feel, but that would be impossible.”

  “I know,” I say. I don’t want him to think I’m stupid.

  “We’ll just make that phone call?”

  “Yes. Okay.” I move so he can get by me to the phone. Officer Shelley stays right by
the door, as if she’s guarding it.

  Larissa doesn’t move. She stands in her place, glaring at Officer Robert, then at me. “I hate you,” she says. I think it’s Officer Robert she means. He takes the phone into the kitchen. I hear, “Abandoned . . . This lady . . . No one knows . . .”

  “They’re sending someone out,” he says when he comes back in. “They should be here soon. You can go now. She’ll be safe with us.”

  I freeze. I can’t just leave. I promised her. I look at Officer Robert. “Can I stay? You can see she trusts me. I’m a familiar face. Can’t I stay?”

  Officer Robert waits a beat, then nods.

  “Christ,” Officer Shelley says under her breath, but loud enough for me to hear.

  “Thank you,” I say to Officer Robert. Then, “Can I ask another favor?”

  He cocks his head. “Such as?”

  “Would you watch her while I go to the bathroom?”

  He laughs. “Yes. Certainly, go right ahead.”

  I don’t sit down on the toilet, just crouch above it as if I’m in a public restroom. I wash my hands, but am too afraid to dry them on the green hand towel, even though it looks perfectly clean, so I wipe them on my slacks. The shower has a glass door, slightly ajar, and I peek behind it. What if her mother is dead in there, and no one knows?

  Then, very quietly, I open the cabinet above the sink. There are all the normal things one might find, and some pill bottles. None are facing out and I’m afraid to touch them. The police might fingerprint the apartment and I’m obviously a bit suspect already. Still, I can see a bit of the label and can tell they’re CVS bottles. Just like mine. I might have seen this woman at CVS, seen Larissa. Two people who meant absolutely nothing to me. Who could imagine that right now I really do want to grab Larissa and run?

  I did an interpreting job down at Children and Family Services once. I interpreted for a deaf mother who lost temporary custody of her child. Temporary turned out to be more than two years. Maybe if I’d stayed out of it, Larissa would have reached her aunt today. Which makes me think; maybe as soon as they find her aunt, they’ll let Larissa stay with her. The idea of foster homes sends a shiver up my spine.

  I come out to find Larissa standing just outside the bathroom. I walk over to the wooden chair where I sat all morning, and she follows me.

  “Would you like to sit in my lap?” I ask.

  Of course she shakes her head no.

  “She can talk,” I tell Officer Robert and Officer Shelley, who stand in the dining room. “She’s quite bright.” I feel like I’m bragging about my own child, and blush. I’m so hot, I think I might pass out. I’ve never fainted in my life.

  “Would you like to sit down?” I ask them.

  “I’m going back out to the cruiser,” Officer Robert says. “But Officer Shelley will stay here with you.”

  She pulls out a chair from the table, turns it toward the front door, and sits down, legs splayed out, feet firmly on the ground. She doesn’t even look my way. Officer Robert leaves, giving me a nod. He’s okay. I’m the one who asked for a woman officer.

  We wait.

  I want coffee so bad, I can taste the absence of it in my mouth. And I’m hungry. I want Children and Family Services to come soon, and I hope they won’t come at all. Larissa sits on the couch and looks at me, not glaring now; she has a pleading look that makes me sick to my stomach.

  If her aunt can’t take her, I will.

  Chapter Six

  The buzzer rings and I stand, but Officer Shelley shakes her head; answering the door is no longer my job—if I ever thought it was. The woman from Children and Family Services comes in and shows the policewoman her badge, then asks Officer Shelley to sign a piece of paper on her clipboard. When they’re done with the formalities, they both walk into the living room.

  Larissa is pressed against the back of the couch, knees drawn up.

  The woman looks at Larissa, then nods to me. “I’m Yolanda Walker, social worker with CFS.” She’s black and probably in her early thirties. Her hair lies against her head in flattened waves, and her makeup is precisely painted on; her lips outlined, a careful sweep of eyeliner, a perfect swatch of blush. She carries a clipboard and a white canvas bag with the words Department of Children and Family Services written on it in stark blue letters.

  “I’m Alice Marlowe,” I say.

  “Yes, I know. And this must be Larissa. Hello, Larissa.” Larissa glowers at the social worker. “I’m Mrs. Walker. I’m here to take you to a safe place, where there are people who can help you.”

  “Go away.”

  Yolanda Walker kneels down in front of Larissa. In her pressed black pants and fitted jacket, her pressed hair and perfect nails, she looks polished, almost glossy, but her voice is kind. “I know this must be very hard for you, Larissa, but you can’t stay here without an adult. You must have been a little scared, being here all by yourself. We don’t want you to be scared. We want to help you. Are there some special things you want to bring along? If you show me your favorite clothes, we’ll bring those, and you’ll feel more comfortable.”

  “Go away. I hate you.”

  The social worker smiles gently at Larissa, as if this is just what she expected. She doesn’t seem to take it personally that Larissa hates her.

  “I’m sorry, Larissa, but you’ll have to come with me. It’s the law, but it’s also because we care about you. Can you show me your room, please, so we can find some of your favorite things to bring along?”

  “Go away!” Larissa’s close to tears, but she looks too mad to cry.

  “Her room’s this way,” Officer Shelley says, pointing to the hallway.

  Mrs. Walker smiles a little less gently at the policewoman. “All right, thank you.” She turns back to Larissa. “I guess I’ll just have to go and see what I can find by myself. Looks like you have your favorite bunny right there.”

  Larissa curls into a ball around the stuffed rabbit and tucks her head down.

  “Oh, Larissa, I don’t want to take your bunny. You hold on to it while I find you some clothes. You can stay in your pajamas if you like.” She stands up, unfolding from her kneeling position with ease. She and Officer Shelley disappear into the hallway.

  “I’m so sorry,” I say to the curled shape of Larissa.

  She doesn’t tell me to go away.

  When Yolanda Walker comes back into the living room carrying the canvas bag now filled with Larissa’s clothes, Officer Shelley heads straight for the front door.

  “Time to go.” Sweat beads on her forehead. It’s so hot in here it makes me queasy thinking of Larissa waiting for days in this sweltering apartment for her mother.

  Where is her auntie? Has this girl’s whole family fallen right off the face of the earth?

  “Could I talk to you just a minute?” I ask the social worker, tilting my head toward the kitchen.

  She looks at me for a moment. “Certainly.”

  “I’ll be right back,” I tell Larissa.

  “Look,” I say when we get into the kitchen. “Maybe I’ve gotten involved when I shouldn’t have, but I’m here now. Can I come along with you, wherever you’re taking her? Please? I think she trusts me. I could help, any way you want.”

  She studies me for a while, thinking. She has a patient air of authority, that take-charge attitude I admire in a woman. In men, it always seems arrogant.

  “All right,” she says, nodding slowly. “If Larissa agrees. We’ll be going to the hospital for an examination. If you want to come along and wait with us in the waiting room, that’ll be fine. It can be a long wait, we won’t be a priority. You’ll have to stay out in the waiting room while she’s examined.”

  “Yes, of course.”

  “After, you can come with us downtown, but you’ll have to say good-bye to her there. You can’t come into child care. No one can. Not even her mother.”

  “Thank you.” I sound a bit weepy. I’m bone tired, emotionally exhausted, and I should go home, but I
haven’t done anything I ought to yet; why start now?

  I feel Vince grin.

  Oh, shut up, I tell him.

  “It’s up to Larissa,” she reminds me.

  “I know.” I’m betting that Larissa’s agreeing will not be the biggest problem in the next few minutes.

  I’m right. She won’t move, no matter how many kind words Yolanda Walker uses. Even the offer of my coming along has no effect. Larissa stays balled up, coiled like a snake. Finally, when Yolanda tries to take Larissa’s hand, Larissa kicks her right in the crotch. I don’t think Larissa was aiming for that particular spot; it’s just blind luck. Yolanda gasps and bends over double. This pisses off Officer Shelley to no end.

  “Enough of this. You will have to vacate the apartment now.”

  Vacate? What kind of word is that for a six-year-old?

  Larissa glares at us from under one arm. I decide I’ll wait for someone else to try to pick her up. Officer Shelley decides that will be her.

  “We can’t wait here all day. I’m sorry, either you get up off the couch and walk out of the apartment with us, or I’ll have to carry you.”

  “Fuck you,” Larissa says.

  That stops us all dead. I quickly cover my mouth with my hand. I don’t want Larissa to see me smile. Officer Shelley doesn’t think it so funny. More quickly than I thought possible, considering all that equipment and heavy clothing, she grabs Larissa and picks her up, managing to wrap one arm around both of Larissa’s drawn-up legs so she can’t kick out. The officer’s other arm comes around Larissa’s shoulder, holding down at least one of her arms. The arm not held down is holding Lucy.

  A look of horror crosses Larissa’s face, understanding that if she uses her free hand to fight back, she’ll lose Lucy. Still, she struggles, shaking her head and screaming, a wail of no’s and sobs so painful it catches my breath.

  “Careful,” Mrs. Walker says to Officer Shelley. “Careful. Don’t hurt her. Oh, Larissa, it’s all right. It’s okay. We’ll take good care of you.”

  Officer Shelley begins walking toward the front door, and Larissa’s screams get louder. It has to hurt the policewoman’s ears. “No! No! No! Go away! Go away! I hate you!” Her words are shouted through sobs, and tears run down my face.