“What do you mean, frowns upon it?”
She shrugged. “No girl cuts her hair. It’s our shining glory.”
“Glory? Your glory would be a lot shinier if I could trim some of it off.”
She drew back, and I knew I’d gone too far.
“Whatever,” I said.
She looked at me out of the corner of her eye.
“But if you ever do want to cut some of it off, I’m your girl.” I couldn’t resist the final word.
She actually smiled. A tiny smile, perhaps, but it was there.
****
The next day at school, I tried to nose my way into a few conversations with the sole purpose of finding out where everyone lived. My riding-the-bus plan to see Pete depended on it.
I wasn’t too successful. The repeated response was, “Hey, aren’t you one of the girls who lives at Pleasant Living Home?”
The minute I nodded, I’d get a sideways glance, a turned-up nose, and the end of the conversation. The whole day had been a waste. After school, Jasmyn lumbered onto the bus and sank down heavily beside me.
“This is getting old,” she said, patting her stomach. “About seven more weeks to go. How much bigger can I possibly get?”
“How do I find out where everyone around here lives?” I asked.
She made a face. “Why do you want to know? Who cares?” When I didn’t answer she went on, “You’ll be here a few months, then poof, back to your old life.”
“No poof for me. I’m keeping this baby, and I’m going to marry my boyfriend.”
Jasmyn looked at me with raised eyebrows. “Do say. So when do we get to meet this Mr. Charming? Is he coming tonight for visitation?”
“Not exactly,” I answered.
Her eyes narrowed, and she shook her head. “I see. So, he hasn’t asked you to marry him yet, right?”
“No, but he will.”
“Right.” She dragged out the word, patted me on the leg, and pursed her hot pink lips.
I thrust her hand away. “You sound like my mother. You’ll see. Everyone will see. Guys don’t say no to me.”
“More like you didn’t say no to them,” she snapped back.
I glared at her, but she was already gazing out the window.
I sat back. Fine. Let her think whatever she wanted to; it didn’t make one ounce of difference to me.
Chapter Five
After dinner, Lizbet re-braided her hair and tied it with a purple ribbon. I sat on my bed, watching her. She kept glancing at me from under her eyelids, like she was fixing her hair in secret. Finally, she walked over to my bed.
“How would you do my hair?” she asked, her eyes on the floor.
I patted my bed. “Here, sit.”
She sat. I untangled her braid and reached for the brush on my bed stand. I poked around at the stiff roll of hair she always wore above her forehead. “What’s holding this mass up?” I asked.
She giggled. “Bobby pins.”
I dug until I found the black wire prongs. I pulled them out one by one and dropped them on the bed. Her hair kinked out over her ears. I brushed through it until it straightened a bit.
“What’s with the coffee can roll up there anyway? Is it required by your church, too?”
She put her hand over her mouth and giggled again.
“Well, it’s gone now and good riddance,” I said. Her hair was soft and smooth — great hair actually. “I want to cut it. Are you sure I can’t?”
“Ned’s coming. He’d die.”
“I seriously doubt it. He’s a guy, isn’t he? He’d appreciate some pretty hair.”
She shook her head. “He’d be too surprised.”
“Or he wouldn’t notice at all. As I said, he’s a guy.”
She was biting the edge of her lip. “My parents wouldn’t like it.”
“Yeah, well, my parents don’t like much of anything I do.” I swished her hair loosely across her forehead and caught it up in the back. “Maybe a French braid. Granted, they’re not exactly hot news right now, but better than your concoction.”
I started to weave her hair, which given the length, wasn’t easy. I spent a good twenty minutes on it, while she sat patiently, not saying a word. I nixed the ribbon and fastened it with a plain rubber band.
“Okay, go look.”
Lizbet stood and faced the mirror. It wasn’t a great transformation, but still, it was something. Removing the lump on top was the best part. She stood motionless, staring. Then she raised her hands, and her long slender fingers rippled over her hair.
“I look... better,” she said. Her eyes searched mine. “Still, I don’t think my brother will approve.”
“Man, Lizbet, who cares? He’s only your brother. I don’t think it matters.”
She glanced at her watch. “He should be here. Want to meet him?”
I was way ahead of her. I’d already jumped off the bed and was heading for the door. “Wouldn’t miss it for the world.”
When visitors came, we were to entertain them in the den. It was the most central spot, so therefore the most public. If it was a boyfriend who came, Steve and Edie were pretty certain nothing R-rated was going to take place.
Lizbet and I walked through the living room into the den, and there he was. To say I was surprised would be putting it mildly. I’d expected some Amish guy with a weird Abraham Lincoln beard and a top hat.
I was so wrong.
Ned saw us coming and stood facing us. His thick blond hair swooped below his ears. His black jeans hugged him in all the right places. A loose T-shirt fell over his athletic shoulders. Did this guy lift weights? But what stopped me cold were his intense blue eyes. They glanced over Lizbet and then settled on me. His piercing gaze peeled back the layers I carefully wore those days. I stared back, and our eyes locked. Lizbet coughed and the moment disintegrated. He shook his head slightly as if confused, then focused on Lizbet.
“Your hair, it’s different.” His voice rolled out in rich mellow waves.
I needed to sit down. I inched over to the couch and sank onto it.
Lizbet’s hands patted her hair. “Do you like it?”
He squinted his eyes, surveying her. Then he nodded. “I do. It’s nice.”
“Farah did it for me.” She pointed to me on the couch.
“Farah,” he said. He walked to me, and my eyes grew big. He stuck out his hand. “Nice to meet you.”
I took his offered hand, and his grasp was warm, firm, and quick.
He turned back to Lizbet. “Let’s sit,” he said. He took her arm and gently pulled her down on the opposite couch.
What in the world was I doing? I was pregnant and waiting for Pete. My reaction to Ned was not only ridiculous but way over the top. There had been hundreds of hot guys in my life before this stranger. And I was the one who called the shots. Those guys followed me around like puppies, not the other way around.
So why was I melting into the couch?
I shook my head to clear my mind when I realized he’d said something to me. His face was open, expectant, waiting for an answer.
“What?” I asked.
“Just wondered where you’re from,” he said.
“Edgemont.”
“Not far from here. You having visitors tonight?”
I shook my head.
“Hmm. Shame. Lizbet may have to share me then.”
Was he flirting with me? I must have gone bug-eyed because he laughed. Lizbet sat watching, and her eyes darted between us. A look of mild confusion covered her face.
I was never one to back down from a flirting game. In fact, I usually started them. “I guess she will have to share you,” I answered. I knew my green eyes were flashing an invitation — I’d practiced the look often enough.
He gazed at me then seemed to reconsider. He shifted his body toward his sister. “What would you like to do tonight? Play games or visit?”
So now he was playing hard to get. I settled back into the couch and watched him. I was
biding my time, waiting for an opening. I must have been insane. This wasn’t a game anymore. I was going to be a mother. My stomach lurched inside me, and I bolted from the couch, down the hallway to the toilet.
Lizbet came back to our room an hour later. “Where’d you go?” she asked.
“Had to puke. Sorry.”
She perched on the edge of her bed. “What’d you think of my brother?”
“He’s nice,” I said, keeping my voice toneless.
“He thought you were pretty. Do you have a brother?”
My face blanched, and my heart contracted with a sudden jerk. What could I say? She sat, waiting for me to answer.
Finally I said, “Yes.”
She perked up. “Great. Maybe he can come visit when Ned’s here. Maybe we can even go to the movies or something.”
I fiddled with my pearl ring, twisting it around and around my finger. “Probably won’t happen.”
“Why not? Is he mad you’re here?”
“He doesn’t even know.”
“Why not?”
“It’s a long story. Maybe I’ll tell you sometime.” I strode to the closet for my sweats. I pulled off my jeans and sweater and dropped them in a heap on the floor. I kicked them into the closet, and shut the door. I climbed into my sweats and without another word, I slid into bed, closed my eyes, and pretended to sleep.
****
At two o’clock in the morning, I slipped out of the bedroom and down the hall. The shag carpet muffled my steps, so I knew I wouldn’t be caught. I figured if Lizbet woke up and found me gone, she’d assume I was in the bathroom. I did use the bathroom, too, before creeping further down the hall and into the den. On a table in the corner was the community computer. It was reserved for homework purposes, but what I had in mind was far more important than homework.
Many times over the last few years, I’d punched away on a keyboard, hoping for a clue about Sam. I never found him, but it didn’t keep me from trying. It’d been a few months since my last try, though, given I’d been a bit preoccupied with life.
My brother Sam had left when I was a kid in elementary school. I adored him. His leaving carved a hole in my heart so colossal no emergency triage could have mended it. Not that I ever talked about it. I suffered in silence because if I so much as breathed Sam’s name, my mother would dive into a silent fury that lasted for days.
I learned fast to keep my mouth shut.
Watching Lizbet with Ned brought it all back.
The Home was quiet, and the cool night temperature gave it a feeling of a deserted forest. When I stepped into the den, the floor creaked and I froze. I held my breath, waiting to see if anyone stirred. All was still. I waited a few more seconds to be sure then continued to the table and computer. I prayed the volume wasn’t up too loud when it kicked on.
I bent close to the screen and typed in my username. The light made a little cocoon around me, but the rest of the room was dark. Something tapped my shoulder, and I flew out of the chair with a cry. A hand clamped over my mouth.
“Shhh!” someone hissed in my ear.
I twisted around and saw Ariel’s shadowy face. I grabbed her hand away from my mouth.
“What are you doing?” I whispered.
“Snooping. Not unlike you,” she said and gave me a huge smile. “I knew you were a kindred spirit.”
She picked up an extra chair and put it right next to the one I’d sat back down on. “What‘cha doing?”
“Research.”
“Hmm. Research in the middle of the night. I totally believe you.”
I faced the computer and finished typing in my name. The screen flashed “Locked. Password protected.” I typed my info in another time, hitting the keys harder. Again, the flashing message.
“It’s locked.” My jaw tightened — this place was a prison.
“Scoot over,” Ariel said and scooched me off the chair. She plopped down, punched in some numbers, and the computer sprang to life.
I looked at her in wonder. She grinned. “I’m darn good at spying. Now you have to tell me what you’re doing.”
She got up for me, and I slid back in front of the screen. She sat next to me staring intently. “Well, fess up.”
I sat for a minute, not wanting her to see what I was doing.
“Oh come on,” she said. “You might as well spill. You know I’ll find out whatever you’re doing anyway.”
If I didn’t take advantage of the moment, who knew when I’d get another chance? The computer was in continual use, and Edie always hovered in the vicinity, watching.
“What are we researching?” Ariel asked. She gave me a gentle nudge in the ribs. “I’m super good at finding things out.”
“So I see,” I answered. Maybe she could help me. “I’m trying to find my brother.”
“Your brother? How boring. And why is finding him so hard? Is he hiding?”
“You could say so.”
“From the law?” Ariel’s eyebrows lifted and her tone became animated. “Woo hoo. Let’s do it.”
“Not from the law,” I said, keeping my voice low. “He’s been missing for about eight years. I’ve tried a million times to find him. My mother chased him off when I was little.”
“How old was he then?”
“He’s nine years older than me, which would make him twenty-five right now.”
“Is he cute?”
I made a face. “How would I know? It’s been eight years.”
“Oh, right. Sorry. Must be the late hour.” She tapped her fingers on her chin. “I assume you’ve tried all the social media sites.”
“Tons of times.”
“The search engines, too?”
“Tons of times.”
“Okay, this calls for drastic measures.”
We both sat with the screen’s light shining on us as if we were stage performers. Ariel’s staring eyes reflected everything on the screen. She jerked upright. “I’ve got it. We’ll search backwards.”
“What?”
“We’ll plaster you all over the internet. He can find you.”
“He’s not looking.”
“Maybe he doesn’t know he is, but he is. We’re going to put you everywhere.”
“How?”
“Oh, Farah, have faith.”
My insides trembled and nausea rushed to my throat. Could this work? My legs trembled, and my heart flapped against my ribs. Would I get to see Sam after all these years? Finally? After eight years?
“Ariel, you’re brilliant,” I said and meant it.
“And I love to prove my brilliance. We have about forty minutes. The passcode is timed. So, move it.”
I sat in front of the computer’s camera and we got a mug shot. My eyes were a bit bleary, but it wasn’t bad. Once we had the photo, we posted it on every site possible. Amazingly, she had logins to three old boyfriends’ accounts, so we posted on their accounts, too. I typed in “Farah Menins looking for Sam Menins” on every site.
We were like two school girls on a field trip to Adventure Land. By the end of the hour, we were poking each other, laughing with our hands clamped over our mouths, and crossing our legs so we wouldn’t wet our pants.
By three o’clock, the computer was back off, sitting on the table as if it’d been sleeping all night.
Ariel put her arm around my shoulder and gave me a quick squeeze. “It’ll work,” she whispered, and we both padded off to our rooms.
Chapter Six
On Wednesday in the early evening, I sat on my bed, organizing my homework. The history teacher had assigned a three-page essay on some aspect of the Civil War. Right, like my mind was all over that. It wasn’t due until the following week, so I figured I could put it off until at least Monday. I also had French. They’d stuck me in French II, when I hadn’t had a word of French in my life, just because the Spanish classes were overcrowded. I figured all of us from the Home were throw-away students, in and out, so they didn’t waste too much energy on us. I was su
rprised Edie hadn’t been down there to throw a fit.
There was a knock at my door. When I opened it, there stood Edie.
“Farah, the Clanstine Adoption Agency is coming this evening to speak with some of the girls. Would you like an appointment with them — you know, to acquaint yourself with your options?”
I backed away from the door. “Adoption agency?”
“Yes, we work with a few different organizations. They each function uniquely, but over the years, our girls have been happy with each one.”
“I’m not giving my baby up for adoption,” I said. “Didn’t I make it clear from the beginning?”
Edie shrugged, calm and nonplussed. “We sometimes find the girls have a change of heart. It can be confusing. An appointment doesn’t signify a commitment either way. It’s simply learning what’s available.”
“I don’t need to know what’s available. I’m keeping my baby. Everyone seems to forget I’m getting married.” I was angry now, and my voice snapped. Why wouldn’t anyone believe me?
Edie’s eyebrows raised slightly. “I’m sorry, Farah, I didn’t mean to upset you. Don’t worry about it then. However, if you change your mind or become curious, let me know.”
I shut the door. Probably too hard. My breath heaved. It was my mother all over again. Like Edie, Mother hadn’t believed a word I’d said on the horrid night I’d dropped the pregnancy bomb. But I’d show Edie. I’d show them both.
Lizbet came in the room. I swirled when I heard the door, thinking it was Edie to push her cause. When I saw Lizbet, I relaxed and went back to my homework. Lizbet was so quiet, I assumed she’d wander over to her own side of the room to read or something. Instead, she came over and sat beside me.
I looked at her in surprise.
“I have an appointment,” she said. Her hands were busy, skimming over the buttons running down her long skirt.
“With the adoption people?”
She nodded and seemed ready to burst into tears.
“It’s what you want, isn’t it?”
“It’s what they want.”
The “they” reverberated like a heavy stone in a metal bucket.
Farah's Deadline Page 4