21

Leah

Thursday, October 19th, 1989
Lucy missing 2 weeks, 6 days

After that morning with Carla Ray, Dad became more unhinged. He began drinking openly at breakfast, cracking open bottles of Pearl Light and barely picking at his food. He believed Carla Ray, I could tell, and this morning while Mom was outside sweeping brittle leaves off the front porch, Dad stepped into his office and called the sheriff to see if she had anymore updates. But we would never hear about Carla Ray again.

This afternoon while I was laying on the couch reading, Mom announced that she and Dad would be returning to work in the morning. I thought it was too soon, but I knew she was trying to shake Dad out of it. She explained that she was just going in for a half-day to clear off her desk to get ready for the following week. Mom didn’t press me into going back to school just yet, but she insisted I go to the Fall Harvest Dance with Scott tomorrow night. I wasn’t ready to face all of my classmates, but I was itching to escape the house and the sticky, heavy air that had grown between Mom and Dad, so I agreed.

Now it’s Friday, midmorning. Grandpa’s here with me while Mom and Dad are at work. He is a grouchy widower and smells like Folger’s instant coffee and Skoal, but he always lets me do whatever I want, so I like it when he babysits. I just finished a whole box of Fruit-Rollups and an entire sleeve of Pringles and now we’re watching television together. Grandpa has turned it to M.A.S.H., which I secretly hate, but I play along anyway, not wanting to hurt his feelings.

I feel sorry for him, even though he’s grumpy. He has been stopping by every day since Lucy vanished, and he now has a far-off look in his eyes and seems even more bewildered than usual, so I feel even sorrier for him. I lean into him and let his rough hands tousle my hair.

When Mom gets home a few hours later, Grandpa snaps out of a nap and smooths out the wrinkles in his button-down shirt before kissing me goodbye and leaving. Mom juggles in some grocery bags and starts dinner. I watch as she shakes three pork chops in a large paper sack filled with flour, salt, and pepper. She then drops red potatoes into a pot of boiling water and begins chopping vegetables for a salad.

Once the potatoes are finished, I pitch in and begin mashing them, mixing in cheddar cheese and butter and spooning them into a serving bowl. As Mom begins frying the pork chops, I set the table. This is the first family dinner we’ve prepared since Lucy’s been gone, and my hands tremble as I set out three plates instead of the usual four, but I fight back the tears and try to slip into a routine of quietly working next to Mom.

Dinner is starting to cool, so we begin without Dad. I look out of the corner of my eye and study Mom’s profile. In the late-day light she looks older. Her eyes are swollen and puffy as if she’s been crying all day, something I hadn’t noticed until now. Mom catches me staring at her and puts down her fork. She draws in a deep breath but then tears fill her eyes. It’s one of the few times Mom has let me see her cry.

“Oh, honey.” She takes my hand. “What are we gonna do without our Lucy?”

I’m about to answer but the moment passes as soon as it had arrived. Mom jumps up and clears the table and says with a forced cheerfulness. “Now, I bet you need to start getting ready for that dance tonight.”

I go upstairs and get dressed. I choose a simple black shirt. The only festive clothing I can muster enough energy to put on is a pair of acid-washed jeans. I pull my hair up in a banana clip and run a light layer of mascara over my lashes. I wait upstairs, staring out the window, watching for Scott’s headlights to appear.