her. “They’re all so full of shit.”
She writes that on a piece of paper she plans to leave where they will see it. You are full of shit and I hate you. She stuffs a couple of T-shirts and her cheap MP3 player into her backpack. She’s supposed to get a real iPod for her birthday and she’s supposed to get a phone, but who cares? She’s not going to that stupid party. She’s going back to Sadie’s and ask if she can sleep over.
“It’s your fault,” her mother says. “You should have built a better fence.”
“Oh great, nice,” he says. “Be sure you tell everybody I killed the dog. Be sure you spin it so I’m the bad guy again. Be sure to call Andy and Liz so they’ll feel so sorry for you and want to take you to dinner or something since of course it’s all about you.”
Abby stands out in the front hall, but they don’t see her there.
“Maybe I will call them. Always nice to speak to an adult.”
“Price tag on your ass.” He points to a round white sticker on her mother’s pants. “I hear the price is up, though the value is down.”
“Fuck you.”
“Obviously not your job these days, but I do know you’re working somewhere.”
“You don’t know anything.”
“Don’t be a fool,” he says. “I know all I need to know.”
They aren’t even interested in Dollbaby. They’ve already forgotten all about her and they’ve forgotten about Abby, too. Nobody said, Let’s drive and get her. Nobody said, What can I do for you, sweetheart, the way that Sadie will do when she gets back over there. Sadie will know what to do because she cares. Her parents don’t care. They are just like Richie said. So fuck them. When they look for her there will be no one home. Time’s up. Fuck you. She moves quietly through the hall and out the front door, then pauses at the opening of the cemetery. She almost takes the long way, on the sidewalk and around the big block, but she doesn’t want anyone to see her. The streetlights aren’t on yet, but they will be soon. She steps in and waits, listens until she hears the door slam. Her dad gets in his car and drives away and then she watches as the kitchen light comes on and then the one on the stairs. She is going to count to ten and then she is going to run as fast as she can. She will not stop anywhere near Esther Cohen’s grave but will run straight through to the other side and she will first go to Sadie’s room to see if she’s still awake, and if she is, she will ask if she can come in and talk. And if Sadie is sleeping, then she will just sit right there near her bed and wait. The shadows are long, the passage dark up ahead. Sometimes she counts the bats that fly out of the eaves of the long abandoned caretaker’s cottage over near Esther Cohen’s grave, but not now. Not today. Now she quickens her steps, her feet moving to the rhythm of Dollbaby, Dollbaby, Dollbaby. She tries not to think about what she looked like there by the side of the road. Dollbaby, Dollbaby, Dollbaby. She hears rustling beyond the shrubs as she passes and tries not to think. Don’t think, don’t think. Dollbaby, Dollbaby, Dollbaby. She walks as quickly as she can, eyes on the ground so she won’t trip and fall. Dollbaby, Dollbaby, almost there, almost there.
Stanley
STANLEY IS TIRED OF his game, tired of pretending he doesn’t notice what is really going on; the way it is so clear Sadie is fading away, the way Rachel Silverman clearly had more connection to Joe Carlyle than she let on, the way Ned, for all the pushing, is still not out there actively seeking a new life and company better than his flaky old man. After dinner he goes and sits in the chapel and stares at all the photos of Lois Flowers. He had known her for years. Some people thought she was a little uppity and overdressed for these city limits, but he admired the way she went her own way, or at least seemed to. He closes his eyes and pictures her swaying there in the dining hall, jet black hair fixed just so. He liked the way she could make her voice gruff and then come right back and