Vanna slept more soundly that night than she had since she’d stepped off the bus in Chicago. Still, she woke early. She knew why. She was ready for a fix. Somehow she had to communicate that to the woman who’d taken them in. She and Jenny would have to drive into town—wherever that was—to score. They’d need money, too, she realized worriedly. When they’d been taken from the apartment, they had no time to gather anything, including the few twenties Vanna had stashed inside her pillow case.
She went down to the kitchen in her bathrobe. Through the window the morning sun glittered through the trees, splashing a riot of yellow, orange, red, and brown over the surroundings. When had it become fall? she wondered. How had she missed it? Fall was her favorite season. It meant a new grade in school, new clothes—and her father.
Her little corner of the universe had been perfect. Her mother met Denny when they moved to Flagstaff; they’d married a few months later. Vanna was born a year after that. Her dad taught at the community college, and he spent more time with her than any of the other kids’ dads did with their kids; he even enjoyed her dress-ups and tea parties. When her mother called her a “daddy’s girl,” he would laugh and wink at Savannah like they shared a secret. When she started school, it was Denny who dropped her off in the morning and picked her up in the afternoon. He was going to his classes; she’d was going to hers. They were a team.
Until the freak ice storm that happened in January eleven years later. He dropped her at school in the morning but wasn’t there to pick her up in the afternoon. She’d stayed at school so long they finally called her mother, who couldn’t come to the phone. Instead the principal spoke to a neighbor who said her daddy had been in an accident on the highway. An eighteen-wheeler skidded on the ice and smashed into his car. He was killed instantly. Savannah never forgot the moment she heard he was dead. She was twelve and was wearing a new pair of shiny black boots he’d helped her choose. The next day it was sunny and sixty-five degrees.
Now she tore her eyes away from the window. The woman sat at the kitchen table, tiny white headphones dangling from her ears. The sight of an old woman listening to an iPod or iPhone was funny, and Vanna almost giggled. When the woman noticed her, she pulled out her earbuds, rose, and went to the fridge. She took out milk and a loaf of bread. Then she went to a cabinet and fished out a box of Cheerios. Vanna wasn’t hungry and she didn’t want cereal; the only thing she did want was a hit. She approached the woman, who was taking a bowl out of another cabinet, and stayed her hand.
“No. No cereal.”
The woman threw her a disapproving scowl. “Da. You eat.”
Vanna scrunched up her nose. “I’m not hungry.”
“Da,” the woman repeated. “You eat. You must.”
Vanna squinted. “So you do speak English?”
The woman tipped her head from side to side. “A leetle.”
“Great.” Vanna pasted on a smile. “Listen. I need a ride into town. Can you drive me?”
The woman’s gaze was cool and direct. She turned away and put the bowl back in the cabinet.
Vanna was confused. “You understand, right? I need a ride into town. Or Chicago. Now.”
The woman turned to face her. She held up her index finger. “You stay. Here.”
Vanna blew out a breath. “Look, I don’t know your name, and you’ve been great to take us in, but we really need to go into town.”
“Vanna,” a voice called. Vanna spun around. Jenny. In her white bathrobe. “Hey,” Jenny asked, “did you find any clothes in the drawers or closet?”
“I didn’t look.”
“Well, I did, and there’s nothing there. Not a thread.”
Vanna turned back to the woman. “Look, lady, we need our clothes. Where’s the stuff we were wearing last night?”
But the woman refused to answer. She got out the same bowl she’d offered Vanna, the Cheerios and the milk, and gestured to Jenny.
Jenny sat at the table. The woman nodded and poured cereal into the bowl.
“She doesn’t understand a fucking word we’re saying.” Vanna blew out a breath.
The woman put the cereal and a spoon in front of Jenny.
“You see a car anywhere?” Vanna asked.
Jenny shook her head. “The van took off.”
“Dammit.” Vanna started to pace. “She’s got to have a car.” She stopped and brightened. “I bet it’s in the barn.”
Jenny dug into her cereal.
Vanna scowled. “How the fuck can you eat?”
Jenny shrugged. “I’m hungry.”
“Yeah, well, if we can’t find her car, we’re up shit creek.” She headed toward the kitchen door. “I’m gonna check out the barn.”
But the old woman, suddenly as fleet-footed as a ballerina, intercepted Vanna before she reached the door. “No.” The woman grasped her arm and shook her head. “You stay in. No go out.”
“Let me the fuck go!” Vanna tried to shrug her off, but the woman’s grip was surprisingly strong.
“You go up now. Bed.” The woman said.
“You can’t do this. I’m not a prisoner!” Vanna cried out.
“You stay. You see.” The woman nodded and guided her toward the stairs.
Vanna opened and closed her mouth several times as if she wasn’t sure whether she wanted to throw a tantrum or cry. The woman’s expression remained stoic. Vanna narrowed her eyes, took another look, and stomped out of the room.
A few hours later Vanna’s stomach began to tighten. The cramps started twenty minutes after that. She’d had food poisoning from a lobster roll years earlier, but the pains from these cramps were much sharper. Beads of sweat ringed her neck and forehead. She made it to the bathroom just in time.
While she was dealing with the cramps, diarrhea, and sweat, her skin started to itch. That worsened as well, until she felt as if bugs were crawling over her body. She scratched everywhere, but it didn’t help.
She staggered into Jenny’s room. Jenny was fast asleep. How the hell could she sleep? Shouldn’t she be as sick as Vanna? Then she knew. Jenny had been on junk for only a week or so, not the five months Vanna had been hooked. Her withdrawal would be easier. Vanna frowned. She wanted to wake Jenny up. Why should she suffer alone? Meanwhile, the urge for a fix, somewhere, anywhere, tore through her. If she didn’t get it soon, she was going to die.
She hurried down the steps. The old woman was at the table again, earbuds trailing a white cord to her phone. Vanna wanted to rip the fucking cord away from her head and strangle her.
“Please…,” she wailed. “I need it. I need it bad.”
The woman glanced up, but her expression was stony. She didn’t even bother to remove her earbuds.
Despair thickened Vanna’s throat. The morning sun disappeared from the window. It must be almost noon. She tried another tactic. “Hey, what’s your name?” She wondered if her voice sounded as frantic as she felt.
The woman hesitated, then squinted as if she knew the ruse. She took off her earbuds. “I Zoya.”
“Zoya.” Vanna pasted on a smile. “Do you have a daughter, Zoya?”
There was no response. In fact, the woman stiffened as if Savannah had struck her.
“Well, if you did, you wouldn’t want her to suffer, would you?”
Zoya pressed her lips together. “You stop talk. Go up.”
“Up? You mean high?” Vanna, close to the end of her rope, purposely misinterpreted the woman’s words. “Thank God. Where is it? I can do it myself, you know.”
Zoya rose and shooed Vanna toward the stairs like a misbehaving dog. “Up, up. You go bed. I come soon.”
“No!” Vanna shouted. Panic rolled over her. Fresh sweat soaked the back of her neck. “You just said I could score. You promised!” She knew she wasn’t making sense, but she glanced around wildly, trying to home in on something, anything, that would stem the overpowering urge for a fix.
Then she remembered the barn. The woman’s car had to be in there, didn’t it? She inched around the table toward the door, preparing to bolt. This time, though, Zoya didn’t try to stop her. With a shriek of victory Vanna reached the door and twisted the knob. Nothing happened. The door was locked. She looked for the release. She couldn’t find it. She whirled around.
“Open this door!” she commanded.
Zoya just looked at her.
“Open it, you goddammed witch!”
Still no reaction.
Vanna screamed. And then screamed again. She screamed over and over until she was hoarse and the screams turned into tears. With her back to the door, she sank to the floor. She couldn’t stop crying.
Zoya went to Vanna, grabbed her by the arm, and pulled her to her feet. Vanna tried to resist, but whatever strength had propelled her this far vanished. Or else Zoya was a hell of a lot stronger than she looked.
“You go to bed. You sick.”
Vanna kept crying.
Zoya half pushed, half dragged her up the steps. She shoved her into the bedroom and locked the door.