34

Leah

Friday, November 3rd, 1989
Lucy missing 5 weeks

Mom has been frying chicken since she got home from work, dropping flour-coated pieces into the cast-iron skillet that glistens and pops with grease.

Dad tosses a salad of crunchy shards of iceberg lettuce with carrots sliced so razor-thin they are almost translucent. He coats it in a creamy layer of ranch dressing, and sets it in the fridge to chill.

My stomach groans with hunger and by the time we finally sit down to dinner, I’m so ravenous that Mom passes me a steady stream of chicken legs. My teeth tear into the crunchy skin and I let the grease dribble down my lips.

Mom reaches over and grabs Dad’s hand. “Honey, your father and I thought it might be nice if we went to the park tomorrow for a picnic,” she says, both of them beaming at me.

Saturdays at the park used to be our family ritual, especially in the fall. Mom would spread out a checkered blanket and we’d picnic next to the pond under swaying cypress trees. We’d always bring a sleeve of stale bread to feed the ducks, and we’d spend the afternoon playing tag football until Lucy and I called time, our lungs burning and our cheeks ruddy with wind. We’d wander off, leaving Mom and Dad sprawled and lazy on the blanket while we built fortresses out of the orange pine needles that blanketed the ground.

“Sure, sounds good,” I say, nodding and reaching for more chicken.

“Great! We can take the leftover wings and I’ll make potato salad and pie!” Mom says, cheerily. Dad adds something about making a thermos of hot chocolate, but I’ve tuned them out. Their voices now sound distant and the edges of the room go soft as a plan to get to Big Woods hatches in my brain.