The Red Hat Society's Acting Their Age

by Regina Hale Sutherland

  In answer, she crossed her arms, leaned her messy head back, and stared at the ceiling.

  “Sheriff Sloan said you steal things. Is that true?”

  “I just told you she swiped my cigarettes,” Leanne scoffed. “And I looked in her backpack. Everything Cade mentioned is there. The food. The boots. And she broke into here. What more answer do you need?”

  Defiance flared in Rachel’s eyes. A crumb clung to one corner of her lower lip. Two bright pink dots of color bloomed high on her cheeks. “I didn’t break in. You don’t lock the back door during the day.”

  Aggie smiled smugly at Leanne.

  Looking defensive, Leanne headed for the back door she’d failed to lock after her smoke.

  “You got in here yesterday before we closed?” Mia asked Rachel.

  “I hid in the storage room.”

  “How did you slip past us?”

  “It was easy,” Rachel said to the ceiling. “Y’all aren’t very observant.”

  When Leanne returned from locking the door, Rachel blinked complacent eyes at her and added, “And I only borrowed a cigarette. So what?”

  “It’s wrong, sugar.” Aggie placed another roll on the plate in front of the girl. “Thou shalt not steal.”

  Leanne groaned.

  “Well.” Aggie tossed back her short steel-gray hair and planted a fist on one rounded hip. “Maybe no one ever taught her the Ten Commandments.”

  “Or maybe she snubs her nose at authority to get attention. Am I right, packrat?”

  Ignoring both of them, Mia asked, “Why did you run away, Rachel?”

  “I don’t know. Just because.”

  “You’ll have to do better than that.”

  “I hate my school.” With a sniff, Rachel met Mia’s gaze briefly. “I hate my stupid foster parents. I told them I wanted to transfer to a different school this semester. But my foster dad was like, ‘No, we are NOT getting you a transfer, young lady. And you will NOT skip ONE SINGLE CLASS this semester OR ELSE. DO YOU UNDERSTAND?’” Rachel’s head jerked left to right, emphasizing each word as she imitated her foster dad’s voice. “And I’m like, ‘Or else WHAT?’ And he was all, ‘Or else you’re not living under my roof anymore. Got it?’ So, I’m like, ‘Whatever.’” She shrugged dramatically. “Then my foster mom jumped all over me for getting smart with the butthead, so I left.”

  “Sugar,” Aggie scolded, pouring batter into a muffin tin, “That’s no way to speak about your father.”

  Rachel huffed. “Ricky Underhill’s not my father.”

  “So when you left, you headed here?” Leanne asked.

  “Not right away.” The girl pushed her plate to the center of the island then rounded a fist and popped her knuckles. “I didn’t know where to go, so I went back to the house to get my books and go to my stupid school, but they’d locked me out and nobody would answer the door.”

  Aggie placed two muffin tins into the top oven then returned to the counter to stir another batch of batter. “Maybe no one was home.”

  “I’d only been gone something like ten minutes. I sat on the curb at the end of the block. If they’d left, I would’ve seen them. I knew they kept twenty bucks in the car glove compartment for emergencies, so I took it. Then I grabbed Ricky’s coat from the backseat and left again. For good, this time. I’m through with foster homes. I won’t be someone’s charity case or help them pocket a few extra bucks anymore.”

  An image of Rachel knocking at the door of her house while the foster parents sat inside ignoring her stuck in Mia’s mind like a thorn. Cade said the couple reported waking up and discovering Rachel gone. Why would they lie about that? To avoid admitting the argument they’d had with Rachel and the bad way they handled it, that’s why.

  “What do you mean about helping them make a few extra bucks?” she asked Rachel.

  “The Underhills? They only wanted a foster kid for the money the state pays.” Rachel’s voice tightened with anger. “They’re the same as the last family I got dumped with. And the one before that.”

  “The other families you’ve lived with only wanted the money, too?” Aggie asked softly.

  “Some of them did. Some of them wanted to make themselves feel better by taking in a stray. You know . . . I was their good deed or whatever.”

  Mia tilted her head. “Did you ever run away before?”

  Rachel shook her head.

  “Why this time?”

  “No one ever hit me before.”

  Aggie gasped and stopped stirring, her wooden spoon poised above the bowl and dripping batter.

  Mia’s stomach knotted.

  Leanne stepped toward Rachel. “Who hit you?”

  “Pam. My foster mom. She was mad at me for talking back to Ricky, so she slapped me.”

  Tense silence fell over the room. The girl mentioned the abuse so matter-of-factly. Not a hitch in her voice. Not a blink of her big, dark eyes. As if she was relaying a story about being sent to her room.

  Leanne crossed to the island. Then Aggie left her spoon in the bowl and joined them, too. The three women exchanged looks, and Mia noted that Leanne’s tough façade had slipped, revealing the softness she only shared with those closest to her.

  “Where were you headed next?” Leanne asked Rachel in a much gentler voice.

  “No place.” Pressing her lips together, her expression still devoid of emotion, Rachel looked up at the ceiling again. “Anywhere but there. It doesn’t matter.”

  Aggie placed a hand on the girl’s shoulder. “How’d you get here, sugar? It’s fifty miles from Amarillo to Muddy Creek.”

  “Walked partway. Caught a ride with a trucker the rest.”

  A memory floated up from the depths of Mia’s mind. A frantic middle-of-the-night phone conversation from almost ten years ago. Christy insisting she was okay, but she wasn’t coming home, the clipped abruptness of her voice not quite hiding her fear.

  Blinking away the memory, Mia looked at Leanne and saw that her eyes were also haunted. Leanne glanced away, obviously uncomfortable. Aggie, not as adept at hiding her emotions, peered at Rachel with sad, puppy dog intensity.

  “Can I borrow your Blazer, Aggie?” Mia asked her.

  Aggie was the only one of the three women who drove into work each day since she and her husband, Roy, lived on a farm outside the city limits. Leanne and her husband, Eddie, owner of the town’s newspaper, TheMuddy Creek Chronicle, had a small house just a couple of blocks from the shop.

  “I’ll take Rachel to my place so she can shower and get some sleep in a real bed,” Mia explained.

  Leanne studied her. “Then you’ll talk to Cade, right?”

  “We’ll see.”

  Frowning, Leanne nodded Mia aside.

  Mia met her in the corner.

  “What are you planning to do? Go on hiding her?” Leanne asked with quiet intensity. “Cade should be the one to handle this, not you.”

  “We’ll talk about it after she gets some sleep.”

  Leanne crossed her arms. “I only kept my mouth shut for your sake. This is a mistake, Mia. She’s trouble.”

  “You don’t know that.” Mia touched her friend’s arm. “Don’t worry so much. Nothing’s decided yet.” She returned to the island and said, “Grab your things, Rachel.”

  Aggie’s brows puckered above her big, wire-framed bifocals. “What if somebody sees her?”

  “I’ll make sure they don’t.”

  “Cade suspects something. Couldn’t you tell?” Leanne tapped the counter with a long, French-manicured fingernail. “He might be watching the shop. If he sees you leaving, you can bet he’ll follow.”

  “If he does, I’ll think of something.” Mia nodded at Rachel. “Wait by the storage room door. Aggie parks out back.”

  “Packrat?” Leanne called after them as Aggie pulled a set of keys from her coat pocket by the door. “For such a little thing, you sure have caused a big stir.”

  Chapter 3

  Rachel waited inside the Brewed Awa
kening while Mia drove Aggie’s car down the alley. When Mia stopped at the back door, Leanne led the girl out and motioned her toward the rear seat. Tossing her backpack onto the floorboard, Rachel climbed in.

  “You’d better lie down.” Leanne glanced up the alley and added, “I feel like a criminal, sneaking around like this.”

  Mia didn’t want to admit that she felt the same. “Once Rachel’s sleeping, I’ll be back.”

  Frowning, Leanne shut the back door and hurried around to the driver-side window. When Mia rolled it down, she said, “Can we have a word alone?”

  “Sure.” After rolling up the window again, Mia stepped from the SUV and closed the door. “Make it quick. I don’t want Cade driving by and seeing us out here.” She shivered. “Besides, I’m freezing.”

  “Are you crazy?” Leanne hissed. “You can’t leave that girl by herself at your house. She’s a thief!”

  “I won’t leave unless I’m sure she’s asleep. And I won’t stay away long, just to help you and Aggie through the early morning rush. Anyway, I’m not really worried about her taking anything. All she needs is for someone to have a little faith in her.”

  “How can you say that? You never laid eyes on the kid until this morning.”

  “There’s just something about her.” Mia sighed. “Let me see how I feel after we get home and we have some one-on-one time. Then I’ll call you.”

  “Aggie and I can handle things here.”

  “You saw how Aggie is today. It’ll be like you’re working alone. Or worse, with a nervous new employee.”

  Crossing her arms, Leanne shivered. “I can take care of things.”

  “We’ll see.” Mia opened the door, climbed in and started off.

  She adjusted the rearview mirror so she could see Rachel, who was stretched out across the back seat, nibbling the cuticle of her index finger.

  “Why are you helping me?” Rachel asked, studying her hand. “I mean, it’s not like you know me or anything.”

  “Maybe because I have a daughter and if she were in trouble, I’d hope someone would be kind to her. Don’t think this means you’re off the hook, though, Rachel. I want you to rest up and then we’ll talk and figure out what to do next.”

  Rachel frowned, shifting her position on the seat. “I already know what I’m going to do.”

  “What?”

  “Duh.” She pronounced the word duh-uh, in two syllables. “I’m getting as far away from Amarillo as I can. Someplace where they don’t grow cows. I hate cows. They stink and they’re stupid.”

  “Like I said, we’ll talk. But you need a shower and some sleep first.”

  Mia didn’t like the expression on the girl’s face. She wore the same one when they first turned on the storage room light: that of a cornered animal looking for an escape.

  As she slowed for a red light, Mia glanced in the mirror again. When the Blazer stopped completely, Rachel reached for the door handle. Mia hit the automatic locks. “Don’t even think about it.”

  Aubrey Ricketts pulled up alongside the Blazer in his rattletrap pickup. The retired bank security guard combed the streets at all hours of the day and night, keeping an eye on other people’s business. Everyone in town speculated whether or not he ever slept. Though still dark out, the streetlight shined down on them, and she saw him wave an arthritic hand. Waving back, Mia whispered to Rachel, “Scoot down.”

  Rachel did, muttering, “Why should I? You’re just gonna turn me in, anyway. Why didn’t you just do it when that sheriff came by?”

  The light changed to green. Mia pulled away slowly, allowing Aubrey to move ahead of her. “Nothing’s decided yet,” she told Rachel. “You want me to give you a chance? Then you have to give me one, too. Trust me, okay?”

  Rachel’s sigh sounded dramatic, and Mia imagined the girl rolling her eyes. She heard a sound like knuckles popping, then, “Whatever.”

  Nearing her house, Mia reached into her purse for the garage door opener, and the door lifted as she turned into the drive. She eased into the garage, parking next to her Tahoe in the spot where Dan’s Ford pickup used to sit until six months ago, when she had finally sold her husband’s flame red pride and joy.

  “Nice house,” Rachel said when they entered the kitchen. She dropped her backpack on the tile floor. “I used to live in a house like this with my real mom and dad.”

  The skin at the nape of Mia’s neck prickled as she recalled Cade’s words about the girl not knowing her father and losing her mother at the age of four. Setting her purse on the counter, Mia unbuttoned her coat. “Really?”

  “Yeah.” While she talked, Rachel’s gaze scanned the cabinets, the refrigerator, the row of canisters on the counter. “It was white, though, not red. And not brick. We had this awesome front porch with a swing. And a flowerbed. My mom loved flowers.” She sneezed, then added, “She and my dad? They died in a car wreck two years ago.”

  Swimming in the man’s down ski coat she wore, Rachel hugged herself as she walked into the living room.

  After draping her own coat over a chair, Mia followed.

  “Wow. It’s really clean in here,” Rachel said, running her hand along a couch cushion. “Do you have a maid?”

  Mia laughed. “Don’t I wish. I’m the only one living here, so there’s really no need.”

  “What about your daughter?”

  “Christy? She’s grown up and gone. My sons, too.”

  “You aren’t married?”

  Mia explained that her husband had passed away, and Rachel said, “Oh,” then wandered over to the television. She picked up the remote and turned the TV on then off again. “We had a maid. And a bigscreen TV, too. Bigger than yours, even.” She made her way to a photo-covered wall, where images of Mia’s kids and grandkids stared back from dozens of frames. Trailing her finger along the edge of a picture of Brent in his high school football uniform, she said, “My dad? He liked football. He played for Texas Tech. He was a quarterback.”

  “Both of my sons went to Tech,” Mia said, watching the girl’s movements and feeling strangely apprehensive.

  “We used to see all the college and pro games on our big screen. Mom always popped popcorn.” She slid Mia a sidelong glance as she passed the fireplace, her fingers touching each item on the mantel: candlesticks, a vase of dried flowers, great-grandmother MacAfee’s antique clock. “Sometimes we’d even make a fire and roast marshmallows.”

  Though the house was warm, Mia felt a bone-deep chill, an ache inside. She understood Rachel’s need to pretend. She did it herself. Her mental conversations with Dan, the king-sized pillow she spooned at night while she slept. But she couldn’t help wondering if what Rachel had said earlier was also fabrication. About the foster family locking her out. The mother hitting her. Her bad experiences with her previous foster families. What if she really did take off in the night? What if those people were sitting at home, crazy with worry, like she and Dan had been when Christy disappeared?

  She left Rachel alone a moment and went to her bedroom closet where she found an old flannel gown, one she’d worn before Dan died and she lost so much weight. Then she called the girl into the guest bathroom and showed her the washcloths and towels.

  While Rachel showered, Mia tossed the girl’s dirty clothes into the wash: a pair of jeans, ripped at the knees and beneath the back pockets, frayed at the hem and embedded with grime; a purple pullover sweater nappy from too many washings; a black t-shirt; cotton socks with holes in the toes. The elastic in her panties had lost its stretch. She had no bra and didn’t appear to need one. Her green Converse tennis shoes were soaked wet from the snow. Mia threw them into the machine, too.

  After Rachel showered and took a nap, Mia would follow Leanne’s advice. She’d find Cade and tell him the truth. Trust him to handle the situation in a way that would be in Rachel’s best interest. She told herself she had been crazy to ever consider doing anything else.

  Mia put linens on Christy’s bed then waited on the couch in the l
iving room. She studied the photos on the wall like Rachel had, trying to see her family through the girl’s eyes. Her sons dressed for football, track, in prom finery and graduation caps and gowns. Her grandson in Little League and soccer garb. Her granddaughter in tutus and tights.

  Christy had no extracurricular activities. Her pictures were all the standard school ones taken at the beginning of each year. First grade, second grade, third, all the way through the senior year she never finished.

  Mia zeroed in on eighth grade.

  Eighth grade.

  Her daughter would’ve been fourteen. Rachel’s age. Was that the year her friends stopped coming over? When Christy started spending so much time in her room alone? When she stopped talking to the family in anything more than one or two word sentences?

  “So, you’re going back to the coffee shop now?”

  The sound of Rachel’s voice brought Mia’s head around. The girl stood in the doorway to the living room, damp hair slicked down around her face, her body so tiny, so thin, Mia’s gown swallowed her.

  “I thought I might while you take a nap.” Standing, Mia started toward her. “You can sleep in Christy’s bedroom.”

  “Your daughter?”

  “Yes.”

  The girl’s gaze darted around the room, left, right, up, down, reminding Mia of the jerky movements of a hummingbird. Her behavior set off a warning alarm in Mia’s head.

  “Where are my clothes?”

  “In the washer. I’ll toss them into the dryer before I leave.”

  Once in Christy’s room, Rachel waited at the foot of the bed while Mia fluffed a pillow. The girl’s toes peeked out from beneath the gown. Sparkly blue, chipped polish coated her toenails. “I had a canopy bed,” she said. “The spread was pink with ruffles. Mom made it for me. And matching curtains. She loved to sew.”

  Mia pulled the comforter down further, patted the mattress. “Here you go.” Rachel climbed in. “You need anything else before I leave?”

  “No.” She propped up against the whitewashed headboard, looking tense instead of relaxed, like a Jack-in-the-box, ready to spring when the door closed instead of when it opened.