Something She's Not Telling Us - Darcey Bell Page 0,98
town, if you don’t go down with me.”
“I don’t like that poem,” says Daisy.
“Come on,” I say. “It’s funny. It’s sweet. My grandpa used to say it.”
James James
Morrison’s Mother
Put on a golden gown,
James James
Morrison’s Mother
Drove to the end of town.
James James
Morrison’s Mother
Said to herself, said she:
“I can get right down to the end of the town and be back in time for tea.”
King John
Put up a notice,
“Lost or stolen or strayed!
James James
Morrison’s Mother
Seems to have been mislaid—”
“I hate that poem,” says Daisy. “Stop saying it. Stop it now. I want to go home. I’m hungry and cold. I want my mommy and daddy.”
“All right,” I say. “The party’s over. You’re right. It’s getting too chilly for a picnic. Let’s get in the car, and I’ll take you home.”
Bye-bye, Grandpa and Granny.
They’ll clean up the remains of the picnic.
Daisy and I get into the SUV. I turn the key in the ignition. Nothing happens.
The engine won’t start. I try again. Nothing.
I am being punished. Why is it always me? People do things a million times worse and get rewarded. I get punished for nothing. I’m the one who gets locked in the basement with the spiders.
“What’s wrong with your car?” Daisy says.
It’s not my car. Has she forgotten what happened in Hoboken?
The woman in the hall.
“Nothing,” I say. “We can figure this out. We made it work so far, right?”
Daisy says, “I want my mommy and daddy. Now.” She sounds years younger than she did two minutes ago.
I think, Too bad. I want my mommy and daddy. Everyone wants their mommy and daddy.
“Okay.” I try not to sound stressed. “We’re on our way. Hold on. Your auntie Ruth—”
“You’re not my aunt,” she says. “My uncle’s going to break up with you like he did with all his other girlfriends.”
“Don’t say that,” I tell her. “I mean it.”
I have a feeling she’s crying, but I don’t want to see.
I try the key again. Nothing.
I don’t know what to do. It’s getting colder, darker. Daisy will be scared. She already is. We don’t want to be here. There’s no way we can walk back to the highway. It’s too far, in the dark. Too dangerous. There’s no way we can get help.
We’ll have to figure out something. I will, anyway.
“Call my mom,” says Daisy.
“I forgot my phone,” I say. “It was stupid of me not to bring it.”
That’s more information than a child needs.
“I don’t know what I was thinking. Even grown-ups do stupid things sometimes.”
Daisy sobs. “I’m freezing.”
I say, “Let’s turn your inhaler tracker back on. Maybe your mom will check her app.”
I can still be brilliant. A survivor. Cool, even at moments like this.
I know Charlotte is checking the app. I know she won’t have given up.
For once she’ll remember she has it.
Daisy and I are the inhaler, and we want her mother to find us.
31
Charlotte
Rocco drives fast and well, and with each mile that passes, he’s gradually working his way back into Charlotte’s good graces. It’s as if they have company, four presences in the van. Rocco, Charlotte, the GPS voice, the cartoon bunny bouncing on her phone. Let Rocco watch the road, she’s staring at her screen, never letting it out of her sight, as if the cartoon might vanish.
Rocco’s saying it’s not far, but it’s taking forever. Every red light, every slowdown. She wants to pound the dashboard or slam her fist against the window.
Rocco must feel the tension streaming off her, but he’s in no position to criticize or tell her to calm down. He knows it’s his fault. But he’s wrong.
It’s not only Rocco’s fault. It’s also Charlotte’s and Eli’s.
They knew something was wrong with Ruth, but they didn’t expect this. Charlotte should have been on guard starting when Ruth made them eat those sticky buns. She was on guard. Or so she thought.
Rocco says, “Breathe,” and Charlotte draws in a rattling croak.
“Suit yourself,” he says. “Don’t breathe.”
After a moment, he says, “Joke.”
Charlotte isn’t laughing.
The GPS and the bunny cartoon lead them off the road and into a clearing by the river. It’s almost dark. There’s no one around.
Can your heart literally break? Charlotte feels it might be happening. Something’s cracking in her chest, like ice on a pond at the end of winter.
One car—a Volvo SUV—is in the parking area.
How could Ruth be driving a car like that? Did she have an accomplice?
Did a serial murderer leave Daisy’s inhaler in that car? Panic destroys the hope beeping at her from the pulsing blue cartoon.