Sylvie stood in the kitchen, holding a plate of Ambrosia salad. She usually liked the way the mandarin oranges tasted tart against the marshmallows that turned into foam when blended with the sour cream. This Ambrosia salad had something missing, though. Sylvie wasn’t sure what. It made her stomach turn.
The room buzzed with people. Family, friends, neighbors… they were all there. They arrived with casseroles, cookies, and pies. They brought deviled eggs, macaroni salad, and brownies. At the house they sipped on coffee and iced tea, all while nestled in corners, talking amongst themselves. No one had any idea what to say to Sylvie and her family. That’s why they brought the food. They brought it packed in Pyrex dishes, aluminum casserole pans, and plastic platters, each wrapped with plastic wrap, as if food were to make up for their loss.
It had been four days since June’s murder, but that’s not what they were whispering about.
Dad hadn’t come home.
We’re so sorry for your loss.
What a tragedy.
If you need anything, call us.
It appeared they were being sincere. They cried, offered hugs. They stared at Sylvie, Mom, and Sebastian straight in the eye while squeezing their hands. Then, they crept into the corners of the church, and into the house, whispering about Dad.
Where is he?
I heard the marriage was on the rocks.
Are the police looking for him? Was he killed, too?
Poor April, she must be devastated. Losing a daughter and now her husband is missing.
Do you think he did it? You can never tell these days…
It enraged Sylvie. All of it. If they cared so much, why were they gossiping in corners? Why weren’t they searching for Dad if they wanted to help? Searching for the killer?
Sylvie realized the truth. Lowridge, the forgotten mill town tucked into the quiet northeast corner of Connecticut, historically broke its promises. That was clear by the run-down textile mills that’d once boomed during the industrial revolution that were now either collapsing or barely holding on. The mills that were still standing provided menial salaries and benefits to the employees who trudged in each day in what were no longer textile mills, but factories making hamburger rolls, potato chips, or glass containers for fancy makeup. Makeup that the employees, like Mom, couldn’t afford.
But it was worse than that. With a whopping seventeen thousand residents spread across fifty miles (which Sylvie knew thanks to a class project), Lowridge was small enough for gossip, yet big enough for people to hide. Let someone else handle it. That seemed to be the motto. We don’t want to be involved. We’ll just bake cookies and cook casseroles and drop them off in colored Pyrex dishes, so it looks like we care. Sylvie figured that, in some ways; she was lucky they’d even made the casseroles. Someday, that would probably stop, too.
Sylvie knew she was jaded. She supposed she couldn’t help but be. After all, Mom’s younger sister, and Sylvie’s older sister, were all named after happy, hopeful months of the year: April, May, and June. Then there was Sylvie. She was destined to stand out.
Bailey gently jumped up on her legs, rubbing his paws on her thighs.
Sylvie looked down at him as he backed away, walking on his hind legs like a circus dog. Like her, Bailey was stuck in this town. She admired his tenacity as he showed his best trick to beg for food.
“You can’t have my salad,” Sylvie eyed the dog. “It’ll make you sick.”
“That salad could make anyone sick,” Uncle Lonnie said as he came up behind her with a grin. He put his hand on her shoulder. “Are you sure you should eat it, Sylvie?”
Sylvie smiled. Uncle Lonnie was her favorite uncle. He was her only uncle. She looked up at him as she set her plastic fork down onto her paper plate. He was a tall man, with longer black hair to his shoulders that sometimes got in his eyes. He was unusually good-looking, with a boney nose that somehow made sense on his oblong face.
“Yeah, something is definitely missing in this salad. Who made this? It tastes like slime.” Sylvie stuck out her tongue.
“I think it was your aunt May.” Uncle Lonnie lowered his voice. “I won’t tell her if you toss it. Hold on, let’s see where she is. You know she’s like a spy, always watching.” He darted his eyes around the room to spot her as he took Sylvie’s plate in his hands.
Sylvie laughed. Bailey sighed and plopped himself in the corner, giving up on the possibility of a taste.
Uncle Lonnie looked over to the maple kitchen table where Aunt May was sitting with a group of old ladies from church.
Aunt May looked up at them, her lips curving into a smile.
“She’s watching, alright.” Sylvie said. “I don’t think you can toss it yet.”
“Hold on,” Uncle Lonnie smiled back at May. “Wait for it… Wait for it—strike! Look, she’s busy with Maggie and Mia. Our twin girls to the rescue!” Uncle Lonnie tossed the plate into the garbage. “There, all set.” He grinned as he wiped his hands of it.
“That stuff was horrible,” Sylvie laughed. “You’ve got to keep your wife out of the kitchen.”
“Yeah, she certainly can’t cook. She’s wonderful with the girls, though. She’s such a great mom.” He looked back at his wife and waved.
Sylvie looked, too. May was still at the kitchen table, fussing with her daughters. The five-year-old twins wore matching dresses and crooked pink bows in their thick, black hair. Her aunt adjusted each of their bows while the church ladies oohed and aahed over their patent leather MaryJane shoes.
Sylvie remembered what a shock it’d been when Uncle Lonnie and Aunt May had come home from their church missionary trip to Mexico a few years back, announcing they were adopting the twin babies. They’d fallen in love with the girls at the orphanage they’d volunteered at. Sylvie watched the girls now, as each tapped their shoes on the linoleum floor, squirming while their mother fixed their hair. Sylvie wondered what it would be like to have a twin sister. Would they fight like her and June or would they finish each other’s sentences? It always seemed like Maggie and Mia were one and the same.
“At least you guys didn’t name the girls after months of the year,” Sylvie said, not mentioning the fact that she thought it was strange they’d changed the girls’ names when they adopted them.
“Well, when we adopted the girls, I told your aunt that we already have a Sylvie in the family. How would she feel if we named our kids July and August? It would be like the whole family skipped over you.”
“Thanks for looking out for me, Uncle Lonnie.”
“Don’t say I never did anything for ya.” He winked.
“Honestly, though,” Sylvie said. “I can’t even call her Aunt May. It’s like I’m in one of those Spiderman comics you give Sebastian every time I do.”
Uncle Lonnie laughed. “You know she hates it when you only call her May.”
“I know.” Sylvie smiled.
So did Uncle Lonnie. “Well, now that we’ve taken care of confiscating the horrible Ambrosia salad, tell me, Miss Sylvie, how are you? How are you really doing, kiddo?” Uncle Lonnie looked at Sylvie, his dark eyes baring into her soul. Lonnie always had a way of talking that went from funny to serious in zero point three seconds. She figured that was why he was such a good college professor, even if he did only teach at the new community college. Sylvie thought he deserved to be at Harvard or Yale.
“You know,” Sylvie said. She’d been so good all day at hiding her emotions, keeping a stoic, strong face. Someone had to be strong for Sebastian because Mom was a mess. But looking at Uncle Lonnie now, it was hard to keep it together. “You know,” Sylvie said again, her voice quivering.
Sylvie looked up at the kitchen light, as if it would stop her tears the same way it brought on a stubborn sneeze.
“Daddy, daddy, daddy!” Maggie and Mia came running over. “Can we go outside? Can we play?” They pulled on his hands, leading him away. “We want to play princess!”
“Well, that depends,” Uncle Lonnie said, turning away from Sylvie and looking at his daughters. “Will you let Sylvie play, too?”
“Syl-bie!” they said together, not able to pronounce the “v” in her name. “You can be Cinderella!”
“I don’t want to be Cinderella, though,” Sylvie said. “Can’t I be Alice?”
“She’s not a princess!” Maggie stuck her nose in the air.
“So? I like Alice better.” Sylvie grinned.
“Daddy,” the girls whined.
“Only if Sylvie can play,” he teased.
“Okay. You be Alice,” Mia said. She was the nicer twin.
“That settles it,” Uncle Lonnie said. “Off we go to the kingdom of the backyard! With two princesses and an Alice. Shall we bring Bailey, too? Alice needs her rabbit, after all.”
Sylvie smiled. “I’ll get his leash,” she said. “I’ll get Sebastian, too.”
“So,” Uncle Lonnie said once they were all settled in the backyard. The girls jumped on Sebastian’s trampoline while Sebastian sat on the grass with Bailey, watching.
Sylvie wasn’t sure exactly how that was playing princess, but she was happy they were busy. She needed to talk to Uncle Lonnie alone.
“So,” Sylvie said, her voice trailing off. “I’m sure you hear what everyone is saying about my dad.”
“Yeah. I mean, I heard some of it. You know this town, Sylvie. People just like to talk.”
“He’s not home, though. Where is he? And why aren’t they looking for him?” Sylvie crossed her arms over her chest as she looked away from Lonnie. She felt the urge to cry, a ball of sobs swelling up in her throat.
“I’m sure the cops are. I’m sure they’re looking.” Lonnie placed his hand on Sylvie’s shoulder. Sylvie uncrossed her arms, then wiped her wet cheeks.
“It’s not like him, Uncle Lonnie.” Sylvie said, gulping down her tears. “It’s not like him to leave like that.” Lonnie then pulled her in for a hug. After a moment, he let her go.
“I don’t mean to pry, and, you know, I won’t tell May. We both know your mother hates it when May sticks her nose in,” He winked, “but how are your parents? Their marriage, I mean. Were they fighting? Your dad hasn’t really been himself since Nonna died.”
“They were fine. Nothing major. Normal parent stuff, I guess. I mean, no one always gets along,” Sylvie cleared her throat. It was true: he hadn’t been the same since Nonna died last summer. He’d been preoccupied, coming home late, and easily getting angered. She’d heard her parents argue plenty, keeping Sebastian close by when they did, letting him listen to her Walkman to drown them out. She’d talked about it with June, who’d reminded her Dad was now an orphan, with both parents deceased. “Can’t be easy to lose both your parents,” she’d said. Remembering this now reminded Sylvie that, sometimes, June really did think about things other than boys and makeup.
“May and I never argue,” Uncle Lonnie smirked as he leaned up against the oak tree.
“You guys are unique,” Sylvie said, half smiling at his joke. “Besides, that’s not entirely true. May complains about your dirty socks all the time.”
“You got me there,” Uncle Lonnie grinned. “You can’t blame her though, they do stink. Not to mention the fact I like to leave them on the stool in the kitchen. She hates that.”
Sylvie half-smiled once more. She shoved her hands into her pockets and looked away.
“What is it?” Uncle Lonnie asked.
“It’s just…” she began.
“Just what?”
“There is something. Something I didn’t tell the cops. I mean, I don’t think it’s anything but…”
“But…? What is it, Sylvie?”
Sylvie inhaled a slow, deep breath, then exhaled, to release all the tension that was building inside her. Finally, she spit it out. “June was dating Rick Greene. I think she was messing around with him.”
“The realtor?”
“Yes.”
“Isn’t he a lot older?”
“Twenty-five. June told me his age.”
“I thought she was with that boy, what’s his name?”
“Bruce Martin. Yeah, she was. She broke up with him.”
“Hallelujah for that. That boy was really a…”
“A prick,” Sylvie finished.
“Well, you said it.” Uncle Lonnie laughed. “I was going to say he wasn’t right for June.”
“Well, neither was Rick Greene. I mean, what was she thinking? She’d started telling me she wasn’t going to go to college, that, basically, her and Rick were going to run away into the sunset and live happily ever after.”
“And you don’t believe in fairy tales?” Uncle Lonnie studied her face closely.
“Well, no. I mean, not like that. Rick was obviously using her. Why else would a guy his age want to be with June? I mean, why not someone his own age? Or closer to his age? It’s just… June got these fantasies—ideas in her head that everything is rosy, and everyone is great and I just—”
“Were you jealous?”
“Jealous?” Sylvie laughed nervously. “Why on earth would I be jealous?”
“Well, older sister, attention from older guy…sisters just have this jealous thing. I see it with your mother and May all the time.”
“No. I wasn’t jealous. Not of Rick. I love—loved my sister. I just have common sense. I didn’t want to see her toss her life away.”
Uncle Lonnie shook his head. “So, what did you do?”
“I told my dad. I told him June was messing around with Rick and had no plans to turn in her college applications. June might have acted like an airhead, but she had almost a 4.0 GPA. I’d kill for that.”
Uncle Lonnie was silent. After a moment, he said, “So, you tell your dad she’s messing around with the realtor guy on the local billboards, who, if I remember correctly, sold Nonna’s house, right?”
“Yes.”
“Okay, so you told your dad, who, of course, realizes that this Rick guy is a lot older than her, and my guess is, he wasn’t too happy. Is that right?”
“Yes, that’s right. He wasn’t thrilled.”
“Does your mom know?”
“She has no idea,” Sylvie said.
“So, what did your dad say?”
“Well…” Sylvie paused. “He didn’t exactly yell. He just kind of acted strangely.”
“Strange how?”
“Just strange. Like I’d just given him the answers to a test he’d been taking. Like something all the sudden made sense. He said something like, ‘Really…’ I mean, I’d expected him to be outraged. Like, ‘Hold the horses; June is doing what?!’”
Uncle Lonnie grinned. “You have a very colorful way of saying things, if I do say so myself.” Then, he got a serious face. “It sounds like your dad was just in shock, that’s all. I mean, he was probably figuring out how to tell your mother what June was up to.”
“Maybe. I’m not sure. That’s just it, though. After I told him, I went to school. When I came home, June helped me with my makeup for the dance. And just that morning she’d let me borrow her sweater. She was being nice to me and—”
“You were feeling guilty.”
“Yes. Exactly. You so get me, Uncle Lonnie,” Sylvie said. She felt so grateful for her uncle.
“That’s because we’re the same person. I swear it. You’re just younger, a different sex, and not blood related to me at all.” He smiled. “So, you told June you told your dad, and she was—”
“Pissed. I mean, really pissed. She said it wasn’t any of my business and that I had messed up everything.”
“Messed up what?”
“I have no idea. I guess her and Rick. Like Dad wouldn’t let her see him anymore. We fought in the car on the way to the dance. The last time I saw her, she was in her car. She’d said she wasn’t stepping foot in the dance because she was ‘over high school’ or something like that. I didn’t believe her because, I mean, she had her dress on. She was the homecoming queen, for crying out loud. I just figured she was being dramatic.”
“Then what?”
“I can’t remember, it’s all a blur. It’s like I saw her in the car, and then she was dead. And Dad was gone. And I can’t figure any of it out, it’s like…”
“Like it’s your fault?” Uncle Lonnie stared straight into Sylvie’s eyes, sympathetically.
“Yeah. Is that weird? Why would it be my fault?” Sylvie felt scared to even say the words your fault out loud. Why did she feel so guilty?
“It’s normal to feel that way after a tragedy, Sylvie. We all wish we could have done something different. Better.” Uncle Lonnie moved from the tree and put his hands in his pockets.
“I’m so sick over it. What if Dad visited Rick? What if Rick killed Dad and June, too?”
“You think it was Rick?”
“He didn’t show up at the funeral. If he was so ‘in love,’ where was he?”
Bailey barked in the distance. The girls came running over, dragging Sebastian and Bailey behind them.
“Syl-bie! Syl-bie! Do you have the cookie?” They chanted in almost perfect unison.
“What?” Sylvie refocused on the girls. She’d forgotten they were even there.
“The cookie that makes you small, Syl-bie. Do you have it?” Maggie asked. Both girls looked up at her with bright, yielding eyes.
Sylvie looked at Uncle Lonnie as if to say, what on earth are your kids talking about?
“You’re Alice!” Mia said, enlightening her.
“Oh, right, the cookie. The one that makes Alice small.” Sylvie laughed. “Hmm. . .Sebastian, do you know where the cookies are? Maybe you could go inside and get a cookie?”
Sebastian shot Sylvie a look that seemed more like a plea to save him from the girls.
“Or Mia and Maggie, you could go see your mommy for the cookie?” Sylvie suggested.
Bailey barked again. He understood the word cookie.
“You come, too!” the girls sang.
Sylvie sighed. She looked over at Uncle Lonnie.
“Listen, kiddo,” he said. “You did nothing wrong. You were only looking out for your sister.”
Sylvie nodded.
The girls ran ahead into the house. Sebastian followed as Bailey yanked on his leash.
Mia looked back at Sylvie and called, “Come on, Syl-bie!”
“You’d better hurry,” Uncle Lonnie said, “or you’ll be late… Alice.”
Sylvie gave her uncle a smirk.
He turned and headed toward the house.
Sylvie followed, but stopped abruptly. A heavy, thick feeling fell over her body. Someone was watching her. It was as an intense, laser-sharp stare. It penetrated her skin straight into her bones. Sylvie could feel it, almost paralyzing her.
Sylvie paused, then turned her head, taking in the backyard. Had someone come outside while she’d been talking to Uncle Lonnie?
She darted her gaze from the trees to the garden to the shed. No one was there.
The back screen door slammed shut as Uncle Lonnie, the girls, and Sebastian trampled into the house. Distant voices from inside the kitchen spilled into the backyard. Nearby, a neighbor’s dog barked. Sylvie looked back at the house, wondering if someone was staring out the window, but there was no one there, either.
Sylvie shrugged it off and walked toward the back door again until a glare of light from the street caught her attention. She looked out toward it.
There, standing by his used blue Honda Accord, dressed in a black suit and black tie, was Rick Greene.
Sylvie opened her mouth to speak but couldn’t. She tried to step forward, but felt stuck. Anxiety spun through her from her head to her toes. How dare he come here, she thought. The world around her felt like it was closing in. Even the clouds seemed to spin.
Sylvie shuddered as Rick’s car door slammed. His engine revved, disrupting the peace on the quiet street. Sylvie held her breath as she watched him drive away.