When school started up again, all the female teachers clucked around me like predatory hens. At lunchtime, Sabrina grabbed my hand and studied the ring. It blazed like a sparkler in the bright lights of the staffroom.
“You conniving little bitch. I’ve never known such a smooth operator. You go out with this gorgeous guy maybe two, three times, then he’s begging you to move in. He showers you with expensive clothes, whisks you off on holiday and boom you’re a fricking item. The two of you. Mr. and Mrs. Franzen. How did you do it? I mean, you could sell your secret to all of us lonely, aging singles knocking ourselves silly trying to get a date.”
I tucked my hand into my jeans pocket. “I didn’t do anything.” Which was technically true. Though the events of that drunken night in Vegas still weren’t exactly clear in my mind. As far as I was concerned, I’d let events unfold and allowed myself to be carried along on the Franzen family juggernaut.
“Wish I could believe that. You must be giving some fantastic blowjobs or something. You realize you’ve landed the motherload here. You’re now entitled to half of all he owns and that will eventually include Daddy’s empire.” She leaned forward and grasped my hand, her eyes wide. “You didn’t sign a prenup, Anna. Tell me you didn’t do anything stupid like that?”
I shook my head. “You want to come to our wedding celebration?” Her eyes lit up. “It’s at my in-laws. I don’t have anyone else to ask.”
“You have just made my week, babe,” she said, enveloping me in a minty hug. “I’ll be your unofficial maid of honor. Hey, maybe there’s a rich relative or family friend who’s into mature women. Maybe I can strike gold too and we can have our mani-pedis and spa days together.”
Though the prospect of lounging with her in a tanning booth or nail salon was possibly the most sickening idea ever, I was relieved there’d be someone there to talk to among all those Franzen relatives and friends. “You can borrow one of my dresses,” I said and her eyes went all misty and wide.
I drove home that day thinking Sabrina was a poor substitute for Birdie. Birdie should’ve been my maid of honor like we’d always promised each other. As kids we’d linked pinkies, nicked our palms, swapped blood and vowed there’d be no one else in the wedding party. Even though we never talked about what it might be like to be married, because in our world marriage was a fleeting experience. Something chaotic, painful and potentially fatal.
That sobering thought drove me back to the group home on Ardis Street. I parked outside and tried to picture Birdie sitting on the front steps, hands dug into the pockets of her hoodie, hunched over a cigarette. She started smoking when we came back to the group home after leaving Rosa’s place.
After the murders.
Her hands shook so badly she could barely brush her hair or clean her teeth. Maybe it was the stabbing – the sight of all that blood spattered across the wall. Some pimply loser kid offered her a drag of his Marlboro and she never looked back. The smoking calmed her down. We were only twelve and she was already on a pack a day by the time she was thirteen. It was the smoking that got her involved with the bad kids. The step out back was the domain of stoners, dope heads and budding criminals.
Loni was the first one to take a shine to Birdie. She was sixteen, the daughter of an alcoholic father and meth addict mother. She was also a chronic shoplifter who spent the day cruising drugstores stealing flu medication, toothpaste, razors, shampoo, soap and other small items. Once she’d collected enough, she’d head out into the seedier parts of Hennepin to sell them and make enough to buy her daily weed. The first time we went out with her was the beginning of the end between Birdie and me.
I was hunched up in the corner of my bed reading. Birdie rushed in, eyes sparkling, arms flapping.
“Loni wants us to come shopping with her.”
“I’m busy.”
“She says she needs me. I’m a star actor. And she’s really popular. She doesn’t even have to ask us, but she did. She chose us.”
“To do what?”
Birdie shrugged. “Who cares? It’s better than staying in. And she promised me lipgloss.”
I went grudgingly. Mainly to protect Birdie who was so gullible she’d do anything for attention.
Birdie brought me to Loni as if taking me into the presence of a visiting queen. A huddle of older kids stood around the step outside, slouching and smoking. At the center was Loni. An imposing figure with a spiky red buzz cut, flinty garnet eyes that gleamed from a hollow-cheeked face, and a barbed wire bracelet tattooed around her wrist. I’d thought I was tough, but Loni towered over us with her sinewy, muscular body. Rumor had it she could bench press almost two hundred pounds. Nobody messed with her in the group home. She was at the top of the pecking order.
Birdie pushed me forward. “This is my sister, Anna.”
I took a deep breath. My stomach turned a somersault. “We’re not stealing anything,” I squeaked.
“Did I just hear some little lowlife back talk me?” said Loni, pulling herself up to full height and looking at me with such disdain I felt my insides shrink.
Despite my defiance, she dragged us both to a shabby strip mall. Drugstores and convenience stores next to pawnshops and instant cash stores. Loni said we’d hit the drugstore first, and our job was to cause a diversion by dropping something, asking a lot of questions or crying so loudly the clerk would leave the cash desk.
“They won’t suspect skinny little white girls like you,” she said, jamming her red spikes into a green, knitted cap.
I was about to open my mouth to tell her that actually we weren’t sure if we were totally white because Dennis told us we came from a big mixed-up set of folk from some small town in the north of the state, but Birdie nudged my shoulder hard and I shut up. After two stores, Loni told me to wait outside.
She pinned me up against the wall with one hand, her face so close I could see the pimples on her chin. “Your sister’s cool, but your sourpuss face is gonna rile them up in there. Park your skinny ass out here and don’t move unless I tell you to.”
I stood out in the cold, seething. I’d promised not to let go of Birdie and now here we were, hanging out with shoplifters. Accessories to a crime. And no one gave a damn about where we were. No mom meeting us from school in her SUV. No milk and cookies waiting back home on the kitchen table. Nobody reminding us to get our homework done or be home early from a friend’s house.
The other kids at school always complained about how their parents pissed them off with all their questions and interference. I wanted to scream at them – tell them how lonely it is to know that no living person has you on their mind. No mother, father, brother, grandma, grandpa. Nobody. Only Birdie. We had each other and that was that.
When Birdie burst out of the front door of the store, red-eyed and swollen-cheeked after a successful sobbing session, I was so mad I grabbed her arm to drag her away before Loni came out.
“The cops are gonna catch you and then what? You’ll be in juvie.”
But she dug in her heels and refused to budge.
It was the first time she’d ever disobeyed me.
I yanked her arm, my heart bursting at how light and skinny it felt. She shrieked and pulled back, so I wound up and slapped her face so hard her head snapped sideways. She slumped against the wall, a frail bag of bones, hand plastered to the side of her cheek. I froze. I knew I’d gone too far.
“I didn’t mean it, Birdie, I swear,” I screamed, at the sight of the red, raised welt swelling across her cheek.
“I hate you, you bitch,” she shrieked, lunging at me and smacking her skinny hands against my chest. “Nobody likes you. You spoil everything. You’re evil and jealous and pissed off all the time.”
Her fingers were hard and bony like bird claws scrabbling across my skin. Passers-by glanced sideways at us, then averted their eyes and rushed by. That’s when Loni swooped out and waded in between us.
“Cut it out, you crazy little fuckers,” she yelled, yanking my arms away from Birdie. “Someone’s gonna call the cops if you keep this up.”
Once she’d separated us, she grabbed Birdie’s hand.
“You can come with me but your bitch of a sister can fuck right off.” She glared at me then turned back to Birdie. “Her or me? Your choice.”
Birdie scowled at me, her hand cradling the welt on her cheek. “Yeah – she can fuck right off.”
Her words were knives stabbing at my heart. The ground tilted underneath me, only this time it wouldn’t straighten itself. They walked away, but I tagged along behind.
“Where are you taking her?” I croaked, running alongside them.
“Did I hear someone talking or was it a pig grunting?” said Loni, turning her head to smile down at Birdie.
“Oink, oink,” said Birdie, giggling. She slipped her hand into Loni’s and I started to cry, tears burning down my cheeks.
“Don’t go with her, Birdie. Don’t leave me. I’m sorry.”
Birdie just looked round at me and pursed her lips. I’d never seen her look through me like that. “You have snot bubbles coming out of your nose. Yech,” she said, then trotted away with Loni.
I drifted back to the group home, barely noticing the rain that drove against my face. Nobody noticed me coming in drenched. Maybe Birdie was right. None of them liked me. The night supervisors didn’t even look up from their Mario Kart game and the assistant had her nose buried in a pile of schoolbooks. The other kids were gathered round the TV watching Survivor. I ran up to my room and flopped onto the bed, stuffing the pillow into my mouth to stop anyone hearing my howling. Not that they’d care anyway.
Much later, when Birdie returned, my eyes were sore and dry and my heart was a chunk of ice.
I turned to the wall and concentrated on the weird orange-peel texture of the paint. A sweet, skunky stink floated in with her. Just like the weed smokers at the back of the house. My stomach heaved at the thought of Loni giving Birdie weed, but I bit my lip and pretended to be asleep. I felt her standing above me, breathing lightly. The air hung heavy and hot in the room.
“Sorry,” she said in a small, slurry voice.
I stared at the wall.
“I said I was sorry.”
I chewed at my lower lip and stayed silent. I’d make her pay.
“Suit yourself,” she said. When she finally left the room, I was paralyzed with regret. I wanted to run after her and tell her I forgave her, but my voice was trapped inside my body.
Later on, when I calmed down and was really ready to forgive her, I wandered into the lunchroom. But it was too late.
A cluster of older kids stood in a circle, kicking off at Birdie who was shoving fistfuls of chocolate raisins into her mouth.
“I’ve got the munchies,” she chanted. Over and over. Then she filled her mouth again, chomping on the candy and letting the chocolate dribble down her chin. When she smacked the side of her bloated cheek a stream of chocolate pulp shot down her chin and T-shirt.
Anything for an audience. That was Birdie. I hung around on the outside watching, my legs paralyzed, unable to step forward and pull her away. When she started drinking milk and shooting it out from her nostrils, I looked away, sick to my stomach, then drifted back to the bedroom.
I woke up much later. The moon shone through the window. Birdie was sleeping behind me, snoring, her arms wound tightly round my waist. She stirred and mouthed sorry, her lips sticky with chocolate.
Guy was teaching a night class so I left the group home and drove by the mall. My mind settled the moment I stepped into the scented warmth. Glassed-in elevators swished up and down, escalators hummed from one white-balconied floor to another, sunlit evening sky glowed through the skylights. I passed all the familiar stores as if I was walking down my neighborhood street.
Nancy had called earlier to excuse herself from our shopping trip. Apparently, the PowerPoint for Gord’s new keynote address needed work and she couldn’t be spared. I was relieved. I preferred shopping alone anyway. Company always broke my concentration and prevented me from getting into the “zone” of maximum satisfaction. Besides, they’d never put up with my idiosyncrasies. I’d go down a row of garments at least three times, pulling out the clothes, turning them around and around, checking out the place of origin, the washing instructions, etc. I’d try on armfuls of dresses, tops and pants, then go through them all again to ensure I was making the right choice. Then I’d get to the front of the checkout line, spot a cute little jacket or fancy belt hanging nearby and give up my spot to go rooting through the racks again. Nancy’s patience probably wouldn’t stretch that far.
After three hours of circling the best boutiques, I found the perfect dress. Creamy white with a lace trimmed bodice, wide straps that wrapped under the bust line and a long, floaty skirt. I swirled around in front of the mirror knowing Birdie would have loved it. It was a dress she could only dream about.
Then I stopped in at the lingerie store, mainly to see if Carla had shown up again or if anyone had seen her. On the way in I just had to pick up the white lace corset with pink bows and the matching bra. Guy would get a kick out of it.
My husband, Guy. I’d hardly let myself say it. I had a husband. Someone who’d worry about me. It hadn’t really hit me until then. I actually had a family. Husband, mother-in-law, father-in-law and – what’s more – they were loaded and they seemed to like me. Or at least they put on a good show. I could live with that. But the weight of the dress in the white and gold bag and the armful of sinful lingerie I’d accumulated under my arm were enough to allay any misgivings I might have about my new family. Besides, if they turned out to be total shits, I’d always have the mall. Forever. It was legal and official. Half of everything he had was mine. Maybe that’s why Sabrina was the only person I tolerated. She didn’t mince words and she always spoke the truth.
Carla wasn’t there. Not at the cash desk or working the change rooms or circulating the floor. I asked one of the other girls. She frowned and took off her earpiece.
“Who?”
“Carla. She was in cash.”
“Haven’t seen her for a couple of weeks. She didn’t show up and never called or anything,” said the girl, plugging in her earpiece and flouncing off.
Next thing I knew I was driving along the riverfront to see if Carla had drifted back to the streets. It was so easy to be pulled back to that life. In the mall she was under the lights. Had to struggle to be accepted. But the streets didn’t judge you. They were always there, waiting to suck you back into their darkness. There were no interviews, no deadlines, no judgments. You just wandered right back as if you’d never left, regardless of all your flaws and weaknesses. Birdie always said that. Or maybe I said it to her. Years after the group home. My head ached. I couldn’t remember exactly when or where those words were uttered.
It was dusk. Streetlights flickered on along the riverside. I cruised past the Whole Foods Market and the French bakery. Headed towards the narrow, deserted area shaded by trees where the bridge crosses the road, creating a quiet shadowy enclave. A perfect place for doing things you don’t want anyone else to see.
It wasn’t dark enough yet for the kids to be out, so I pulled over to the side and waited. That’s when I saw the guy again. The Ken guy with the perfect hair and goatee who’d picked up Dane at the riverfront. He drifted by in his SUV, slowing down when he passed me. His sunglasses glinted like small mirrors, my face reflected in them.
His car pulled up, maybe a hundred yards ahead and the door opened. I shrank back against my seat and watched. He wore expensive shoes. Shiny, tan loafers, a gray polo shirt and a black zip-up wind jacket with a Vikings insignia. I tapped on my steering wheel, my breath fogging the windshield. I wanted to march up to him and ask him why he was crawling around here picking up vulnerable kids.
He stood around for a minute until his phone rang. Then he started walking back and forth past his car yakking. He had one of those Bluetooth headsets on that make you look like a crazy person talking to yourself. I shoved on my sunglasses and shrunk lower in my seat even though he’d already checked me out. He stopped and glanced once again in my direction, shook his head and got back into his car. He was still talking when he revved up his engine and drove off so fast he sent a spray of gravel into the air. Maybe he wasn’t really a sick creep. Or maybe I’d scared him off and saved one kid for tonight at least.
It was a start.