Anyhow, the police always scared us. It started after another girl at school asked Maddie how she broke her arm and Maddie told her what happened in the big White House. Of course, the girl told her parents, the parents rang the school, and the school called in the police and our parents.
Nobody believed Maddie’s story and they expelled us for a week. The parents were furious and asked the police officer to put us in a cell overnight as punishment for lying. And—can you believe it—they did. They jailed a seven-year-old girl. We never trusted the police again and Maddie never again tried to be friends with anybody on the outside.
So, now they are patrolling by our house to make sure we are okay? I don’t know what to think about it. This is such a crazy upside-down situation. Maybe Scott can convince me it’s a positive thing when I pick him up later today.
When I pick him up today!
My heart soars and I want to shout it from the rooftops: I pick up Scott today.
I wish we had better weather, but dark rain clouds loom over Port Somers’s promising rain later on. Still, it can’t dampen my joy.
I’m listening inside to see whether Elise is coming too, but she went into hiding the moment she saw the police car. I wish she wouldn’t do that, but I’m not judging her. One thing I’ve learned over the last year is not to judge my fellow Tribe members. And yes, there are times I slip up, especially when it comes to abusers, molesters, and wife-beaters. In general, however, I’m not a judgmental person.
Sometimes a part is not pulling as much weight as I hope or expect. They could have a bad day or are caught in painful flashbacks or crazy thinking. None of is waking up in the morning thinking today I’m fucking up our life. Pardon my French. We all want to be happy and lead a good life. Everyone does the best they can. If we could do any better, we would. It’s as simple as that.
Elise is a no-show this morning and it’s up to me again. At times I get tired of having to be the strong one. I’d love to be like the others, have the choice to go into hiding when trouble knocks on our door, or sleep in front of the fireplace like Prince and—oblivious of everything—let the world pass by. But I can’t. Someone has to show up and take control. Sky said I got that from my German grandmother. Dutiful no matter what happens. Thanks, grandma Schumacher … not!
Right now I would be grateful if that someone were Lizette with an arm full of clothes for me to wear. But that’s not happening anymore. She disappeared weeks ago. I miss her … not because of the clothes. That would be silly. I miss her because she’s my sister who was always by my side. She sneaked away to the sanctuary without saying adieu.
Every time I get dressed I feel the gap she left behind. We had this game where I always chose the opposite of what she suggested. The arguments we had were lots of fun. Now getting dressed is boring.
When I leave the house twenty minutes later in my best jeans, white blouse, and gray blazer, Prince looks at me with approval. And because he is a male, I appreciate it and give him a scratch behind his ears.
I take the bunch of flowers I picked earlier from our garden and lock the door behind me. I had a debate in my head whether to bother locking up. Nobody ever comes here. Although that’s not right anymore. We’ve seen more traffic in the last few weeks with all those ominous visitors than Times Square does on a busy day.
Scottie would want me to lock up, so I do. There is a chuckle in the back of my mind. I know, I’m becoming domesticated and some of the Tribe find that amusing. Ha, ha, ha.
When Sky asked me why I wanted to see the grave of Auntie Amanda I had no answer. I still don’t know why I’m driving through Quarry Gorge, along this neglected, forgotten road, nudged in-between two lush hills about halfway between the Flatbush Creek Road turnoff and Port Somers.
There is a voice insisting I look for Auntie’s grave. Voice might not even be the right word to describe it. It’s different from the voices of the Tribe. With them I can argue and—if I choose to do so—ignore them. The voice I’m talking about is more like a knowing and having the sensation the surrounding air is talking to you. At the risk of people calling me bonkers, I’d say Auntie is calling me. There, I said it.
No wonder I feel a little off-color. I don’t do ghosts and otherworldly stuff like that. Voices from Beyond? Puh-lease! I have enough on my hands with the Tribe. But the closer I come to the cemetery, the clearer the knowing becomes. This is creeping me out.
“What if this is God talking to you?”
“Mikey stay out of my head.”
The last thing I need right now is Mikey putting a crazy idea into my head. If there is a God, he’s been looking the other way for years. I have to drive carefully. I’ve never been to this forgotten valley before. There are no cottages with smoking chimneys, no sheep grazing on the hills, no cows munching and watching the passing car. Just dense bush that turns quickly into an even denser bush. I slow right down out of fear I’ll miss the cemetery or plunge down a steep bank.
I turn a corner and hold my breath. A giant rock face—the leftovers of a deserted quarry—is rising to my right.
