Hope
The truth was I felt horribly guilty about it. About the way Charity died, yes, but also how I pinned it on Faith for all of these years. Faith still didn’t know the truth. It was too late now. You can’t walk up to your sister more than thirty years after a tragedy and say, “Oh by the way, I’ve been lying to you all of these decades. It wasn’t actually your fault.”
And Faith thinking it was her fault had been to my great advantage. Faith was indebted to me for life because of the way I twisted the truth. Sometimes at night I would lie awake staring at the ceiling and feeling as if the universe was sure to punish me soon. But oddly it never did. Other than me having sucky jobs, of course. Not like my famous sister who had somehow become Detroit royalty. But no lightning bolts had hit me on the head, no close calls had befallen me as I crossed the street, no diseases ravaged my body. I had escaped retribution and I felt like I had a horseshoe tucked up my ass.
One thing was for sure—I still had trouble being on beach boardwalks and avoided them at all costs. The smell of hot dogsand kettle corn, the sound of children laughing and playing, the feel of the wood planks beneath my feet, the sight of so many kitschy tourist shops with their T-shirts and kites and snow globes and fudge and beach toys. It all reminded me of that day with Charity. Of what Faith did, or rather what I did.
I couldn’t stop replaying every detail and over, even decades later.
It had been late afternoon in our quiet corner of the beach and Mom and Dad decided it was time to go home. Charity was sure to sleep the whole way, especially after being our water hauler for most of the afternoon. Faith and I might actually snooze too. The sun and wind had taken the energy out of us and we looked at each other with drowsy eyes. But first we wanted ice cream. We begged for it, pleaded.
Mom thought it would ruin our dinner but Dad overruled her and said we’d stop for one scoop on the boardwalk. He was in a better mood than I had seen him in in a while and we all tried to take advantage of it, hugging and kissing him and saying “Thank you, Daddy” over and over.
When we got to the boardwalk, the line at the ice cream shop was long. Faith and I were trying to teach Charity how to say “ice cream,” but it was a lost cause. She was doing her best, but other syllables would come out.
There was an arcade nearby with bright lights emanating from the space and the alluring sounds of beeps and buzzes. It was irresistible to me and Faith. Our eyes kept looking that way, as it was just a few storefronts down from the ice cream shop.
“Mommy, Daddy, can we go to the arcade for one game?” Faith begged. “Just one? Pleeaasse.”
I saw Mom and Dad glance at each other before Dad shrugged and reached into his pocket, drawing out four quarters.
“Once these are gone, you’re done,” he said. “We should be at the front of the line by then.”
“Thank you, thank you, thank you!”I cried out, surprised by his generosity. As the eldest I took control of the quarters, holding the precious metals in my hand as Faith looked at me with eagerness. We started to turn away but Charity reached for us and began crying. She knew we were leaving her and didn’t want to miss out on the fun.
“Charity wants to come too!” said Faith, laughing. I saw Mom’s eyes dart to the arcade, back to the ice cream line, and back to the arcade, assessing.
“Let her go,” said Dad. “They’ll only be gone a hot minute.”
Faith took Charity’s hand and our little sister’s face went from sad to thrilled in an instant. The two of them started walking toward the arcade and I was about to follow when Dad clamped a hand on my shoulder.
“Hope, you’re the oldest. Keep an eye on your little sister. Don’t let her out of your sight.”
“I won’t,” I said, and I meant it.
But something happened in the chaos of the arcade, something I’ve tried to piece together for thirty years. I have trouble remembering exactly how long we were in there. It couldn’t have been more than ten or fifteen minutes. Faith held Charity’s hand as we walked around. I lifted Charity up to see what one of the race car games looked like. We watched two boys play on a golf simulator before getting bored and moving on. Then Faith and I spotted side-by-sideMs. Pac-Mangames and we went running over, Charity’s little feet following us.
I don’t remember why we were so absorbed in the game but we knew we had only four quarters and we had to make them count. Faith and I were both focusing intently on the screens infront of us, trying to steer Ms. Pac-Man to gobble up every obstacle in her way and avoid the ghost characters coming at her. I know I thought Charity was just standing behind us.
But when our last Ms. Pac-Man died with that sound that’s like something spiraling and splattering, I turned around and Charity was nowhere to be found.
“Charity?” I called out, sure that she was nearby, maybe at a game just out of eyesight.
Faith whipped her head around too.
“Chair?” she yelled. There was no response.
We looked at each other with a sudden sense of fear and took off running through the aisles of the place, yelling her name.
The guys at the golf simulator were still at it; other people were camped out at various games, seemingly having a blast, oblivious to our plight. The arcade, which had been a dream destination for Faith and me just minutes prior, now felt like a haunted house. There was darkness and weird lighting everywhere. The games seemed to mock us, clown faces and aliens on pinball machines, and we ran, yelling her name, looking behind and next to every machine. She was so small she could have wedged herself in any number of places. We were getting frantic and we were both panting. We stopped near the entrance back to the boardwalk, putting our hands on our knees. We had no idea what to do. There didn’t seem to be any employees, security guards, or even adults in the arcade. It was filled with kids, preteens, and teens.
“Maybe she went back to Mom and Dad,” Faith suggested, and I thought that it was as good a suggestion as any but I also felt a huge pit in my stomach. What if she hadn’t? Then it would be the moment of reckoning for us.
We decided to do one more sweep of the arcade but sawnothing. We looked up and down the boardwalk. Plenty of people were walking about in the late-afternoon sunlight, smiling and chatting, but there was no sign of a little strawberry-blond girl.
I saw Mom and Dad heading our way with three ice cream cones in their hands. Charity was not with them. And I knew. I knew this was very, very bad. A feeling of dread like I had never felt came over me.
Everything is a blur after that. Mom dropping the ice cream cone she had in her hand and running into the arcade, screaming Charity’s name as loud as she could. Dad bolting over to a security guard who was leaning casually against a railing. Dad dumping the other two ice cream cones in the garbage can as he and the security guard took off down the boardwalk. Mom coming out of the arcade in hysterics, and people on the boardwalk beginning to notice and ask if they could help.
