New Girl is writing a letter.
That’s what she does now. We stay in our room, like the two unwanted guests we are. Me, studying, her, writing nonstop letters. I read one of her letters once when she went to the bathroom. They’re to her sister, telling stories of how her mom used to make her scrub toilets, clean clothes, and iron on the hottest day of the year. Promising she would tell her the “truth” once she sees her in person, and that when she’s free, she’ll come rescue her. From what I can tell, her sister never writes back.
I’m on page 563 of my book and buy the New York Times every day now; two dollars and fifty cents on weekdays, five dollars on Sundays. It’s a lot of money, but I read it cover to cover, circling words I don’t know. Sometimes I go down to the Learning Center and look them up in Ms. Claire’s office, since her dictionary is way better than mine. I only average about two new words a day, but I’m reading faster and I know what’s going on in politics, business, and sports. Ms. Claire says that will help me get into college.
All I have left now is Bean to take care of and the only way to do that is if I get my degree. I’ll use the money people owe me from those stupid books about me to go to school. Then I’ll find a job, make more money, and buy one of those fancy apartments I see in the real estate section. Someplace where it’s safe, with lots of room for Bean to play. Because when Ms. Cora wins, I’m getting Bean the hell out of here, no matter what.
Ms. Stein busts into my room, unannounced as always.
“You have a visitor!”
I shoot up, dropping my book.
“Who?”
It’s Wednesday. I’m not expecting Momma, no way, especially with everything that is going on.
“Hell if I know. Some friend of your mother’s.”
Troy. That’s the only friend Momma has that would know about me. What the hell does he want? Maybe he’s here to pay me off, like a bribe or something, to save Momma. I never thought about that. Maybe I could use that money to save Ted and he wouldn’t have to live with those girls anymore. But what if he’d rather be with them? Damn, I hate what he has done to us, making me question everything.
I run down to the visitors’ room, fixing my hair, and stop short in the doorway. My stomach drops. It’s not Troy. It’s not even a man. It’s a woman.
“Hello, Mary.”
Alyssa’s mother is standing in the middle of the visitors’ room. The ghost of my past I was afraid of most. She’s here to do it. She’s here for revenge. She’s here to finally kill me.
Everything is numb; I don’t know what to do or say. If it wasn’t for Bean, I’d let her do what she wanted all these years. But now . . . how do I talk her out of killing me? I guess I should start by being polite, like Momma always taught me.
“I . . . it’s just . . . I mean, it’s good to see you.”
She snorts and rolls her eyes.
“Cut the crap, Mary. You were never a good liar.”
Continued Transcript from the January 4th Interview with Melissa Richardson,
Alyssa Richardson’s Mother
Detective: Okay, let’s step back here a minute and start from the beginning. When did you first meet Dawn Addison and her daughter, Mary?
Melissa: A little over a year ago. My husband and I are from Savannah, Georgia. Greg was transferred up here to New York. We thought it’d be a fun adventure. We were here a couple of weeks when a coworker of his invited us to his church. We thought it’d help, you know, since we didn’t have any family or friends here. The pastor’s wife invited me to their women’s group meetings they have on Wednesday nights. That’s where I met Dawn. She walked right up to me and introduced herself. Real sweet, very southern. It was . . . I guess . . . familiar. She’s a little older, but we took to each other right away. And then I met Mary.
Detective: What was Mary like?
Melissa: Mary was always quiet. Real quiet, but smart.
Detective: How could you tell?
Melissa: I used to be an elementary school teacher. Sometimes I’d look over Mary’s homework and the stuff was just too easy for her. I started giving her a reading list and extra math homework. Plus, Dawn wasn’t too bright. Mary always had to help her with the bills and reading for her. I was over at their house once and Dawn was behind on practically all her bills and trying to figure out what she owed. Mary walked right over and did all the calculations, right in her head. She had just turned eight.
Detective: What’s Mary’s relationship with her mother like?
Melissa: They’re inseparable. Never see one without the other. I thought it was a little strange, I guess, for a little girl to not have any friends or anybody her own age to play with.
Detective: Were you close with Dawn?
Melissa: I had just found out I was pregnant and Dawn . . . she helped me out a lot. Came over once a week with Mary. She cooked, cleaned, gave me all kinds of advice on what vitamins I needed to take and what to do. She even massaged my feet.
Detective: What happened when Alyssa was born?
Melissa: Alyssa . . . was a beautiful baby. She was . . . I’m sorry . . . I’m sorry.
Detective: Take your time.
Melissa: When . . . when we brought her home from the hospital, Dawn was there. She made us dinner and helped me the first night. I was having trouble breast-feeding. Alyssa wouldn’t take right away. Dawn, you know, just knew what to do. Mary was there too . . . I let her hold her. I had never seen Mary smile so big.
Detective: Did Mary like Alyssa?
Melissa: Mary loved Alyssa. She brought some of her toys for her. She even helped me change her diaper.
Detective: So you didn’t sense any animosity?
Melissa: No. Not at all. But she was so quiet. I never knew what she was thinking.
Detective: Was Alyssa a fussy baby, give you any problems other than the breast-feeding?
Melissa: She was colicky. I used to give her gripe water to help calm her down. I gave some to Dawn the night I left Alyssa. She said she didn’t need it. She called it witch juice.
Detective: I’m sorry, I have to ask, did you ever drop Alyssa? Maybe something fell and hit her that could have caused the bruising before? Maybe your husband?
Melissa: No. Never. Not even once.
Detective: Just out of curiosity, when you arrived at the house, did you see anything unusual? Anything out of place?
Melissa: Just Mary. She was standing in the corner, staring. I asked her what happened. She said she didn’t know.
Detective: How was this strange to you?
Melissa: Because you don’t know Mary. Mary isn’t a very good liar.
“Damn, you grew up beautiful. You don’t look a thing like your mother.”
She’s here. She really is here, standing in front of me. I forgot how much Alyssa had her eyes. It almost hurts to look at her.
“Thank you,” I mumble.
She strolls over to the sofa and sits with a heavy plop. I don’t move, too afraid to do anything. The dreams I had of this day were always nightmares.
Momma used to call Mrs. Richardson a beauty queen, because of her tall, thin, perfect body, pink skin, big blue eyes, and long brown hair. “Chiclet Teeth,” Momma would call her bright smile, but it never seemed like a compliment. She used to wear all kinds of colorful dresses, heels, and makeup. Now she’s like a washed-up version of her former self, with a potbelly, thinning hair, jeans, and a T-shirt. No makeup. Not even grease for her chapped lips.
“Well, nothing to say?” she asks.
I shake my head.
“Hm. Are you in school?”
“Sort of.”
“Do you still read?”
“Every day.”
She stares at me for a long while. She is shorter than I remember. Or maybe I’ve changed.
“What are you thinking?”
She asked me this a lot when I was little. She would always laugh and sing, “Mary, Mary, pretty little lamb. What are you thinking up in there?” And I would always tell her the truth.
“You . . . you never visited me,” I say, chewing my lower lip.
Alyssa’s momma cocks her head to the side with a frown.
“Come again?”
My throat closes up and I want to hide inside myself. Even after all this time, I still don’t get how I can be so scared yet so desperate for her at the same time.
“Momma said that . . . you would visit me. After it was all . . . over. But you never did.”
Mrs. Richardson cocks her head to the other side and studies me for a long while, like I’m some sort of strange painting. Oh God, what a stupid thing to say! I can tell by her reaction it was stupid.
She lets out a tired laugh and exhales.
“I’m going to kill your son.”
She says it so matter-of-fact that I’m sure I’m hearing things.
“What?”
“You got a low stomach. It means you’re having a boy. And when you have him, I’m going to kill him. Suffocate him with pills and beat him till he’s black-and-blue. You’ll have to have a coffin specially made just for his size, since they don’t come mass-produced like the other ones do. You won’t have many pictures to put in the funeral program, since he wouldn’t have lived much. He’ll just be a baby, three months old.”
I’m going to throw up. I can feel it. My knees wobble and I sit on the floor.
“So yes, I’m going to kill your baby,” she says. “And when they put me away, will you come and visit me?”
I’m so confused. At first, all I can focus on is Bean being a boy. A beautiful baby boy! Ted will love that, he wanted a boy. But then the rage building inside me takes over. A thick pill covered in hot sauce slides down my throat, making it hard to breathe or think straight. All I want to do is slice her face, throw a desk at her head, stab her with a pen, and run her over with a car, for even thinking about hurting my baby. My hands roll into sweaty fists.
A grin smears across her face.
“Yeah, didn’t think so.”
How could she even joke like that? How could I feel like this? This was the woman I loved more than my own momma. The woman I wanted to be my momma. Why is she being this mean? Because of Alyssa? But she doesn’t know everything that happened.
I breathe through my nose, trying to calm down while she pulls a pack of cigarettes and a lighter out of her coat pocket. She never smoked before. It’s strange to see her this way. Like a recovering junkie. The women in baby jail looked better. She lights a cigarette, slowly blowing smoke out toward the ceiling.
“Did you kill Alyssa?” she asks, without looking at me.
I can feel the weight of the question, built and held inside her head for years. She sounds exhausted from carrying it around for so long. And I don’t want to lie. I really don’t.
“No.”
She sighs with her entire body. “Never thought you did.”
The room stiffens, the house quiet. You can hear children playing up the street. She takes another drag from her cigarette, scratching her arm.
“So why did you say you did it?” She still isn’t looking at me as the question rolls off her lips.
“I didn’t say anything.”
“Sure didn’t. So why didn’t you tell me the truth?”
“I . . . I . . . I didn’t think you would believe me.”
“How come?”
“The rabbit.”
“The what?”
“The crystal rabbit,” I choke. “Remember, I used to play with it and you always told me to put it down. Then you found it broke, but I didn’t break it. And you told me no one likes a liar.”
Mrs. Richardson’s face darkens.
“Mary, those are two totally different things.”
I bite my tongue. That is the second time she has made me feel stupid in a matter of minutes.
“I know that . . . now.”
She blinks and flicks dead ashes onto the carpet.
“I forget how young you were. You really were just a kid,” she murmurs, licking her lips a couple of times. She keeps rubbing her arms as if she is cold and I want to give her my hoodie.
“You just had this . . . old soul. I could see it in your eyes,” she continues. “And the way you used to take care of your momma, without her even knowing. It made no sense.”
She licks her lips again, staring at the stains in the carpet, and I’m suddenly embarrassed that she’s visiting me in such a dirty home.
“You know, Alyssa would’ve been starting first grade this year.”
“I know,” I mumble. I think about that all the time. Alyssa-ing over everything that could have been.
She doesn’t say nothing. Just sits there like one of the old folks in the nursing home, daydreaming about memories. Feels strange, having her here, but nice at the same time. It’s never been just the two of us, even when I wanted it to be. I wish she would hug me, squeeze me tight like she used to. But I know she won’t. Still, I’m happy being in the same room with her. The rest of the world feels invisible, like we are the only two people left on the planet. I hold back a smile, because it doesn’t seem right to smile since she is so unhappy.
Please don’t be mad at me, Mrs. Richardson. Please. I’m so sorry.
“So what’s this business about wanting to dig up Alyssa?”
I blink.
“I don’t know anything about that,” I say. “Is that what they want to do?”
She smirks.
“Well, you’re the one running this show, Mary Bell. What do you want to do?”
Mary Bell. I haven’t been called that in years. Feels so familiar, so good. But there’s not a bit of warmth or humor in her voice. She is as cold as ice pops.
“I don’t know. I guess I just want to keep my baby.”
Mrs. Richardson freezes like a picture, smoke swirling around her head, eyes locked on me. Then she snorts.
“You . . . want to keep your baby?” she says, as if it was the dumbest thing anyone has ever said. She puts her cigarette out on the heel of her sneaker and yanks on her coat. I jump to my feet.
Wait, what is she doing? Is she leaving me?
She mumbles and curses, my name coming up. I don’t know what to do or say to make her stay.
Please! Don’t go!
“YOU want to keep YOUR baby!” she screams. “Well, isn’t that rich? We have something in common.”
She walks out, leaving the house feeling haunted.