“I know, honey. I know.” Louisa opens her arms and into them goes Abigail. “It’s one of the great tragedies of children’s literature, it really is. And I promise we’ll talk about it later. But you guys, I need your help.” She taps Abigail on the back, one, two, three, as though signifying that her allotted time to be sad has run out. “Fan out, okay? Let’s find your sister. Otis? You can help too. I’m sure she’s just hiding somewhere, but I’ll feel better once I know where.”
37.
Kristie
Kristie is stocking shelves in the grocery section when Diana, her manager, tells her, “There’s someone here to see you.”
“There’s someone here to seeme?” Kristie lines up the boxes of Oatmeal Squares perfectly. She loves it when one carton’s worth of boxes fits exactly on one of the shelves. Last night, for the first time since Danny left, she got a good night of sleep; she and her baby, which is now the size of a kumquat, are ready to take on the day.
“Yup. She’s up front.”
Kristie wipes her hands on her Renys vest and thinks,she?She hoped it would be Danny. IsLouisahere to see her? She hopes not.
“She’s very small,” Diana adds.
Kristie thinks,small? Louisa isn’t particularly small. Thin, sure, but of medium height. Certainly not “very small.”
Kristie walks to the front of the store. There’s a little girl sittingon the bench by the entrance, swinging her legs back and forth. Oh, sure. It’s Claire, Louisa’s youngest daughter, the one who wasn’t allowed to get the Connect Four game.
“Claire?” says Kristie, and Claire hops off the bench. She’s wearing pink shorts and a white T-shirt that saysNotorious R.B.G.
“Yes,” she says. She makes a motion with the top of her body that is almost like a bow. Her voice is squeaky and adorable. “Hi.”
“Hi.” Kristie squints at Claire. Her sneakers are white, dirty, but on top of the dirt is an overlay of sparkles. They look like the sneakers of a girl who’s had a lot of fun this summer. “What—to what do I—what are you doing here?”
Claire’s skinny shoulders move up and down in a shrug. “I just came to visit.”
Kristie looks around for Louisa or another adult. The store is empty—the early rain kept people away. “How’d you get here?”
“A nice lady drove me.”
“What nice lady?”
Instead of answering Claire says, “Do you have any water? I walked a really long way before the lady picked me up.”
“Sure,” says Kristie. She takes a bottle of water from the cooler near the register. She’ll charge it to herself after. She wonders what kind of lady would drop a little girl off at Renys without asking any questions. When Claire finally lowers the water bottle—she’s almost panting from drinking so much so fast!—Kristie asks, “Who’s that on your shirt?”
Claire looks down and pulls the shirt out from her stomach to get a better look. “A very famous lady. Ruth Baby Ginsberg. My mom bought it for me. She says you’re never too young to honor a liberal icon.”
“Facts,” says Kristie. When Claire speaks, a little furrow pops up between her eyes, the furrow of a much older person. Kristie wonders if Claire is a worrier. Kristie worried a lot when she wasa kid. She gets it. She asks again, “What nice lady drove you?” and again Claire doesn’t answer. So Kristie says, “Did you really just come for a visit . . . ? Or, for some other reason?”
Claire says, “Mostly for a visit.”
“Okay,” says Kristie. Claire’s hair is cut in a way that from the back she might be mistaken for a boy but from the front there’s a long swoop that tucks behind her ear and looks decidedly feminine. It’s a good haircut. It’s actually a great haircut. “Well, I’m always happy to have visitors. But I do have to get back to work. Before I get in trouble.”
“Who would put you in trouble?”
“My boss. Diana. She’s really nice, but she’s still a boss. My cell phone’s in the back. Can you tell me your mom’s phone number? I’ll call her from the store phone and have her pick you up.” She doesn’t relish the thought of speaking with Louisa, but she’ll do it if she has to.
“Nope,” says Claire.
“Nope youcan’ttell it to me, or nope youwon’ttell it to me?”
Claire shrugs and RBG’s crown moves up and down with the motion. “A little bit of both.” Then she gets the little furrow between her eyes again and says, “I’m not going home. I ran away.”
Kristie tries to keep her lips from turning up. Running away seems like something an old-fashioned kid might do. She imagines Claire holding a long stick, a bandanna filled with her possessions swinging from the top. She nods gravely and says, “Sure. I get that. I’m sure you have your reasons. But you probably won’t stay run away forever, will you?”
“I might.” Claire tucks her lips in toward each other, making them almost disappear.
