Two
On the afternoon of Mama’s funeral, Molly stood waiting outside her uncle’s house with two police officers. This was to be her new home. It looked the same as she remembered it. A broken window had a board nailed across it. Weeds poked through the brickwork. She’d only been to Uncle Devlin’s house just twice before. He was Mama’s brother, and on both visits, Molly had sensed that Mama was glad to leave.
Uncle Devlin opened the door, his eyes squinty as daylight fell across his face. He wore an old football jersey over his protruding belly, his hair faded like furniture that’s had the sun on it for years. “Didn’t expect her so soon,” he told the police. “Haven’t had time to clean the place up. Wish I coulda gone to the funeral, but I had too much on. You know how it is.” Behind him, a trail of old clothes, shoes and car parts littered the hall. A woman stood back there with her hand against the wall, still dressed in pajamas, staring dully.
One of the police offers scratched behind his ear, seeming unsure of what to do next. “Well, Mr. Parkes, apparently we’re meant to hand her over to your care today. You’re the only family Molly has, and you already signed the custody agreement.” He hesitated. “May we come in?”
A scowl crossed Devlin’s face. “No, you damned-well may not. Just give me the kid and get out of here.”
After people wearing black had lowered Mama into a deep, dark hole, police officers had put Molly in a police car. At first, Molly thought she’d done something wrong. People who got taken away by police were criminals, right? But when they’d taken her to get a burger and fries, the officers had explained they had to take her to another home now. It hadn’t occurred to Molly that she wouldn’t be going back to the apartment. She could look after herself. She always dressed herself in the mornings for school, made dinner for herself, and when Mama was sad—which was often—she knew how to order groceries over the internet. She didn’t need to live anywhere else.
And what would happen to all of Mama’s things? She just knew that Mrs. Hodge, the nasty-faced landlord, would throw all of Mama’s special keepsakes away. Molly hadn’t taken more than a bite of the burger that the police had given her. She didn’t think she’d feel like eating ever again.
The police left Uncle Devlin’s doorstep reluctantly. Molly watched them leave, and then followed her uncle down the short hall.
“This is Sashelle.” Uncle Devlin gestured toward the woman in an off-hand manner. “We’ve been together for a few months now. You can help her get things in order around the house.”
Sashelle tilted her head, her harsh black hair with its dark blonde roots falling over her face. “Know the diff between beer and bourbon? Dev drinks beer and I have the other, so when we ask you to get us a drink, you know what to get. Okay?” Her mouth hung open after she’d said her last word, and she raised her thin eyebrows.
Molly nodded. She didn’t know the difference, but she could read.
“There’s your room.” Her uncle pointed to a bare bedroom that looked out on a yard. “We had a boarder in there, but we kicked him out so’s you could have it.”
“Thanks.” Molly walked in and put her suitcase down on the bed. Her suitcase had been packed by strangers while she was at her mother’s funeral. She clicked it open. Framed photographs sat on top of hastily folded clothing—photos of Mama and Molly together. Mother’s Day cards Molly had made and Mama’s little ornaments were stuffed down the sides of the suitcase. Whoever packed the suitcase had at least tried to make sure that Molly’s memories went with her.
Fat, hot tears snaked down her face, running into the creases between her cheeks and nose. She sniffed, her chest shuddering. She hurt so bad it felt like there was some kind of fierce monster inside her.
Her uncle winced. “Yeah, anyway, why don’t you get out in the backyard and find something to do? No point staying in here moping.”
He stood back and let her find her own way to the yard.
She stepped out into grass as high as her waist. A lone tree stood without leaves, like it could no longer carry the burden of them. There was little else among the grass and weeds, apart from the rusting wreck of an old car and a buckled tool shed. Molly peered into the tool shed. It smelled bad—like grease and chemicals mixed together. Thin, looped rope hung from a nail. Old boards were stacked up in one corner. A random collection of rusted tools sat on a bench.
Molly knew exactly what to do.
She hammered together two of the boards until they looked like they might stay together. She used to help Mama fix things around their apartment and quickly learned how to use a hammer without hurting her fingers. She found two lengths of rope, then went out and tossed the pieces over the lowest branch of the tree. She knotted the ends of the rope around the seat of boards she’d made. It didn’t look as good as any swing she’d ever seen—it was wonky and wobbly and lopsided—but it was a swing.
Perching on the swing, she slowly moved backward and forward, staring at a sky bleached of all color. This is for you, Mama, she whispered inside her head. One of the things that made Mama the saddest was that the apartment block they lived in had no yard or grass or playground. When we buy a house, my little Molly-polly, she’d say, the first thing I’m going to get you is a swing. She worked hard at two jobs to save money. She was always worried about money.
Molly hoped that somehow, Mama would see the swing and it’d make her happy.
Dinner that night was egg-on-toast in front of the TV. Uncle Devlin and Sashelle had a fight about something, and Sashelle left the house, slamming the door behind her.
Night swung in, a wrecking ball that swept away any chance that the funeral had all been a mistake and that Mama would stop by in her little blue car and take Molly away. Kneeling on her bed, Molly looked out at the crooked swing she’d made for Mama.
Her fingers tensed on the windowsill. Someone stood in the yard. The Girl with the long red hair. The Girl stared mournfully at the house, the moonlight giving her skin the color of bones. She stretched out a slim arm toward Molly. Cowering, Molly balled herself under her scratchy blanket. There was no one here to run to, nowhere to seek comfort. She prayed the ghostly being away.
Please, please, please. Make her disappear.
Celestial Page 30