by Kara Thomas
“Anyway, look.” She points to a picture of a brunette with a big smile. Big, as in, Look at my big teeth and big gums in all their glory.
Anne Marie Jones. The quote she selected for beneath her picture is from Sex and the City.
“Remember her?” Callie asks.
I didn’t really know Anne Marie Jones, other than that she was as boring as her name. Joslin didn’t bring her around to the house, because we never brought friends over. And Anne Marie wasn’t exactly a friend. She and Joslin worked at the bakery together.
Jos loved that job, even though it got her up at four-thirty in the morning. She worked the counter, weighing out butter cookies and tying up cake boxes in twine. She hoped her boss would eventually let her help with the baking and decorating. My sister always had steady hands, like a sculptor’s. In the backyard she’d make fairies for me out of twigs and leaves, tying flower petal wings to their backs with grass as easily as if it had been thread.
“She went to the movies with Lori and Joslin a couple of times,” Callie says.
Yes, she did, I realize. And Joslin complained about it because Anne Marie invited herself. Jos talked about Anne Marie as if being in a room with her had been a hostage situation, but Lori never turned down the opportunity to make new friends.
“Is she still around?” I ask.
Callie nods. “Apparently, she’s Anne Marie Hahn now. As in, the Boathouse Hahns. Married their son or something.”
I know better than to get my hopes up; Joslin didn’t tell anyone why she was leaving or where she was going, least of all some clinger she worked with at a summer job. But if Anne Marie married into money—well, Fayette’s version of money—she probably considers herself important. And important people tend to know things. Or at least they think they do.
•••
Anne Marie Hahn lives in a two-story house that’s not quite the McMansion she was hoping her husband would spring for. I can tell because as soon as Callie said she was Lori Cawley’s cousin, Anne Marie welcomed us inside, beaming, shamelessly pointing out that she’s “done okay” for herself when we complimented her home.
Two children are screaming their brains out in the living room off the foyer.
“Ugh, be right back,” Anne Marie says. “Preschool ran only until June, so I have no help for the summer.”
Callie makes a sympathetic clucking sound, while I wonder what the fuck kind of help a woman who doesn’t work could possibly need. I stare at the wall to keep a straight face. It’s painted sky blue, adorned in black decals proclaiming Live. Laugh. Love. Picture frames embossed with Family. Almost as if Anne Marie were trying to convince herself of something.
I must snort, because Callie glares at me. “I think it’s kind of nice,” she says.
In the living room, Anne Marie is setting up a Wiggles DVD for the boys. A DVD. Typical Fayette. No one even uses Netflix here.
Both kids are blond. Both under five. One stares at Callie and me, his upper lip curling at the sight of a stranger. The other whines for gummy sharks, and Anne Marie snaps that he can have them after lunch.
“Yeesh.” She meets us back in the hall, her smile so wide and fake, I have to look away. “Gosh, you two are so grown up. Insanity.”
Anne Marie suggests we sit “out back.” She drops us at a patio table and hustles inside, then comes out minutes later with a carton of Minute Maid, cups, and two water bottles.
Anne Marie sets both elbows on the table. Rests her chin on her folded hands. I can’t tell if she’s staring at me or at Callie. Her bulging Pomeranian eyes are unfocused.
She clearly knows who I am, since she said You two are so grown up, but she hasn’t acknowledged me directly.
“So how are you?” She beams again, like we’re old friends shooting the shit. I look at the lemonade and the cups, and I feel bad for Anne Marie.
Callie looks at me.
“My father died,” I say. Pathos.
Anne Marie’s face softens. “I’m so sorry. Is there anything I can do?”
People who are grieving hate that question, I’ve heard. It’s nothing more than a dumb platitude. But leave it to me to be that person who follows it up with, Well, there’s one thing…
I clear my throat a little. “I’m trying to find my sister.”
Anne Marie frowns. “I haven’t heard from Joslin since she ran away.”
“No one has,” Callie cuts in. “That’s why we’re looking for Danny.”
“Danny Densing?” Anne Marie’s brow furrows in confusion, and she takes a sip of her lemonade. “But he and Joslin weren’t seeing each other anymore when she left.”
I knew this, of course; not that my sister would ever have told us that she and Danny had broken up, but I saw it in her face. In the months before she left, Danny would come by looking for Jos, but it seemed that every time, she’d still be at the bakery. Some nights she’d come home well past ten, claiming to be bone-tired and unwilling to talk about where she’d been.
Was she avoiding him because she was afraid? Did she know he’d been involved in the Arnold explosion, or worse?
“Do you know where Danny lives now?” I ask Anne Marie.
“Oh, God no,” she says. “Last I heard he was working at a car dealership somewhere.”
Anne Marie hands me a cup of lemonade. Before I can raise it to my lips, a gnat flies in. I set the cup down as she pours one for Callie, who is insisting she’s not thirsty.
“Honestly, I thought that Joslin would come back, eventually,” Anne Marie prattles on. “I mean, she talked about getting an apartment somewhere, and I’d be like, ‘Jos, do you have any idea how much it costs to live on your own?’ ”
So my sister did tell someone she planned on leaving. I pick up the lemonade to distract my hands, then remember the gnat floating in it.
“I can’t believe she’d just leave you like that.” Anne Marie covers my hand with hers, but her eyes are still unfocused. “You were just a child.”
So was Joslin, according to the law. “Yeah. It was rough.”
Anne Marie shakes her head. “And after everything you two had been through, with the trial.”
Callie shifts in her chair. “I actually wanted to talk a bit about Lori. I don’t know how well you remember her—”
“Of course I remember her,” Anne Marie says. “Lori was the absolute sweetest.”
I don’t miss the way her eyes flick toward me, almost like an accusation. Lori was the sweetest. Joslin was not. It makes me wonder if Anne Marie knows something about my sister that she’s not saying.
“We’re just…trying to make sense of what happened that summer,” Callie says vaguely.
Anne Marie’s eyes widen. “Oh, you poor things. You’re worried about him getting out, aren’t you?”
She leans over and covers both our hands with hers, as if we were eight, not eighteen. “He will never, ever be let out. He’ll never be able to hurt anyone again.”
Callie offers Anne Marie a wan smile. “Oh, we know. Lori was just…I still miss her a lot. It’s nice hearing someone other than my family talk about her.”
As it turns out, hearing herself talk is Anne Marie’s favorite thing. And Lori has clearly achieved saintlike status in her mind.
“She was older than us, but she acted like an awesome kid, you know?” Anne Marie smiles to herself. “This new Disney-Pixar movie came out, and she wanted to see it at midnight, and Jos and I were too embarrassed. So Lori was like, ‘Screw you guys!’ and went on her own.”
Callie hangs on Anne Marie’s every word, a hungry look on her face. I realize she wasn’t lying when she said she likes hearing people talk about Lori. I know how it feels when you’re missing someone—no story anyone can tell is enough. Even if someone’s willing to talk about them forever, it wouldn’t be enough.
Callie clears her throat. “Did Lori and Joslin ever fight?”
Anne Marie frowns. “I can’t picture Lori fighting with anyone.”
�
��Not even an argument?” I ask.
Anne Marie is quiet for a beat. “Well— I mean, I told this to the police when they asked if Lori seemed upset about anything before she died—”
“What did you tell them?” Callie sits up. Under the table, I slam my leg into hers, as if to say, Shut the hell up.
“Lori came to see Jos on her lunch break,” Anne Marie says. “They were out back, and I heard them a bit when I went to throw out the garbage.”
Anne Marie was eavesdropping on them. I’d bet my life on it.
“I didn’t know what they were talking about, but Lori was upset, and Jos wouldn’t listen to her,” she says. “I think it had something to do with a boy.”
“Danny?” I ask.
Anne Marie shakes her head.
“What about Mike, or Tommy?”
“No, I’m pretty sure it was Steven,” Anne Marie says.
I look at Callie, who shrugs.
“Who’s Steven?” I ask.
“I have no idea,” Anne Marie says. “Jos and I didn’t go to school with anyone named Steven, so I assumed it was someone Lori knew from home.”
It definitely wasn’t Lori’s boyfriend. His name was Chip. I remember, because when Lori told Joslin about him, Jos laughed so hard, I thought her spleen would explode—even though Lori insisted Chip was short for Christopher and he kind of looked like Matt Damon circa Good Will Hunting.
“And you’re sure they were arguing?” Callie asks.
“I don’t know. Maybe it was more like…disagreeing?” Anne Marie says. “They seemed okay the next day when they came in together so Jos could pick up her paycheck.”
The screen door off the kitchen slams, and the younger boy—the one with Cars Pull-Ups peeking over the waist of his Baby Gap shorts, the one who stared at me and Callie earlier—toddles out. He climbs into Anne Marie’s lap and jibbers something into her ear.
“What’s wrong, pumpkin?” she asks him. The kid bursts into tears.
Callie tries to ask Anne Marie something, but her voice is drowned out by the baby’s wails.
“I’m so sorry,” Anne Marie shouts. “Someone needs a nap.”
“It’s okay; we should get going anyway,” Callie yells back.
Anne Marie walk us out the backyard gate and down the brick walkway to the curb where we’re parked. The boy is curled around her neck like a spider monkey, shrieking into her ear. The goodbye is short, frazzled.
As we pull away from the curb, I can’t take my eyes off Anne Marie Hahn and her son. I watch her retreat back into her world of live, laugh, love, family and ignore the tugging in my chest.
“Are you sure Steven isn’t one of the Faber brothers?” Callie asks when we reach the main road.
I shrug. “Joe’s ex-wife only said there was Tommy and Mike.”
“Maybe Steven was someone Lori knew from back home,” Callie murmurs.
“Then why would Lori and Jos be arguing about him?” I ask.
“We don’t even know that they were arguing,” Callie says. “How is Anne Marie supposed to know for sure after ten years?”
“You didn’t hear Lori on the phone, Callie.” I’m feeling especially crabby after that visit with Anne Marie Hahn for some reason. “Lori was pissed.”
Callie grips the steering wheel. “All I’m saying is that it’s been so long. I can’t remember what I was doing on this day a week ago, and you’re so sure Lori was fighting with Jos that night.”
I turn my head and look out the window. “Some things, you just don’t forget.” Even though I wish I could.
•••
When we get back to the house, Maggie is watering the hydrangea bushes that circle the porch. She lowers the hose when she sees us. “Where’d you two go?”
“Luigi’s,” Callie says, plucking out the name of the Italian ice place up the road from the pool. The Greenwoods used to take Callie and me there all the time; one time was after Callie’s twirling competition. She freaked out and refused to get out of the car because people would see her in full costume and makeup.
“We’d have brought you something, but it would have melted,” Callie adds for effect before disappearing into the house.
I wind up helping Maggie water the rest of the plants so she can finish weeding before the three p.m. sun hits. When we’re done, she starts prepping dinner in the kitchen. I sneak into the family room, where I saw the latest version of the yellow pages stacked next to the user manuals for the computer.
I figure no one will miss the phone book for a few hours. I abscond upstairs with it, hoping Maggie won’t be up anytime soon to ask if I’ve made any plans to reschedule my flight.
The guest room is stifling, so I hate to close the door. At dinner last night, Rick talked about moving the AC unit from the family room into the guest room, so I wouldn’t have to sleep with the window open every night. I insisted that he not go through the trouble and said I was fine, even though it feels like I’m cocooned in the folds of Satan’s ball sack every night. I crank the fan to high and sit in front of it, the phone book opened in my lap to car dealerships.
There are three pages of numbers for dealerships in Fayette County alone. The county is huge, covering about thirty different townships. If Danny Densing were smart, he would have gotten out of the county completely.
But Danny was not smart when I knew him, and in my experience, dumb people get dumber as they get older. If he’s managed to avoid charges for the Arnold explosion for this long, he probably thinks he’s home free. I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s still in the county.
I call the first dealership, Brownsville Chevrolet, and am told that no one named Dan or Danny works there. When someone finally picks up at the fifth place on the list, I ask for Danny. Someone mumbles “Hold on” and transfers me. My stomach folds into itself.
The line clicks. “This is Dani,” a woman says.
I hang up.
I lie on my back, hoping the purr of the fan will distract me from feeling like a black Lab left in the backyard all day. The skin on my nose is taut and burned; no doubt, my freckles have doubled. It’s a good thing I’m not vain.
I pick up where I left off on the list of car dealerships. After almost two hours, I’m running out of numbers. The smell of sautéed onions has made its way upstairs. At some point, I heard Callie take a shower across the hall. A man picks up the phone.
“Bob speaking.”
“I’m looking for someone named Danny.”
“Got two of ’em here.”
The floor seems to fall out from beneath me. I look down at the phone book, to where I’m holding my place with a finger. Smith’s Nissan.
“ ’Lo?” Bob asks.
“Densing,” I say. “Is one of them Danny Densing?”
A click. The bastard hung up on me. I hold my phone away from me, staring at the screen in disbelief, and notice that the call is still running. I put the phone back to my ear.
Ringing. He transferred me.
The phone rings and rings until I get an answering machine.
“Hey, this is Dan. I’ve had to step out, but if you leave me a message and your number, I’ll get back to you as soon as I can.”
The tone beeps. The blood in my body stops flowing, and I suddenly feel chilled to the bone.
I have to say something before the machine cuts me off. I recite my phone number and tell Danny that I need to speak with him about buying an Altima. I say that my name is Kelly.
My hands are still shaking long after I hang up. I thought it was impossible to be sure of anything having to do with this place anymore, but I know without a shadow of a doubt that the voice on the answering machine is Danny Densing’s.
•••
Maggie watches me a lot during dinner—probably because I have one hand in my pocket the whole time, on my phone, in case it rings. Rick is covering someone’s shift, so it’s just the three of us. When Callie’s done eating, she announces that she’s going to Sabrina’s.
; “You barely ate anything.” Maggie frowns, but Callie is already up and grabbing her keys from the counter. Her hair is straightened, and her collarbone shimmers from a fresh coat of body cream.
She’s not going to Sabrina’s. She’s going to Ryan’s, no doubt. I picture them under his sheets. I wonder what it’s like, letting someone in like that. Or if Callie uses hooking up to keep Ryan where she wants him.
Then I feel like a creep, and I stop.
“I’ll be back in a couple of hours,” Callie says. And, almost as an afterthought, she kisses Maggie on the cheek.
Maggie lifts a hand to her face, stunned.
“No more than that!” she calls after Callie, who’s at the front door. “We have to be out of here by six-thirty a.m. at the latest.”
The screen door slams, and Maggie turns to me. “The girls Callie coached this year have their USTA auditions in Pittsburgh tomorrow. You’re more than welcome to come.”
“United States…Twirling Association?” I offer.
Maggie smiles. Nods. “I know it doesn’t sound that exciting, and it’ll be a whole-day thing, but we can grab lunch in the city, explore a bit.”
I push the corn kernels and lima beans around on my plate while this sinks in. The Greenwoods will be gone all day.
“I actually…” I set my fork down. “I have plans tomorrow. With an old friend.”
Maggie cocks her head. “Who?”
“Decker Lucas?” I want to shrink in my seat. Not only am I lying to her, because Decker and I don’t have plans—not yet, at least—but she probably thinks my embarrassment means we’re going on a date.
“Oh,” Maggie says, blinking with surprise. “Decker’s a nice boy.”
Maybe I’m imagining it, but her smile seems to flicker a bit as we turn our attention back to our plates. Almost like she doesn’t believe me.
•••
When I get back up to my room, I check my phone for any missed calls or voice mails, even though there’s no way I wouldn’t have felt it vibrate. I change into pajamas and settle into bed, my father’s drawing of the cabin in Bear Creek balanced on my chest.
If Danny calls back—if he’ll even talk to me once he realizes I’m not Altima-shopping Kelly—what are the chances he’s been in touch with Jos in the past ten years?