The kid looked sick. Before she realized what she was doing, she reached out her hand and touched the girl on the forehead. It was clammy. She patted the face gently, but then jerked her hand back immediately.
“Trying to catch a spider back there,” she told the teacher, blowing a loud puff of air through her teeth. “Missed. It hopped away. I think it was really poisonous. Had red spots on it. Was gonna put it down your shirt. You’d like that, I bet.”
“So would a spider in my shirt be a dare?”
“No, just a spider in your shirt. And don’t cut the motor. It was a bitch to start.”
The teacher pulled up to the corner of the Subway shop and put the car in park, the engine still heaving and wheezing. Tony thought the car had been a bad choice. It moved like an old man on a walker. Next time, something smooth and sporty.
“Baby Doll,” said Tony, “you get out with me and stand real close so we can be sure the teacher does what she promised to do. We don’t want a teacher breaking her promise, do we?” She reached over the back of her seat and popped the back door open, then pushed it with her hand so the kid could crawl out. She held the knife tightly; the way the teacher was acting now, the only thing to keep her in line was Baby Doll’s life.
The little kid opened her eyes, and they were puffy and pink around the edges with crusty stuff. “Get out,” said Tony. Baby Doll obeyed, but it was a struggle as she flopped over and tried to work her feet to the ground. Tony hopped out, cut the strip of pillowcase, and drew the kid close with the knife to her ribs. The girl’s body was hot through the pink nightie. She’d lost the outerwear way back before the mighty Miss. The gown stuck to her damp body like a wrapper.
The teacher climbed from the Nova and went to the phone. She was really different since the bathtub last night. She was harder, tougher, not much like a teacher anymore. That was weird considering she was wearing two slashes from Tony’s knife as well as some facial bruises that were just now fading to green. No matter, Tony was in charge. And this was going to be one kick-ass dare.
“Call collect,” said Tony, urging Baby Doll closer to the booth. “He’s at work, right? I don’t have enough change to plug in the phone.”
The teacher picked up the receiver, and stared for a long moment at the short, coiled phone cord as if it were a snake. Then she punched a slew of numbers, then said, “Collect, Kate McDolen.” Tony leaned her head it and listened as the phone rang and then a tinny voice said, “McDolen and Associates, Attorneys at Law.”
The computerized recording, “This is a collect call from…Kate McDolen…will you accept charges?”
“Well, oh, all right,” said the small voice back in Virginia. “Kate, is that you?”
The teacher glanced at Tony, at Baby Doll drooping on her feet with the knife visible at her side. She crushed the short cord between her fingers, and said, “It’s me, Lisa.”
“Kate, are you all right? You’ve never called collect before. Took me a bit by surprise.”
“Don’t they know you’re gone?” Tony hissed. “Don’t they miss you yet? Get your husband on the line!”
The teacher: “Lisa, I’m fine, just having a little phone trouble. Patch me through to Donald?”
“He’s not in.”
The teacher’s eyes closed, then opened. She grit her teeth. “Is he in court, then?”
“No, just out for lunch.”
“It’s only….” The teacher looked at her wrist, but the watch she’d worn was no longer on her wrist, having given up the ghost when embedded with lake slop and left as a parting gift to the director at Camp Lakeview.
“It’s a little after eleven, Kate,” said Lisa. “Sometimes he does an early lunch. Can I give him a message? Are you in Emporia?”
The teacher glanced at Tony. Tony snatched the receiver and slammed it into the cradle. She tugged Baby Doll back a few steps. “What’s this? Nobody has missed you in three days?”
“My husband thinks I’m on hiatus.”
“Oh what?”
“Hiatus, sabbatical. Vacation for a few days.”
“No, he doesn’t. Teachers don’t take off in the middle of the week. Is he in with you on the kiddie porn ring? Is that the deal?”
“There’s no kiddie porn ring. I told you. And yes, he thinks I’m on vacation for a while. I told him I needed a break from school. He wouldn’t have told anyone I was gone, or if he did, he would not have told them why.”
“Yeah?” demanded Tony. This was no good. “Yeah? Well, you call his fucking cell phone, then. I don’t care what he thought you were doing, he’s gonna hear the truth.”
“He doesn’t have a cell phone.”
“All rich people have cell phones!”
“We don’t.”
“Why not? Even the crack dealer next door to me has a cell phone! Call him.”
“He doesn’t have a goddamned cell phone. Lay off.”
Tony stared at the woman. “Goddamned” now, was it? Tony felt a strange anger hearing such words fall from a teacher’s lips. “Well, then, we’ll try later. You ain’t off the hook. He’ll come back from lunch and we’ll call again then. Get in the car.”
Back in the Nova, the teacher fought the steering wheel like she was angry at the world, or was trying to pull it off, or both. The car popped, roared, and threatened to cut off. Then it locked into gear and pulled away from the Subway where the girl in the window was still spinning her hat and looking as if she wished it was closing time.
48
Mistie threw up on Route 120, soon after passing over Interstate 49 and nestling back into the quiet back-land of Louisiana. There was no warning, unlike it was with Donnie who would clutch his gut for a long many minutes saying, “I’ve gotta puke, it’s coming. It’s coming!” It was more like Willie Harrold in Kate’s fourth grade class. He would say nothing and then erupt like a volcano, aimed, if he could possibly manage it, on his good buddy Christopher May and if not, on any other unsuspecting student. The reaction was always what Willie and Christopher wanted — bedlam.
It was a soft little “ploop,” some loud breathing, and then the whimper and the smell. Kate steered to the side of the road and the girl didn’t tell her to get back on the road. It was raining, a steady stream of mist-fine drops. The windshield wipers on the Nova worked, amazingly, but they squeaked like cats with their tails in a trap. She left the engine running.
“We have to do something,” Kate said. She reached back and touched Mistie’s cheeks. They were poker-hot. “I’m not sure what’s wrong with her.”
“You’re supposed to know,” said the girl.
“Why? Why am I supposed to know it all?”
“You’re a mom, you’re a teacher!”
“You believe women are worthless!”
The girl drove a fist against the dash in exasperation. Then she said, “Get her out.”
It didn’t take much to carry Mistie from the car. She weighed less than a sack of potatoes. Kate knelt in the wet roadside weeds and tried to shelter her body from the rain. Her own hair was immediately soaked, and the trickles on her bare arms chilling. The girl stood by in the skunk weed, arms crossed, the sleeves from her own WWJC sweatshirt ripped away.
Along the stretch of road were several houses — a white farmhouse on a hill back up the road a few tenths of a mile, and across the road two doublewides on a shared driveway. The rest was pastureland and cows.
“We need help,” said Kate. “We need to get Mistie to a doctor right away.”
“No way,” said the girl. “Absolutely not.”
Mistie opened her eyes, squinted, sighed, and closed them. The nightie was coated in remnants of breakfast biscuits and bile. Her skin was pale. Her breathing shallow.