I take my cup of tea out to the deck and stare up at the sky, as has become my habit lately. Stars layer the blackened canvas overhead, and I think of the Creator who can name every star in the sky—surely He has the power to help a little girl speak.
"Please . . ." I speak into the night. "Please let her speak again."
CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE
Kaylee
I look out my window and decide the dark seems omnibus tonight. Omnibus? I unzip my backpack and pull the dictionary out and look up omnibus.
omni·bus—noun 1. a volume of reprinted works of a single author or of works related in interest or theme.
That's not it. I read through the Os until I find what I'm looking for.
om·i·nous—1. portending evil or harm; foreboding; threatening; inauspicious; an ominous bank of dark clouds. 2. having the significance of an omen.
That's it. The dark seems ominous tonight, which is kind of weird because I got used to the dark at the cabin. You're just being a baby, I tell myself. What I'm really doing, I know, is stalling.
I reach for my backpack and zip it closed. I unwrap the granola bar and tiptoe to the door; Van follows me. When I get to the door, I open it slowly so it doesn't squeak, then I turn around and put the granola bar on the floor for Van—just like last time. I close the door and begin to tiptoe down the hallway, but my feet feel like they have bricks tied to them and my heart feels the same way. But it doesn't matter. I have to go. I make myself remember the way my mom looked in my dream—and the way she looked so many times before.
She needs me.
She does.
I reach the front door and stop to listen. I hear the hum of the refrigerator in the kitchen, and the clock ticking on the wall, but nothing else. Nothing moves. I reach for the door knob, then hesitate. I turn back toward the living room and look down the hall at Sierra's bedroom door. Good-bye, Sierra. The lump in my throat aches.
I turn back and open the door and walk out, careful to close the door tight behind me. I go down the steps and stop at the lawn. I look in the direction of the ocean. The moon is shining on what looks like an ominous bank of dark clouds.
I start out across the lawn when I realize something doesn't feel right.
I stop. Something really doesn't feel right. My backpack is so light . . .
The dictionary! I left it on the bed!
I turn and run back to the front door and grab for the knob, but it doesn't turn. I try again, harder this time. But it won't budge. I jiggle it and then twist it as hard as I can. I push against the door, but nothing happens.
It's locked!
I shake the knob and push harder on the door. It has to open. It has to! I look over my shoulder into the dark front yard and feel my heart pounding harder and harder. I have to get in. I have to! I gulp for air. I have to get the dictionary!
Then I hear something behind me—something rustling in the flower bed in front of the house. I lift my fist and begin banging on the door. I pound as hard as I can. I open my mouth to yell for Sierra, but nothing comes out.
I can't talk.
I can't breathe.
Tears choke me.
I have to get in! I keep banging on the door—pounding—until finally, the porch light comes on and the door opens. I look up and see Sierra standing there and then, before I can push past her into the house, she is holding me in her arms.
"Oh, Kaylee, what are you doing?" She holds me so tight, and I know I don't ever want her to let me go.
But . . .
I don't need her.
I don't.
She's talking, saying something, telling me to do something, but I can't. I can't do what she wants. I have to go. I have to. I stand there until I can breathe again and then I step back—step away from her. I know what I have to do. I pull away and look past her to the living room. I have to go get the dictionary and I then I have to leave.
I have to go.
I walk around her and head for my bedroom. When I open the door, Van darts around me and heads down the hallway toward Sierra, who, I think, is following me. I grab the dictionary off the bed, stuff it into my backpack, and struggle to zip it closed. It's so heavy now. Instead of lifting it to my shoulders, I drag it behind me as I head back down the hallway. Sure enough, Sierra's there, but I push past her.
"Kaylee, wait! Where are you going?"
I don't stop. But just as I reach the front door and try to open it, she's behind me and grabs my wrist. I twist hard and shake her hand off me. I reach again for the knob, but this time she grabs me from behind. Her arms are around my waist. I swing my arms and kick my legs, but she keeps hanging on. My feet aren't even touching the ground anymore. Then, just like she did the day my mom was here, she picks me up and carries me back into the living room. I'm kicking and crying, but I can't get loose.
When we reach the middle of the room, she puts me down but doesn't let me go. She spins me around so I'm facing her. She's still holding on tight.
"Kaylee . . ."
She says my name in a whisper, and even in the dark I can see tears glistening on her cheeks. But I can't let myself feel sorry for her. I can't!
I wrench one arm out of her grip and lean toward the door. I pull as hard as I can. But again she grabs me around the waist and picks me up. I kick and swing my arms, but she doesn't let go. All the time I'm fighting her, the words I don't need you! rage in my head.
I don't need you!
The words drop from my head to my mouth—I can feel them there like marbles rattling against my teeth.
The harder I kick, the more marbles fill my mouth. I . . . don't . . . need . . . you!
I swing behind me, trying to loosen Sierra's grip.
Anger pushes from my chest up into my throat, I feel the lump of it stuck there for a minute, but it keeps pushing, forcing its way to my mouth. I open my mouth and the anger comes out in a scream!
I feel Sierra jump at the sound.
Then I spit the marbles out one by one. "I . . . don't . . . need . . . you! I . . . don't . . ."
The sound of the words startle me so much that I stop fighting and I feel Sierra's grip loosen. She puts me down and spins me around again. She gets down on her knees so our faces are almost touching.
"Kaylee!"
I look at her, and spit the rest of the marbles out. ". . . need you. You're . . . super . . . You're super . . . fluous!"
"Kaylee, you're talking!" She puts her arms around me and hugs me tight. "Oh, little one, you're talking!" She pulls back from me, holding my arms again, and looks at my face. Our eyes meet and both are filled with tears.
"You're talking!"
I'm as surprised as she is.
"Wait . . . What did you say? You don't . . . I'm super . . . what? Super fluous? I'm superfluous? Is that what you mean? I'm superfluous?"
I nod my head. But in my heart, I know I don't mean it.
She's not just something super, something extra, something I don't need.
She's not superfluous.
She's Sierra.
CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO
Sierra
Her voice comes to me in colors. I see hues of umber and pumpkin and the vibrant gold of fall aspens—rich, warm colors. Her words hold both emotion and energy. I've waited so long to hear her voice and the sound enchants me. She sounds like someone who's just woken from a deep slumber.
Then the words themselves hit me.
I pull back from her so I can see her face again. "Wait . . . What did you say? You don't . . . I'm super . . . what? Super fluous? I'm superfluous? Is that what you mean? I'm superfluous?"
She looks at the floor and I see a slow nod. Yes. That's what she said.
Her words taunt me to believe the fears that have nagged me since she arrive
d here. She doesn't need me, doesn't want me. Then I look into her eyes, deep pools swirling in confusion. I see her tears brimming, overflowing. And for once, I know, this isn't about me.
"Superfluous? Wow, little one. That's quite a word." I wrap her in an embrace. I'm gentle at first, but then my love for her takes over and I cling to her, crying, laughing. And she clings back, crying her own tears, and whispering, stammering, saying nothing that makes sense to me. But she is speaking!
I pull back and put my hands on her face. I hold her there, just inches from my own face. She quiets, and I tell her. "Kaylee, I love you. You are so precious to me." She wraps her arms around my neck again and holds on tight. After a few minutes I hear her sniffle again. I pull back from her.
"C'mon. Follow me." I get up off my knees and take her hand and lead her to the bathroom. The steps there give me a moment to stitch my emotions back together. When we reach the bathroom, I grab a few tissues and wipe her eyes and her nose. Then I take another tissue and hold it to her nose and tell her to blow. She does. I grab another tissue and wipe my own eyes. Then I remember what led up to this moment. "Kaylee, where were you going?"
She looks down at her feet and shrugs her shoulders.
"It's the middle of the night. You weren't leaving, were you?"
She looks up at me without lifting her head and peers at me through her dark lashes and bangs. Her face flushes. Then her expression changes, like she's just remembered something.
"Oh . . ." She turns and heads back down the hallway.
"Oh?" I smile again at the sound of her voice. Amazing! I follow to see where's she's going now. She opens the front door and bends down and grabs her backpack off the step. I reach to help her. I take it from her, set it on the chair in the living room, and unzip it. I pull out her Bible, a couple of bags of chips, apples, a pair of shorts . . .
"You were leaving, Kaylee?"
"I . . . I have . . ." Her voice is raspy. She clears her throat and begins again. "I have to find . . . I have to find my mom. I have to . . . help her."
"Oh, little one. Oh, no." I wrap her in another hug. "I love you."
"I . . . love . . . you too." She whispers and then pulls away from me. "But . . . but . . . what . . . what . . ." She leaves her question hanging.
"But what? It's okay, you can ask me."
With furrowed brow, she tries again. "What . . . what about . . . my mom? I'm . . . I'm supposed to love her." She hiccups and sniffs.
Ahh . . . Dr. Beth was right. I brush Kaylee's bangs off her forehead. "Kaylee, you can love both of us. I'm glad you love your mom, and I'm glad you love me. We both love you."
Doubt darkens her features and she looks at her feet. "I don't . . . I don't know . . . if she loves me." Her words are barely audible.
"Oh, she does. I'm sure. But . . ."
Kaylee's expression changes and I see the same emotion—what is it . . . determination? Resolve, maybe—that I saw before, and then she interrupts me. She interrupts me!
"It doesn't matter if she loves me. She needs me. I . . . I have to . . . take care of her."
"Take care of her?"
Her head bobs up and down.
And now I understand.
Kaylee carries a crushing weight of responsibility. I see it pressing on her. I consider Pete's instructions to keep the news of Kathryn's rehabilitation from Kaylee until he'd consulted with Beth. But now I must tell her. Perhaps if I'd told Kaylee of her mother's choice as soon as I knew, we could have avoided tonight's trauma. But then, maybe it was just this trauma that led Kaylee to speak.
Maybe this was God answering my prayer, God causing all things to work together for good.
"Kaylee, your mom is getting help. We were going to tell you—Pete or Dr. Beth—one of them was going to talk to you about it. I'm sorry. Maybe I should have told you. I just found out. Yesterday your mom went to Child Welfare Services and talked to Pete. She agreed that she needs help and now she's in what they call a residential rehabilitation program. She'll live in a facility where there are doctors who will help her get off the drugs. They'll help her get healthy again."
I see hope blossom in Kaylee's expression. "Kiddo, as long as she agrees to be there, they'll take care of her. I promise."
"Cross your heart?"
I laugh, and draw an X over my heart with one finger. "Cross my heart and hope to die—"
Kaylee reaches for me again, holds me tight and whispers in my ear. "Don't die. Please . . . don't die."
I hold her tight. Die? No. Not now.
I'm finally alive!
CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE
Kaylee
I touch my finger to my lip, when I pull it away there's blood on it. I guess I was chewing on my lip while I was thinking. I have to figure out some things. Like what to say when Sierra starts asking me questions again. Questions about him.
And questions about my mom.
I look at my hands and then start chewing on my nails. I know I'm supposed to tell the truth. But I heard my mom tell Sierra that I was kidnapped. Why did she say that? If I tell the truth, will my mom be in trouble?
Maybe not talking was easier.
I woke up late this morning, so late that I missed the appointment Sierra had scheduled with Dr. Beth. Sierra didn't wake me up.
She finally came in to check on me. "Hey, sleepy head, are you about ready to get up?"
I shook my head. No.
"Oh, little one, please use your words. I've waited all morning to hear your beautiful voice again."
I rolled over, turning my back to her, and spoke over my shoulder. "I'm . . . not ready . . . yet."
She leaned down and whispered, "Thanks, kiddo. Go back to sleep. You had a long night." Then she left my bedroom and shut my door.
She doesn't know how long my night was. After we went back to bed, I spent the rest of the night thinking about my mom. At first I thought I was dreaming because the thoughts didn't make sense. But I was awake. I was just remembering—remembering things I'd forgotten.
Now I can't make the memories stop. They keep coming. I look at the ceiling for a long time and hear things in my head.
Use your words, Kaylee, use your words! I don't have time for your stammering!
I see things too. My mom grabbing me by the shoulders and shaking me so hard it feels like my brain is rattling in my head.
Stop your stammering!
I see her taking my can of Pick-Up Sticks off the shelf and throwing it at me—all the colored sticks flying in the air toward my face.
The memories fly at me, like the Pick-Up Sticks, each poking and stinging as they hit.
I close my eyes and cover my ears.
I want to shove the sticks back in the can. I want the memories to go back to wherever they were before. Before I talked out loud.
With my eyes closed, I see him. And I hear my mom. "I told you to keep your hands off her, you pervert. Don't touch her again."
"Or what? Whatcha gonna do to me, Kat? Turn me in? Ha! You need what I have too much to do that."
"I mean it, Jack. Don't touch her!" Then she looked at me. "And you stay away from him!" She turned and walked out of the cabin. That was it. That's all she ever said. I did try to stay away from him. I did. But he'd always find me.
My stomach churns and I cover my ears tighter. The scream is so loud, and I can't make it stop.
I can't make it stop!
Then I feel someone grab me by the shoulders and shake me.
"Kaylee! Kaylee!"
I open my eyes and see Sierra. Her hands are on my shoulders. She shakes me again.
"Kaylee!"
That's when I realize that the scream isn't just in my head. It's coming out of my mouth. I take my hands off my ears and cover my mouth.
; "Oh, little one, you scared me to death." Sierra pulls me close and hugs me. She holds me like that for awhile. "Are you okay now? Do you want the headphones?"
I nod and sniff.
"First, can you tell me what happened?"
I open my mouth; but, then I just shake my head.
I can't tell her.
I can't tell anyone.
Not ever.
CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR
Sierra
Rube, did I make a mistake?" Fatigue weighs on me, a heavy cloak of discouragement. "I don't know how to help her."
Ruby leans back in her seat—a wicker chair outside the little coffee shop near Dr. Beth's office. She studies me for a moment and when she speaks her words are measured, thoughtful. "Remember the day Kaylee was rescued from the cabin? What did you tell me you felt as they loaded her into the ambulance?"
I nod. I know where she's going. "I felt certain. Sure God had a plan and that somehow that plan included Kaylee and me together. I knew then that she'd end up with me."
Ruby picks up her coffee cup and takes a sip, her emerald gaze never leaving my face. "Do you trust that God made the right choice?"
I lean my head back and take in the clear blue sky of early fall. How I long for such clarity. I try to process Ruby's question. Did God make the right choice? I turn back and look at her. "No fair. That's a trick question."
"Just answer it."
"What you're asking is if I trust God. Do I trust that He knows more than I know?"
She is silent.
"I guess I'll choose to trust. I don't feel trusting right now, but this isn't about feelings, is it? Yes, I'll choose to trust that Kaylee's with me for reasons I can't see or understand."
Ruby leans forward again. "What are you feeling right now?"
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