Chapter Five

I asked you to keep an eye on her for two hours.” Dad plunks down three dinner plates on the small kitchen table. “You said you had it under control.”

“Yeah, well, I didn’t know I was babysitting a little terrorist. Beth and a few other townspeople filled me in on some of Riley’s most current escapades.” Letting Mr. Miller’s donkey out, reorganizing the shelves at the public library, and licking the pastries at the downtown bakery. Ridiculous! Okay, actually the pastry licking I can kind of understand.

Dad focuses on the table as he sets down a platter of grilled burgers. “Do you see why I need help?”

“What you need is the National Guard.”

“This is your sister’s only child.” Dad grabs on to the back of a worn brown chair and eyes me. “Can yyou have the biggest, dreamiestou really just stand there and tell me you’re going to walk away from this? Because, Maggie, if you do, she’s going to a state home.”

“Why do you care?” The words fly off my tongue, and I suck in my lips as if to bring them back.

He stalks to the fridge. “Never mind.”

“I’m sorry.” My voice is quiet, reluctant. We didn’t talk like this in the house of Benjamin Montgomery, where his word was law. And if anyone but him had the final say, it was followed by just enough yelling and insults to make you wish he was a man who used his fists instead. Bruises, I could’ve reported. But mean words? Nobody ever cared.

Dad pours a small glass of milk and sets it beside one plate. “No, you’re not sorry. You been waiting your whole life to talk to me like that. And maybe I deserve it—or maybe I don’t.” He looks into my face. “But we’re not going to upset Riley any more than she already is, so you just keep your smart mouth to yourself around her.”

He’s weirding me out. It’s like he’s genuinely concerned for Riley. I guess it would be hard for him to hold his head up at Bixby’s Coffee Shop if he lost his own granddaughter. “Do you have any leads on Allison?”

“I think she might be in the Houston area. One of her old boyfriends lives there. I know he was calling her a lot in the month leading up to her taking off. Or she could be down the street. She’s still got a motley crew of friends here. Who knows?”

“How did you get this information?”

“Phone records.” Dad throws down some silverware. “I had gotten Allison a cell phone. So I checked the bill.”

Wow, I didn’t know he knew how cell phones worked. Heaven knows he never calls me.

“Are we eating in this millennium or what?” comes a sassy voice. My father gives me a warning look as Riley stomps into the room. “I’m starving.”

I ruffle the curls on her red head. “I guess you worked up an appetite with all that swimming.” And law breaking.

“Whatever.” She grabs a handful of fries and dumps them on her plate. Sliding into her seat, she grabs three Ore-Idas at once and takes a bite. Charming.

God, help me love this child. “So, um, I noticed Dad moved you into my old room. I thought tomorrow after school—and your work release program—we could go shopping.”

“I don’t like to shop.”

I sit down and fluff my napkin into my lap. “Everyone likes to shop.”

“It’s stupid.” She goes out of her way to avoid touching me as she stretches across the table for the ketchup. I pick the bottle up just before she grabs it and hand it to her with a smile.

“So then what do you like to do, Riley? Do you play sports? Play with dolls?” At this she snorts. “What about video games?”

“Nah.”

Dad finally takes his seat, and I begin eating. Just an old habit. Until Dad is seated, no one touches their food. But looking at Riley, ketchup smeared all over her smart mouth, I guess that rule doesn’t hold. I consider blessing our meal, but we were never a praying family. Dad didn’t do church period. Dad didn’t do a lot of things.

I take a peek at my sister’s child, this little stranger. Allison always made sure I knew her P.O. box for the sake of gifts and monetary contributions, but visits were never allowed. She came up with a million excuses. And the sad thing is, I let her.

“Do you have friends at school?” I ask.

Riley takes a big bite of hamburger and talks as she chews. “Tons and tons. Everyone wants to be my friend. They line up at recess to play with me.” Her monotone is as dry as an Arizona desert.

“Why don’t you tell us what you learned at school,” Dad suggests.

“Nothing.” Riley shrugs. “ I know it all.”

“That’s convenient.” I take a sip of tea to keep my mouth busy.

“I used to know someone else who thought she knew everything.” Dad looks at Riley and jerks his head my way. She spares me a small glance, then rolls her eyes.

“Do you have a favorite subject?” I ask.

“Lunch.” Riley dips a fry in ketchup. “I hate school. And I’m not going back tomorrow.”

“Yes, you are,” Dad says.

“I’ll run away.”

“And I’ll find you and send you back. Like last week. And the week before.”

I stare at my niece’s tornadic hair and too-short pants. What kind of life did my sister give her? “What don’t you like about Ivy Elementary?”

She props her cheek on her hand and sighs. “The cafeteria gives me gas.”

Three hours later, I throw myself on Allison’s old bed. It’s exhausting to watch TV when your mind is racing with all the things you can’t say. Dad just sat there silently in his recliner while Riley complained about everything on the show. If I hear the word stupid one more time, I will not be responsible for my actions. And I don’t even want to think about my phone call with John. The man is so nice. God, why don’t I just fall madly in love with him? He’s the very opposite of my father.

I tuck myself in bed with a travel magazine and read until the lines blur. As I turn the page on “How to Not Lose Your Shirt in Airline Fees,” my ears perk at a noise in the hall. Riley’s door. I stay still as a mouse and continue listening. Maybe she’s just going to the bathroom.

But when the back door opens, I slide into my flip-flops and leap down the stairs.

“Riley!” I hiss when I reach the backyard. The cool night air swirls around me, and I cross my arms over my chest. “Riley!” A flash of light has me turning, and I follow the glow and look up. My old tree house.

I walk to the giant oak and set my foot on the first wobbly plank nailed into the tree. This ladder couldn’t have improved with age. I mutter a silent prayer to not fall on my butt in the dark of night, because I know this kid will leave me for dead.

“I know you’re up here.” I gingerly reach the top, only to find the door above my head locked.

“Go away.”

“I want to talk to you.”

“Make an appointment with my secretary.”

Mentally I do the math and calculate back to the year Allison gave birth. How is this kid only ten? “Let me in, Riley.”

“I’d rather eat cow brains.”

I give the door three taps in the center and one giant push. It gives instantly.

“Hey!” She blinds me with the flashlight.

I throw the door back and pull my body onto the floor of the tree house. “This was mine. You think I wouldn’t know how to jimmy the lock?”

“Leave me alone.”

I wrap my feet under me and look at the old walls as best I can in the sparse light. “I spent a lot of time out here.”

She picks at the fuzz on a bunny slipper. “Yeah, and you locked my mom out.”

I inhale at her harsh tone. “Yes, I did.” Though it certainly worked both ways. “That’s what big sisters do.”

“You locked her out of everything.”

I pick up a leaf from the floor. “Is that what she told you?”

“She said you were the worst sister ever.”

Blade in heart. Twisting. “Well . . . I probably wasn’t the best. Your mom and I were, um, are very different.” How do I tell a ten-year- old that her mother came out of the womb hating me? I expected my mom to bring home this rosy baby that I could love—who would love me back. Follow me and adore me. That’s what my friends’ little brothers and sisters did. But she didn’t. She just never did.

“Riley, I know you’re scared. And I understand you’re hurting and—”

“You don’t know squat, lady.” She sets the flashlight in her lap, and it casts warped shadows on her face.

“Your mother didn’t leave because she doesn’t love you. I hope you know that. She left because she’s sick. She needs her medicine to do things our brains do for us naturally. And I don’t think she’s been—”

“Spare me. I’ve heard it a hundred times.”

I’m really stinking it up here. “She does love you, Riley. And you must miss her a bunch.”

“Miss her?” Riley chokes on a laugh. “I don’t ever want to see my mom again.”