Franny Parker Read online

  “He found us,” he said, finally.

  “But you said . . .”

  “I know what I said.” He sighed.

  I stiffened. Lucas had lied to me.

  “He’s no good around us,” he said, softly.

  Suddenly it became clear to me. Their few belongings, the places they’d moved from, the freshly painted name wiped off their mailbox. Lucas and Lindy did not want to be found. “You’re not moving again, are you?” I asked, afraid already of the answer.

  “I don’t know. We don’t have enough money to go anywhere just yet,” he said.

  There were so many things I wanted to ask, but I didn’t want to scare him off the porch, away from our yard again. “My family’s worried about you and your mama,” I whispered.

  “Well, tell them don’t be. I’m going to take care of it. Soon.”

  The cabin’s screen door swung open, and Lucas jerked beside me.

  “I’ve gotta go,” he said. Quickly, he passed me the opossums. As he did, his sleeve caught on the porch swing. It rolled up over his forearm, his warm skin brushing against my own. He gasped.

  I looked before he could cover what I saw. A blue trail of bruises wrapping around his wrist, purple blotches rising off his skin. “Lucas!” I cried.

  He jerked his shirtsleeve down. “Don’t,” he warned, his voice angry at first. Then, softly, “Please don’t.” And then he disappeared into the twilight.

  “I won’t,” I promised the empty seat beside me. And so I sat, shaking on the swing. It was worse than I’d thought, worse than I’d ever imagined.

  Just beyond the porch, Sidda’s voice poured through our open bedroom window. Through the screen door, I could hear Ben’s giggles as Dad read him a story in the family room. It seemed impossible. Two houses side by side along the same bubbling river: one brimming with warm voices that spilled from its windows, one aching with a sadness that rippled from its shingled roof like rainwater.

  Don’t, he’d said.

  Don’t what? Don’t ask questions? Don’t tell what I’d seen? My stomach churned. It didn’t matter which he meant. I already knew; it was a promise I couldn’t keep for long.

  Busy Bodies

  Where’s that firecracker of a friend of yours?” Izzy asked Mama. She lifted a blue square from the table, setting it into place in the quilted sky.

  Mama sighed and walked from her easel to the window, the gray eyes of her painted lady following her warily. A hot gloom had settled over the Friday Bee. Mama yanked open the windows, but that just seemed to let more heat in. The curtains rested quietly against them, not even the faintest breeze to stir the air.

  “Is Lindy ill?” Grandma asked, watching Mama over the rims of her eyeglasses.

  “No. Just not around lately,” Mama replied.

  Izzy met Mama’s eyes, and the look that passed between them took me back to the kitchen, back to Izzy’s words. A river of sadness, that one.

  “Well, come sit,” Grandma scolded Mama. “You’ve been pacing around here like a cat in a room full of rockers. You’re making me nervous.”

  Mama joined the women at the table, taking a seat by Dotty, who gave her a little pat.

  Grandma eyed me. “Aren’t you sewing with us? You could use the practice.”

  I shook my head, busily counting the Animal Funds. Sixty-three dollars, after the formula and seeds Daddy had picked up at the pet store for me. “Have to feed the new opossums,” I told her. “Your friend Ruby brought them. Found them behind the church.”

  “Opossums?” Grandma Rae asked, her mouth twisting in distaste. “Ruby Miller did that?”

  “Churchgoing opossums,” Ben told her. “And they play dead, too!” He rolled over on the rug, legs up in the air to demonstrate.

  “Oh, they’re something,” Izzy said, dropping a dollar in my can. “Clever little devils, playing dead like that. Think people would leave me alone if I rolled over on the ground?”

  “Really now,” Grandma said, but everyone else laughed. They were still laughing when Faye Wakeman lumbered in, red and stooped.

  “Faye,” Mama said. “Are you all right?”

  We watched as Faye plunked down in her rightful chair by Grandma.

  “Just a hot spell. Been up since dawn trying to get some water on the corn. Nothing left in the river.”

  “I heard the Dorsen farm closed for the season. Their sorghum crop dried up,” Dotty said.

  Grandma sent her a warning look, and Dotty covered her mouth. “Oh, Faye, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean . . .”

  “No, no,” Faye piped up, taking the iced tea Mama offered her. “There’s no getting around it. We’re all hurting bad. We’ve applied for state aid, but I don’t know how much we’ll get.”

  Everyone, it seemed, was applying for government aid. I’d seen the state trucks driving up and down the town roads, out to inspect the fields for crop yield. It was only early August, and the month’s harvests were already being declared lost. Faye was right, everyone was hurting bad.

  Izzy winked at me. “Isn’t it about time to feed those critters?”

  I nodded, glad for an excuse to leave the sad group.

  “Sidda, you and Ben give Franny a hand,” Mama suggested. For once Sidda didn’t argue. Clearly the ladies needed to talk.

  In the kitchen, we gathered the new formula from the fridge and pulled clean bottles out of the dishwasher. I held the tray steady while Ben and Sidda piled supplies onto it. I was almost out the front door when loud voices erupted from the yard.

  I looked up and saw Lucas jump off the porch, followed by his father. He was yelling something at him. But Lucas kept walking.

  “What’s all that scuffle?” Grandma Rae asked, coming up behind me.

  At that moment Lindy emerged. I couldn’t hear her, but it seemed like she was trying to get Lucas to come back. His father put his hand out, motioning for her to stop. Then he hollered after Lucas. “Get back here, boy!” Lucas continued to the truck.

  “Please,” Lindy called from the porch. “Just let him go.”

  But Carl Dunn didn’t. He lunged forward, grabbing Lucas by his arm, twisting it behind him. When Lucas cried out, I dropped my tray, the bottles crashing all around me.

  Suddenly, Mama was there. “Franny, get back inside,” she cried. She pulled me in, stepping right over the bottles and spilled formula, her voice firm and frightened. The ladies crowded behind us, faces full of alarm.

  “Close the door,” Dotty yelled.

  “I’m calling the police,” Izzy said.

  “Just wait,” Grandma said shakily, her stern voice ruffled by the effort to keep steady. “It’s not our business. It could just be a family squabble.”

  “No,” Mama said, swinging the door wide open. “Lindy and Lucas are our business. I’m going over there.” The back of the mother wolf arched inside her. She looked over her shoulder once, at Sidda and Ben and me. “Stay here,” she told us, the gold flickering in her eyes.

  We huddled by the windows, watching as Mama strode off the porch to the driveway.

  “Lindy?” she called in a calm voice. “Is everything all right?”

  The scene before us shifted as Mama entered it. Lucas’s father let go of his arm, and Lucas fell against the truck. Lindy straightened her shirt and wiped the stray hairs from her face as if rearranging the scene before us.

  “Oh, Celia, I’m sorry if we disturbed you. Everything’s fine, we’re fine,” Lindy said.

  Mama stopped on the edge of the driveway. “Lucas? Are you all right?”

  Lucas turned away, leaning against the truck door.

  His father spoke instead. “Mrs. Parker?” He moved toward Mama, brushing himself off, and extending his hand. As he got closer, we could see the forced smile, crooked on his face. “We haven’t met.”

  Mama crossed her arms. “No, we haven’t,” she said, her shoulders squared.

  “Call me Carl. I’m real sorry if we disturbed you. Lucas and his mother are just having a disagr
eement, is all. Teenagers, you know how it is.”

  Mama didn’t answer him. She looked over his shoulder at Lucas and Lindy. “We’ve never known Lucas to have any such trouble. Until now.”

  Carl Dunn stared at Mama, his hands twitching just a little at his sides.

  Grandma Rae left the window, clucking her tongue. Izzy squeezed my shoulder. I thought of the phone in the kitchen.

  “Mrs. Parker, like I said, it’s just a small argument. You don’t need to concern yourself with it,” Carl Dunn continued.

  “Well, I am concerned. I want you to know that. And if I have to, I also want you to know I will call the authorities.”

  Carl Dunn’s crooked smile faded and he tipped slightly back as if Mama had hit him. His hands balled into fists, but Mama didn’t move.

  “Children, come away from that window,” Grandma ordered.

  Sidda and Ben hurried over to her, but I couldn’t. I looked out at Lucas slumped against the truck, at Lindy, who’d moved to him, her arm wrapped around his. Carl Dunn was lying: this wasn’t their fight.

  With that, it ended. Carl Dunn turned on his heels. Mama stayed in the driveway watching him, the tail of the wolf swishing the dust. Lindy waved timidly and followed him into the house. Lucas grabbed his bike and tore off down the driveway.

  When Mama finally came inside, everyone collapsed in their chairs, not one of us speaking. The fierceness had left Mama’s face and she rested her head in her hands. Sidda bent beside me, collecting the bottles I’d spilled on the porch.

  “That was brave,” Izzy said to Mama.

  But Grandma Rae shook her head. “It was foolish! Your children were right here, watching.”

  Mama looked up at us, wiping the dust from her cheeks. The flickering gold had left her eyes. “I know,” she said. “That’s why I had to do it.”

  Missing

  He’s gone,” Lindy cried in our doorway the next evening, her blond hair wild about her face.

  “What do you mean?” Mama asked, gently pulling her inside.

  “Lucas. I’ve looked everywhere. In the shed, behind the house, even up in the hills. He’s really gone this time.”

  “What happened?”

  “He took his bike to work yesterday afternoon, for his Friday evening shift at Harland’s. But he never came home last night.” Lindy touched her face. It was then I saw the red mark on her cheek. “It’s my fault.”

  Mama’s eyes flashed. “We have to report this.”

  “No!” Lindy cried, grabbing both of Mama’s hands. “I don’t want the police.”

  Mama shook her head. “You need them.”

  But there was more. “They’ve already come, Celia. Harland’s was robbed last night. They think Lucas did it.”

  “Robbed?”

  “Three thousand dollars, gone. They came by late last night, and told me Lucas didn’t show up for work yesterday. Then, sometime during the evening, the store was robbed.” Lindy paused, swiping at her tears. “I thought Lucas just needed some time to cool off, but when he didn’t come home last night, I knew something was wrong. And now this. Please, we’ve got to find him.”

  Lindy was begging, and I couldn’t stand it. I ached for Mama to give her whatever it was she wanted.

  Mama turned, suddenly remembering us. “Franny, Sidda, take Ben outside,” she ordered.

  The three of us settled in the grass by the porch, straining to hear. I plucked at the dry blades as we listened, and little golden piles grew around me. I thought of the yearling, caught between the wild and a family, not really belonging to either. Lucas had been right. He knew not because he’d read the book but because he, too, was caught.

  “Do you think he stole the money?” Sidda asked.

  I looked at the flower chain she was making, the yellow and purple petals wound safely together. If she had asked me that a week ago I would’ve clobbered her. Now I wasn’t so sure. If he had, it was for a good reason. Did that still make him a thief? “He needs help,” I told her.

  Sidda nodded, and handed me a yellow buttercup. Suddenly I ached to tell her everything: about Lucas’s arm, the lie about his father, and what he’d made me promise. Dad’s truck pulled into the driveway, and Ben jumped up, racing alongside it. “Lucas ran away! Harland’s was robbed!” he hollered. It was all excitement for Ben, a big dumb movie. He was too little to understand. I blinked back tears and stared at the ground as Dad hurried inside the house. I’d just about cleared the yard of grass by the time they called us in.

  “We’re going to look for Lucas,” Mama told us.

  “Where?” I asked, ready to join them.

  “Up in the hills,” Daddy answered. “We’ll hike the pony paths and look around a little.”

  “I think he’s close by,” Lindy added. “He wouldn’t leave me.”

  Suddenly I knew she was right. Lucas would never leave her—or me, I almost added. He might have been scared, he might have done something awful, but he wouldn’t just take off. I knew he’d have a plan.

  “I want you kids to stay here, keep an eye out,” Mama told us. “Sidda, you get dinner for your brother and sister.”

  I ran to the front closet, grabbing Jax’s leash and three flashlights. Twilight was settling already.

  “Where do you think you’re going?” Dad asked.

  “With you,” I answered, whistling for Jax.

  “Not this time, Squirt.”

  “But . . .”

  “But nothing,” Mama said, securing the leash on Jax, who bounded up to us excitedly. “I want you safe in one place. Can you do that for me?”

  I could, of course. I could stay in the house. But what I couldn’t do was stay quiet any longer. Lucas was gone, with his bruised arm and maybe worse. If I’d only told them. I felt like all this was somehow my fault.

  “But I have to tell you both something,” I said. “It’s about Lucas, he—”

  Lindy interrupted me. “Ready?” she asked, coming up behind us.

  I looked at her crumpled expression, her red cheek. Lucas’s secret rattled about in my mouth, but I couldn’t get my tongue around the words, couldn’t work them out.

  “It’s going to be okay,” Mama said firmly. “We’ll find him.”

  I don’t know if it was meant for me, for Lindy, or for herself, but we all nodded in the doorway. And then they were gone.

  Searching

  After sandwiches and cold soup, we plopped ourselves down in the living room. None of us knew what to do, so Sidda took Ben upstairs to read him a story. I headed out to the barn.

  Snort nickered when he saw me, and I went to him, pressing my head against his smooth face and inhaling. The sweet smell of hay filled my nose, but it didn’t have its usual comforting effect. In the stalls, the patients’ cages were quiet, except for the nocturnal opossums, who were wriggling out of their pouch, ready for the night.

  “Hey, little guys.” I scooped one gently in my hand and moved to the barn door. In the purple twilight, I watched the beams of flashlights bouncing off the pony trail, like little lightning bugs bobbing up the hill. “Lu-cas!” the voices called. It felt safe hearing them on the hill.

  But then there was another noise. From the direction of the cabin. A slow creaking noise. I peered into the darkness, moving carefully toward it. I heard it again.

  “Lucas?” I called softly. “Is that you?”

  A shadow shifted on the porch. My heart raced, and I turned to the hill. The flashlights were growing farther away, moving up into the tree line.

  “Lucas?” I whispered. I tiptoed across the yard and stopped at the porch. No one was there. But someone had been. The rocking chair was still moving, back and forth, back and forth. My heart pounded in my chest and the little opossum squirmed in my hand.

  “Let’s go,” I said.

  I turned back for our barn, feeling all the while like eyes were on me. Stand up tall, I told myself. Twice I looked over my shoulder. I was almost in the safety of the barn when someone stepped fr
om the darkness.

  “Lucas!” I practically yelled.

  “Nope,” said a voice. A gravelly voice.

  I halted as Carl Dunn stood swaying in front of me, a crooked smile plastered across his face.

  “Why aren’t you looking for Lucas?” I asked, my voice catching.

  “I am.” He sneered. “You hiding him in here?”

  I shook my head and ducked past him into the barn.

  “What you got there?” he asked, pointing to the opossum baby in my arms.

  “Nothing,” I said, cupping the baby protectively. Carl Dunn’s breath was right powerful, filling the doorway. It reminded me of an old bottle we’d found floating in our river one day, an amber liquor washing back and forth inside it as it bobbed along. When Ben had fished it out and unscrewed the cap, we’d recoiled at the smell—a stale vinegar that made our eyes water. The same smell filled the air now. I stood frozen, unable to decide if I should just walk away or run.

  “Let me see that,” he said, pointing at the opossum.

  I shook my head again. “He’s sick,” I lied, taking a step backward.

  Mr. Dunn cocked his head, the crooked smile disappearing. “Give it here. I won’t hurt it.” He took a swig from a bottle in his hand, and the sour smell washed over me. Images flashed: the bruise on Lucas’s arm, the animal patients. Outside, the sky was dark. Why hadn’t I turned on the lights?

  Carl Dunn reached for the opossum baby cradled in my arms, and I reeled back. I felt my throat swell with a scream so powerful my chest was ready to burst. The kind of scream you dream about in nightmares. But, when I opened my mouth, nothing came out. And then a light opened up the night around us, a white flashlight that lit up the barn doorway, blinding us both.

  “Franny?” I ran toward Mama’s voice. “Is that you?”

  Lucas’s father stepped back into the shadow, the bottle behind his back. “Let me guess, no luck,” he said and chuckled coldly.

  “What are you doing here?” Mama asked, her eyes narrowing.

  “She was calling for Lucas. I came to see if he was here.”