My whole life has been circled by males; my brothers, my father, Louis and of course, Griff. Most of my friends in school were boys. My mother died when I was seventeen and even before that she hovered on the edge of our ring. I wish I had paid more attention to the way she did things. I have misty-edged memories of the way she sat, always in skirts, one leg crossed over the other, her brown hair pulled back in an elegant chignon. My mother could not get me into a dress, interested in makeup or sitting like a lady, but she insisted that I keep my hair long. I rebelled by putting my hair back in a ponytail and cramming a baseball hat on top of my head. I wish I had watched closely to the way she would carefully paint lipstick on her lips and spray just the right amount of perfume on her wrists. I remember her leaning in close to my father and whispering in his ear, making him smile, the way she could calm him with just a manicured hand on his arm. My own silent little girl is even more of a mystery to me, the way she likes her hair combed smooth after a bath, the joy she has in inspecting her nails after I have inexpertly painted them. Having a little girl has been like following an old treasure map with the important paths torn away. These days I sit and watch her carefully, studying her each movement and gesture. At least when she was speaking she could tell me what she wanted or needed; now I guess and falter and hope for the best. I go on as if there is nothing wrong with my Calli, as if she is a typical seven-year-old, that strangers do not discuss her in school offices, that neighbors don’t whisper behind their hands about the odd Clark girl.
The door to Calli’s room is open slightly, but the banging on the door is more insistent so I hurry down the steps, the warped wood creaking under my bare feet. I unlock the heavy oak front door to find Louis and Martin Gregory, Petra’s father, standing before me. The last time Louis was in my home was three years earlier, though I remember little of it, as I was lying nearly unconscious on my sofa after falling down the flight of stairs.
“Hi,” I say uncertainly, “what’s going on?”
“Toni,” begins Louis, “is Petra here?”
“No,” I reply and look at Martin. His face falls for a moment and then he raises his chin.
“May we speak with Calli? Petra seems to be…” Martin hesitates. “We can’t find Petra right now and thought that Calli could tell us where she might be.”
“Oh, my goodness, of course. Please come in.” I show them into our living room, now conscious of the scattering of beer cans on the coffee table. I quickly gather them and scurry to the kitchen to throw them away.
“I’ll just go and wake Calli up.” I take the stairs two at a time, my stomach sick for Martin and Fielda. I am calling, “Calli. Calli, get up, honey, I need to talk to you!” When I reach the hall, Ben opens his door. He is shirtless and I notice that his red hair needs trimming.
“Morning, Benny, they can’t find Petra.” I continue past him to Calli’s door and I push it open. Her bed is rumpled and her sock monkey lies on the floor, its smiling face turned toward me. I stop, puzzled, and then turn. “Ben, where’s Calli?”
He shrugs and retreats to his room. I quickly check the guestroom, my bedroom, Ben’s room. I rush down the stairs. “She’s gone, too!” I run past Louis and Martin, down our rickety basement steps, flipping on the light as I scurry downward, the cool dampness of our concrete basement sweeping over me. Only cobwebs and boxes. Our old, empty deep freeze. My heart skips a beat. You hear about this, children playing hide-and-seek in old refrigerators and freezers, not being able to get out once they are in. I told Griff time and again to get rid of the old thing. But he never did, I never did. Quickly I run over to the freezer and fling open the lid and a stale smell hits me. It’s empty. I try to regulate my breathing and I turn back to the steps. I see Martin and Louis waiting for me at the top. I sprint up the steps, past them and out the back door. I scan our wide backyard and run to the edge of the woods, peering into the shadowy trees. Winded, I make my way back to my home. Louis and Martin are waiting for me behind the screen door. “She’s not here.”
Louis’s face is stony, but Martin’s falls in disappointment.
“Well, they are most likely together and went off playing somewhere. Can you think of where they may have gone?” Louis inquires.
“The park? The school, maybe. But this early? What is it? Six o’clock?” I ask.
“Petra has been gone since at least four-thirty,” Martin says matter-of-factly. “Where would they go at such an early hour?”
“I don’t know, it doesn’t make sense,” I say. Louis asks me if he can have a look around, and I watch, following at his heels as he walks purposefully around my home, peeking in closets and under beds. She is not here.
“I’ve called in the information about Petra to all the officers. They’re already looking around town for her,” Louis explains. “It doesn’t appear that the girls were…” He pauses. “That the girls met any harm. I suggest you go look around for them in the places they usually go.” Martin looks uncertain about this plan, but nods his head and I do, too.
“Toni, Griff’s truck is outside. Is he here? Would he be able to tell us where the girls could be?”
Louis, in his kind way, is asking me if Griff is coherent this morning or if he is passed out in our bed from a night of drinking. “Griff’s not here. He went fishing with Roger this morning. He was going to leave at about three-thirty or so.”
“Could he have taken the girls fishing with him?” Martin asks hopefully.
“No,” I laugh. “The last thing Griff would do is take a couple of little girls on his big fishing trip. He’s not supposed to be back until Saturday. I’m positive the girls did not go fishing with him.”
“I don’t know, Toni. Maybe he did decide to take the girls with him. Maybe he left a note.”
“No, Louis. I’m sure he wouldn’t have done that.” I am beginning to become irritated with him.
“Okay, then,” Louis says. “We’ll talk again in one hour. If the girls aren’t found by then, we’ll make a different plan.”
I hear a rustle of movement and turn to see Ben sitting on the steps. At a quick glance he could be mistaken for Griff, with his broad shoulders and strawberry hair. Except for the eyes. Ben has soft, quiet eyes.
“Ben,” I say, “Calli and Petra went off somewhere and we need to find them. Where could they have gone?”
“The woods,” he says simply. “I’m going to go do my paper route. Then I’ll go look for them.”
“I’ll call to have some officers check out the woods near the backyard. One hour,” Louis says again. “We’ll talk in one hour.”
BEN
This morning I woke up real fast, my heart slamming against my chest. I was dreaming that stupid dream again. The one when you and me are climbing the old walnut tree in the woods. The one by Lone Tree Bridge. I’m boosting you up like I always do and you’re reaching up for a branch, your nail-bitten fingers white from holding on so tight. I’m crabbing at you to hurry up because I don’t have all day. You’re up and I’m watching from below. The climb is easier for you now; the branches are closer together, fat sturdy ones. You’re going higher and higher until I can only see your bony knees, then just your tennis shoes. I’m hollering up at you, “You’re too high, Calli, come back down! You’re gonna fall!” Then you’re gone. I can’t see you anymore. And I’m thinking, I am in so much trouble. Then I hear a voice calling down to me, “Climb on up, Ben! You gotta see this! Come on, Ben, come on!”