Every summer since before they can remember, the girls have looked forward to visiting Aunt Julia and Uncle Bill. Back home, where the twins live the rest of the year with Grandma, they are almost never allowed out of the yard, especially when the weather warms up. It’s the polio, Grandma always says. No sense tempting fate. Now, here they are, cooped up just like at Grandma’s. Every other summer, Friday night at Aunt Julia’s meant an evening at Sanders. That’s the real reason the girls packed their store-bought dresses. They would sit, the girls, Uncle Bill, and Aunt Julia, at the Sanders counter, and as Uncle Bill ordered from the man wearing an apron and small white hat, Aunt Julia would scold the girls for twirling on the round stools. Then they’d all eat hot-fudge sundaes from fluted glass dishes.
Outside Aunt Julia’s front window, streams of yellow thrown from flashlights drift back and forth across the lawn. Dry grass crackles under heavy boots, and as broad-shouldered shadows glide past the windows, voices call out to Elizabeth. Mostly men’s voices, deep and scratchy. Some are close, next door or down the street. Others are muffled, as if coming from a block or two away. The quieter voices are harder to listen to. They mean the men have traveled farther and farther away, thinking Elizabeth has done the same. The quieter voices come from someplace dark, where all the porch lights aren’t shining and the front doors don’t stand wide open. The quieter voices mean maybe Elizabeth won’t be found as quickly as Aunt Julia thought. The twins, and Aunt Julia, too, are waiting for silence, because silence will mean the men, whether near or far, have stopped shouting and Elizabeth has been found. Silence will be a good thing.
“What will Elizabeth do?” Izzy says, turning her back on the telephone so she won’t be tempted to think about Patches or warm, bittersweet chocolate. Her stomach clenches and reminds her they skipped supper. Another great thing about Aunt Julia’s house is the food. She cooks as well as Grandma, maybe better, and never insists on clean plates and always makes enough for seconds. Food isn’t such a chore at Aunt Julia’s house. “When it’s time for bed,” Izzy says, “what will she do?”
Izzy’s damp red hair hangs in strands over her shoulders, the ends frayed where she didn’t bother to comb through them after her bath. Grandma is always shouting-Izzy, get busy. Izzy, get busy brushing your hair. Izzy, get busy making your bed. Izzy, get busy. Arie’s hair is nearly dry because she is better about scrubbing it with a towel. No one ever shouts at Arie to get busy.
“What do you mean, sugar?” Aunt Julia says.
“What will Elizabeth do without a bed to sleep in?” Arie says before Izzy can answer for herself.
Izzy stares hard at Arie and shakes her head. Grandma doesn’t like it when they do things like finish each other’s sentences and thoughts. She says it feels like something the good Lord didn’t intend. Scooting to the edge of the sofa so she doesn’t have to look Izzy in the eye, Arie begins rubbing the ends of her fingers, one after the other, no doubt wishing she held Grandma’s rosary in her hands so she could rub its smooth, ivory-colored beads instead of her own fingertips. But the rosary is upstairs, hanging from Arie’s headboard, where she has kept it since they arrived.
“I believe Elizabeth will sleep in her own bed tonight,” Aunt Julia says. She stands, tugging at her slim skirt where it buckles on her hips, and walks over to the front door. “I was with her just this afternoon at Mrs. Richardson’s. She’ll be happy as can be to see you two.” Pushing open the screen door, Aunt Julia leans out and looks up and down the street. “I bet she’d be pleased to help you find that cat of yours. Just as soon as she’s home, we’ll all go together. We’ll take out the sedan, drive over to Grandma’s, and have a look around.”
Outside, a few doors slam shut and, soon after, engines fire up, rumble, and fade as the cars roll down the street. The bushes along the west side of the house rustle. The men are kicking them or swatting at them with yardsticks. They must think Elizabeth is hiding there. Aunt Julia rubs her thin reddish eyebrows, inhales a deep breath, spins around on one heel, and returns to her seat at the larger sofa. Deep voices continue to call out to Elizabeth. “Come on home,” they shout. “Supper’s on the table.” Following Aunt Julia’s example, the girls rest their hands in their laps, cross their ankles, and sit with a straight back.
As the twins stare out the front window, Aunt Julia trying to smile each time they glance her way, they realize the neighborhood is quiet. The voices have stopped calling. The girls close their eyes and each takes a breath, together at the same time because that’s how it works between them. They don’t want to hear another man shout out that supper is waiting or that Papa is home and misses his Elizabeth. After a few more moments of silence, the twins open their eyes, look at each other and then at Aunt Julia. Arie squirms to the edge of the loveseat, stands, and leaps into the center of the room. She claps her hands together and draws them to her chest. Aunt Julia smiles, shows her teeth. She hears the silence too. All three turn when a heavy foot hits the front porch. Aunt Julia jumps from the sofa.
Uncle Bill’s head is the first thing to poke through the open screen door. He’s wearing his black Tigers cap, the same one he pulls on every night as soon as he gets home from work. His hair is almost as dark as that hat. He crosses into the house, his black steel-toed work boots clumping on the wooden floor, and as he passes Arie, still standing in the center of the room, he scoops her up with one arm, cradles her to his side, and together they drop down on the large sofa opposite Izzy. Aunt Julia closes her eyes and exhales a long breath. Taking steps that make no noise at all, she follows Uncle Bill and sits next to him. Uncle Bill wraps his other arm around Aunt Julia, settling back into the sofa’s deep, square cushions, dragging her with him. She laughs and slaps at his chest, but not slaps that would hurt. Then she leans into him, lets her head rest on his shoulder, and seems to forget for a moment that the twins are in the room.
“I’m so relieved,” Aunt Julia says, sinking into Uncle Bill’s side.
Grandma says the girls are the spitting image of their mother, but Izzy and Arie don’t know their mother. Grandma says take a gander at your aunt Julia. That’s close enough. Izzy resists a peek at her own flat chest. There is no chance Aunt Julia ever looked like Izzy and Arie and no chance Izzy and Arie will ever grow to look like Aunt Julia.
Stretching an arm around Uncle Bill’s waist, Aunt Julia hooks a finger through one of his belt loops. “Where was she?”
Uncle Bill kisses the top of Arie’s head and winks at Izzy across the room. It’s not too late, yet. Maybe there will still be time for a drive downtown and chocolate sundaes. When Uncle Bill doesn’t answer, Aunt Julia unhooks her finger, slides to the edge of the sofa, and shifts in her seat so she can face him square-on.
“You found her, didn’t you?” Aunt Julia’s voice becomes thick and slow. Her Southern roots have a way of breaking ground whenever she gets especially worked up. “That’s why you’re home, right? You found Elizabeth.”
Arie pokes Uncle Bill and points at the cap he still wears even though he’s inside. Uncle Bill gives her the same wink he gave Izzy and snaps the bill of his cap between two fingers. It flips off his head, spins end over end, and lands in his lap.
“Not yet,” he says, pinching the tip of Arie’s chin.
“What do you mean, not yet?” Aunt Julia stands and stares down on Uncle Bill. “It’s pitch-black out there. She has to be home.”
Uncle Bill pats the cushion next to him, and when Aunt Julia sits again, he pats her knee. “We’ve stirred up a hornets’ nest, girls,” he says, rubbing his rough face against Arie’s cheek. He’s done that to Izzy before so she knows why Arie tucks her chin and giggles. Izzy touches a hand to her own cheek because she can almost feel it too. “You’re going to have to stay close to home for a while.”