The Face of Death

spoken the truth: She wasn't Mommy.

It's no dream. It's all real.

Acceptance arrived again, painful and absolute.

Mommy's dead. Daddy's dead. Buster's dead and Doreen's gone, and I'm all alone and no one is ever coming back. Something of what she was feeling must have showed on her face, because the girl talking to her frowned.

'Hey, are you okay?'

Sarah shook her head. She couldn't talk.

The girl's face softened.

'I understand. Well, anyway, my name is Theresa. I guess we're foster-sisters.' She paused. 'What's your name?'

'Sarah.' Her voice sounded weak, faraway.

'Sarah. That's a pretty name. I'm thirteen--how old are you?'

'Six. I just had a birthday.'

'That's cool.'

Sarah examined this strange but friendly girl. Theresa was pretty. She looked vaguely Latin, with brown eyes and thick, dark hair that ran just past her shoulders. She had a small scar near her hairline. Full, sensual lips softened a serious face. She was pretty, but Sarah thought she looked tired too, like a nice person who'd had a hard day.

'Why are you here, Theresa?'

'My mom died.'

'Oh.' Sarah fell silent, unsure of what to say. 'Mine did too. And my daddy.'

'That sucks.' A long pause. Then, soft and sorrowful: 'I'm really sorry, Sarah.'

Sarah nodded. She felt her face getting hot, her eyes begin to prickle.

Don't be a silly old crybaby!

Theresa didn't seem to notice. 'I was eight when my mom died,'

she said, talking while Sarah listened and struggled with her tears. 'A little older than you, but close enough. So I know how you feel and what you can expect. The main thing you have to understand is that for the most part, none of the people you deal with really care about you. You're alone. I know that sucks to hear, but the sooner you realize it, the better off you'll be.' She grimaced. 'You don't belong to any of these people. You're not their blood.'

'But . . . but . . . if they don't care, why do they do it?'

Theresa gave Sarah a worn-out smile. 'Money. They get paid to.'

Sarah stared off, taking this in. A frightening thought occurred to her.

'Are they bad people?'

Theresa's expression was grim and sad. 'Sometimes, yeah. Every now and then you'll get a good foster- family, but a lot of the time, it's bad.'

'Is it bad here?'

The thing that flew across Theresa's face was bitter and dark and complex, part blackbird, part teardrops, part dirt.

'Yeah.' She grew silent, looking off. She took a deep breath and smiled. 'Probably not so much for you, though. Rebecca's not the one you have to watch out for. She doesn't drink the way Dennis does. As long as you do what she says and you don't cause any trouble, she'll leave you alone. I don't think they'll hit you much.'

Sarah paled. 'H-hit me?'

Theresa squeezed Sarah's hands. 'Just keep to yourself and you'll be fine. Don't talk to Dennis when he's drunk.'

Sarah listened to all of this with the pragmatism of a child, in spite of her fear. She believed what Theresa said, that these people didn't care about her, that they'd hit her, that she shouldn't talk to Dennis when he was drunk.

The world was becoming more and more terrifying, more and more solitary.

Sarah looked down at her hands. 'You said we're foster-sisters. Does . . . does that mean you're my friend, Theresa?'

It was humble and plaintive and it made Theresa's breath hitch in her chest.

'Sure, Sarah.' She forced conviction into her voice. 'We're sisters, remember? Yeah?'

Sarah managed to smile. 'Yeah.'

'Good girl. Now come on, it's time for dinner.' Theresa's face grew stern. 'Don't ever be late for dinner. It makes Dennis mad.'

Sarah was terrified of Dennis from the moment she laid eyes on him. He was a simmering volcano, full of heat, ready to erupt. This was something that anyone who met him sensed.

He felt dangerous

And

mean

He stared at Sarah as she and Theresa sat down.

'You Sarah?' he asked. His voice rumbled. The question crackled like a threat.

'Y-yes.'

He gazed at her for a long moment before turning his attention to Rebecca.

'Where's Jesse?'

Rebecca shrugged. 'I don't know. He knows better, but he's been getting pretty defiant.'

Sarah was still staring at Dennis, wide-eyed, so she saw the rage that passed over his face at this. It was a snarl of pure hate.

'Well,' he said, 'I'm going to have to do something about that.'

His face closed up again. 'Let's eat.'

The meal was meat loaf. Sarah thought it was okay. Not as good as Mommy's, but that kind of felt right, anyway. Dinner passed in silence, punctuated by the clink of silverware and the sounds of chewing. Dennis had a can of beer, and he took large gulps of it between bites of his meat loaf, putting it down and staring around the table. Sarah noticed that he spent a lot of time looking at Theresa, while Theresa was careful never to look at him.

Dennis was on his third beer by the time dinner was over.

'You girls clear the table and do the dishes,' Rebecca said. 'Dennis and I are going to watch TV. When you're done, you can go to your room.'

Theresa nodded and stood up and began gathering the dishes. Sarah helped. The silence continued. Rebecca smoked her cigarette and stared at Dennis with a mix of desperation and resignation, while Dennis simmered and stared at Theresa with an emotion Sarah couldn't define.

Everything about this was alien to her. Dinner at home had always been full of conversation and stories, laughter and dogs. Daddy teased her, Mommy would watch and smile. Buster and Doreen would sit at attention, hoping beyond hope for table scraps that (almost) never came.

There, Sarah was special, and things were light and fun. Here, things were heavy. Things were dangerous. She wasn't special, not a bit. She followed Theresa into the kitchen and over to the sink.

'I'll rinse the dishes off,' Theresa said, 'and you put them in the dishwasher. Do you know how to do that?'

Sarah nodded. 'I used to help Mommy do it.'

Theresa smiled at her. She started the process, and they fell into a comfortable rhythm. Things almost seemed normal.

'Who's Jesse?' Sarah asked.

'He's the other one of us living here. A boy, sixteen.' Theresa shrugged. 'He's nice enough, but he's started defying Dennis. I don't think he's going to be here much longer.'

Sarah placed a handful of forks into the cutlery basket. 'Why?'

she asked. 'What's going to happen to him?'