Twenty-seven
The girls flew, their hair waving behind them, their faces turned to the sun. “You’ll probably have to ride to school some days,” Mary called to Hannah, who rode behind her. The Chase girls were on their bikes. Their colorful, shiny, fantastic bikes, with spokes that glistened and wheels that hummed. On hers, Mary felt the joy of the kinetic, the profound relief of movement as she watched the sidewalk disappear beneath her.
“Isn’t there a bus?”
“Yeah, but the bus sucks,” replied Mary. She slowed to let Hannah pass her. “It’s all kids picking at their whiteheads and sucking on their egg-salad sandwiches.”
Mary remembered the boy who’d taught Hannah how to ride a bike. He worked as a mechanic, and he played in a band. He took Hannah to the parking lot of a chemical factory and put her on his sister’s old ten-speed, running behind her and holding on to the seat until she was doing it on her own. Later that night, he double-pierced Mary’s ear with a sewing needle, then slipped his grandmother’s ruby stud into the hole. Mary felt a trickle of blood run from her lobe down to her neck. Without hesitation, he licked it clean, sliding his tongue up from her collarbone, then wrapping his mouth gently around her tender and swollen earlobe. Three days later, the Chase girls were gone. They didn’t leave a note. And for years, the taste of Mary’s blood would come to the boy unbidden, and he’d feel his mouth go wet; he’d feel an ache in his groin. And he’d remember the taste of Mary Chase.
The girls rounded a corner, and athletic fields came into view behind a massive brick structure contained inside a chain-link fence. Hannah gripped the hand brakes and her bike slowed. “Is that it?” she asked, her face alert and cautious. It was bigger than she had imagined.
Mary squinted as she assessed it. “That’s it,” she said.
Hannah stopped and let a foot drop to the ground for balance, and Mary did the same. “Do you think these tests are gonna be hard?”
“Probably not,” replied Mary. Then she pressed her foot against the pedal and felt her bike respond by quickly gliding down over the concrete of the sidewalk. “They just want to make sure you know what you’re supposed to know.”
Mary let the bike gain speed as the hill sloped down toward the school, then she made a smooth turn into the parking lot. Mary stopped in front of a metal bike stand. Beside her, Hannah’s bike screeched to a halt, and she wobbled off. She was nervous, Mary could tell.
Mary swung her leg over, dismounted, and looked at Hannah. “You should pretend like something’s wrong with you,” she said. “When someone introduces themselves, you should just hug them. You should act like some total freak who just hugs everyone.”
Hannah chuckled—it was a nervous, jittery thing. “Do you think there are going to be other people?” Hannah asked, her eyes hopeful. “Taking this test?”
“Probably not, Bunny. School started a couple of weeks ago here.”
Hannah walked close to Mary as they entered the school, which was like any number of schools. Its cinder-block halls were painted a slick yellow and were lined with a series of handmade posters and trophy cases. The students were in class so the building seemed empty save for the windowed office with a view of the entrance. Mary pushed through the door. An older woman was seated at a desk behind a raised counter. She looked up as the Chase girls entered. “May I help you?” she asked.
Mary walked up to the counter and leaned against it. “This is Hannah Chase,” said Mary, nodding toward her sister behind her. “She’s here for a placement test.”
A phone receiver was lifted, and soon Hannah was greeted by a small friendly-looking woman with an ever-present smile who was all arm rubs and encouragement. “You’re just going to take some quickie tests for us, okay?”
Hannah looked at Mary, then looked at the woman and nodded.
“Good luck, Bunny,” called Mary, as the woman led Hannah to the testing room. Hannah looked back at her, and Mary mimed a hug. Hannah turned, the smile just visible on her face.
Mary waited as Hannah took her tests, her head resting against the wall behind her, her arms crossed in front of her chest. She felt her eyes drift shut. She had slept for only a couple of hours after her shift before they had to leave for the school.
“It’s going to be a little while,” the woman at the desk said. Her hair was wiry gray and gathered up on the crown of her head in a bun.
“That’s fine,” replied Mary, still staring at the ceiling. “I’ll wait.”
A few more minutes passed. “Are you the mom?” the secretary asked.
Mary looked at her. “Excuse me?”
“There’s paperwork,” she said. The secretary extended a brown clipboard and gave it a bounce. “Needs to be filled out. May as well get it done now.” Mary stood, keeping her eyes on the woman as she took the forms. “Since you’re waiting.” The office phone began to ring, and the woman lifted the receiver. “William Brown Middle School. How can I help you?”
Mary sat back down and looked at the papers, at the black letters on the white pages. The school needed Hannah’s name, the date and place of her birth, the address of the last educational institution she had attended. They needed to know if she had any medical conditions or disabilities. They needed to know the name of her parents or legal guardians. Their places of employment. Mary Chase, she wrote. Sea Cliff. She brought the clipboard back to the old woman.
“Thank you, honey,” she said, taking it from her and setting it on her desk without giving it a glance.
Mary wasn’t quite sure how long she sat there. Long enough for the hallway outside to fill up and then empty, then fill up and empty again. Long enough for the woman at the desk to pull out a brown paper bag and eat a tuna-fish sandwich. Finally, Hannah was escorted out of the testing by the woman with the ceaseless smile.
“She did great,” the woman said, and Mary understood that she would say this no matter what. “We’ll be in touch with the results and placement.” Hands were shaken, and the efficient, pleasant woman went back from whence she came.
“How’d it go?” whispered Mary, placing her hand on Hannah’s back as she guided her toward the door.
“Good,” said Hannah, wincing away from Mary’s touch and scanning the hallways for peers.
From behind them, Mary heard the secretary’s voice. “Hey, ummm . . . girls?”
Mary’s and Hannah’s heads turned in unison.
The secretary was finally looking at the paperwork. “You forgot the dad’s name on here,” she said, as she flipped through the pages. Then she looked up at Mary and Hannah over her glasses. “You want to add him?”
Mary felt her head go light, perhaps with fatigue. “No,” she replied, ushering Hannah out ahead of her. “We don’t.”
Mary and Hannah rode home in silence, the sun softened by high clouds that glided slowly past it. “Let’s go the long way,” said Mary. “By the water.” And so the Chase girls passed along the coast, watching the surfers bob like seals as row after row of perfect arcs came rolling in from the horizon.
“It’s pretty,” said Mary, as she looked at the water, its light shooting in all directions. “Don’t you think?”
But Hannah was silent. She remained so as they pulled up to the apartment, as they lugged their bikes up the stairs, and as Mary slid the key in the door.
Mary dropped her purse inside the door. She watched Hannah as she walked to the kitchen area. “I’m gonna go back to sleep, okay?”
Hannah opened the refrigerator, investigating its contents. “Okay,” she said.
“Wake me up at like eight.”
Mary soon fell into an impenetrable sleep. She didn’t know how long she’d been unconscious when her eyes blinked open. The light in the room had changed, had gone black, the only illumination coming from the parking-lot lights of the grocery store. But Mary knew Hannah was there even before she saw her.
“It’s 8:15” came Hannah’s voice, inches away.
Mary opened her eyes and saw her sister’s face. She was lying on top of her own sleeping bag, her hands tucked against the side of her cheek, her body angled toward Mary.
Mary inhaled sharply, acclimating to consciousness. She drew her head back slightly and glanced around the room.
“Mare?” started Hannah, bringing Mary’s eyes back to her. “Who was my dad?”
Mary took another breath, the engine of her mind starting to churn. He was a prince, a warrior. He broke away from his family, which was powerful but cruel. He fell in love with Mom, but he was sworn to another. He had to leave to protect her. He promised to come back for her one day. These were the things Mary had said in the past, these were the tales that Mary had once told. And now she would tell another.
“He was a friend of Mom’s,” said Mary. Her voice sounded raw, ragged with sleep. “His name was Barry.”
Hannah’s face was serious, and she adjusted her hands. “What was he like?”
“He was nice. Handsome. He took Mom to nice places.”
“Is he alive?”
“I think so.”
“Does he live where we used to? In Sandy Bank?”
“Last I knew.”
“Was he your dad, too?” Hannah’s questions were clinical, determined.
“No. He wasn’t.”
“Who was your dad?”
“I don’t know for sure,” replied Mary. “Nobody does.”
“Do you think you’ll ever find him?”
“Maybe, Bunny,” said Mary. It was soon going to be winter. Winter was such a lovely time of year to visit Sea Cliff. For many longtime guests, it was their favorite time.
“I hope you do,” said Hannah.
Mary rested her arm over Hannah. And Hannah did the same. The Chase girls lay there like that, their arms over each other, their bodies still and curved as if they had been cast in stone, as if they were the recently unearthed fossils of some forgotten cataclysmic disaster. Until Mary had to stand up. Until she had to go to work.