Those Girls

  “They tied us up in the back of their truck and took us to a warehouse,” Crystal finally said. She took a drag of her cigarette. “They kept us for five days.”

  “Five days?” I almost crushed the bird in my hands.

  She exhaled slowly, the cigarette smoke pushing into my nose.

  “They were sick assholes, like, really sick.”

  I didn’t know what to say, the enormity of what she had told me sinking through me like a stone. Mom had lied. Those men hadn’t just gotten “rough” with them. They’d hurt them badly, held them captive, did terrible things.

  “Do you really think they’re still looking for you?” I thought about how Mom would get up in the night and check the locks. I glanced at the door now—had Crystal locked it after I came in?

  “No,” she said. “I was just messed up.”

  I studied her face to see if she was telling the truth. “How did you escape?”

  “We stole their truck and got back to town. We were trying to get our truck out of their garage, but it was locked up in the back.” She was picking at the label on her beer, ripping off little pieces. “This biker dude helped us out—he owned the pub next door. His son drove us to the bus in the morning.”

  My feelings were all tumbling around inside, angry someone had hurt them, confused and upset I’d never known anything about it, but mostly I felt scared. “It must be horrible knowing that they’re still out there somewhere.”

  “It’s pretty fucked up.” Her eyes were shiny as she took another long drag of her cigarette. She’d almost smoked it down to the filter already.

  “They shouldn’t be allowed to get away with it,” I said. “I mean, I know you couldn’t go to the cops. But I’d want to kill them.”

  Crystal was looking at me but her eyes were vacant, like her mind was somewhere else, the cigarette still burning down in her hands.

  “Crystal?” I said. “You okay?”

  “Yeah, I was just thinking about how easy you think things are going to be sometimes, how you’re on this path and then all of a sudden…” She made a motion with her hand. “Shit is going sideways. And you can’t go back in time, you can’t do it over again. No matter how much you wish you could.”

  “You mean like you wish you hadn’t gone to Cash Creek?”

  “I wish I hadn’t done a lot of stuff,” she said, staring at the far wall. A tear dripped down the side of her face. She brushed it off, took a ragged breath.

  “Like what?”

  “It’s my fault we had to run away. I screwed up. I’m the one who always screws up.”

  “What do you mean?”

  She put out her cigarette in the ashtray, smashing the filter down with one finger, grinding it in. She lit another.

  “Did you know I was going to be a singer?”

  “You never said anything.” I felt thrown off again, like I’d been walking a balance beam and kept getting pushed off. We talked about music all the time.

  “I could play the guitar and everything.” She pantomimed plucking strings. “And your mom, she was going to be a photographer—she was so fucking smart. Smarter than Dallas and me in school. She could’ve been anything.”

  I never thought about my mom having any hobbies or dreams, but she did like taking pictures—our walls were covered with her photos. I’d found an old camera one day hidden on the top shelf of her closet. I’d put it back, feeling guilty, and never asked her about it, but it was weird. Was that from when she was a kid? Crystal was right about Mom being smart, but she only had her GED. She read my homework and borrowed my books all the time.

  Crystal looked at me again, tears making her eyelashes spike. “You’re a good kid, Skylar. A really good kid.”

  “Thanks.”

  “I mean that,” she said. “Don’t try to be like me.”

  “You’re not so bad.”

  “I haven’t done one good thing with my life.” She picked up her beer and swallowed it all, wiping her mouth when she was done.

  “You’ve done lots of great stuff.”

  “Nope.” She shook her head. “Dallas, she’s always helping people. And your mom … she’s braver than you’ll ever know. I haven’t done fuck-all.”

  “What would you do if you could?”

  She met my eyes, hers kind of vacant again.

  “I wish we’d killed them,” she said. “I wish it all the time.” She was staring through me, smoke drifting up from her cigarette.

  “Crystal?”

  She focused in on me, noticed the bird in my hands. “What is that?”

  “It’s a crane. The Japanese call it the bird of happiness. They believe cranes live a thousand years, so it’s supposed to represent good fortune and longevity or something like that. They make strings of them at funerals.”

  “That must look really pretty,” she said, then smiled sadly. “Hey, Sky. I’m really glad you came to see me, but do you mind if I just go back to bed? I’ve got a brutal headache.”

  “Yeah, sure. I’m sorry if I upset you.”

  “No, you’re the best. We’ll go to the beach tomorrow, okay? Give me a call in the morning.”

  * * *

  That night when Mom came home from work she looked exhausted, her hair coming loose from its braid, the tendrils damp, her face flushed.

  “God, the bus was just gross tonight. Like being trapped in a hot tin can.” She hung up her purse. “I can’t wait to get out of these clothes.”

  I made her a fruit smoothie while she was changing and brought it out to her on the balcony, where we had a little plastic table, two chairs, and a hibachi grill that we used in the summer. Mom had found a flowered tablecloth for our table and some citronella candles in pretty pots to keep away the mosquitoes.

  She’d changed into shorts and a tank top and had her legs braced up on the railing, her head resting against the back of the chair, her shoes kicked off. I could see red marks in her feet from where her shoes had rubbed.

  She took a sip of the smoothie. “Yum.” She reached for my hand and gave it a squeeze. “How are you feeling?”

  “I went over and saw Crystal.”

  “How was she? I tried to call from work but she didn’t pick up.”

  “She was probably sleeping. She seems kind of depressed. Do you think we should get her some help? Like, what about therapy or something?”

  “She wouldn’t go.” I could hear tension in her voice and knew she didn’t really want to talk. Her eyes were closed, her head still resting on the back of the chair like it was the first time she’d had a chance to relax all day. But after my conversation with Crystal I had even more questions about what had happened.

  “Crystal told me what the guys really did.”

  She opened her eyes and frowned at me. “What do you mean?”

  “She told me how they kept you for days, and hurt you.… I’m really sorry that happened to you, Mom. You must have been so scared.”

  Mom looked pissed off. “She had no right to tell you that.”

  “She thought I knew. Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “I didn’t want you to have to think about those things.”

  “Did you ever tell anyone?” I said.

  “No.”

  “Not even Patrick or Karen?”

  “We didn’t want to talk about it.” Neither of my aunts or my mom had ever liked talking about their past, which made more sense now. But they barely talked about when they were kids, either. Mom had told me some things about her mother over the years, like that her name was Lillian and she’d been a good cook and liked to fish. She didn’t really talk about her dad.

  “Crystal said you stole their truck.…”

  “Yeah.”

  “How did you get out of the warehouse?”

  “Can we talk about this another time? I’ve had a long day.”

  “You always say that when you don’t want to talk about something.”

  “It’s always true.” She looked away, took a sip of her
drink.

  “Crystal said it was her fault that you guys had to run away.”

  I could see a pulse beating in Mom’s throat. “She probably just meant because Dad and she used to fight a lot.”

  “What about?”

  “What’s this all about?” She looked at me again.

  “I just wanted to understand. Why is that so weird?” What they went through was really horrible, and I got why they didn’t want to talk about it, but something still felt strange about it all, like they were hiding something else.

  “Crystal doesn’t think,” Mom said, her voice angry. “She says all kinds of crap when she’s in one of these moods. It doesn’t mean anything.”

  “It sure sounded like it meant something.”

  “Who knows with Crystal?” She stood up. “I’m going to take a shower.”

  I went into my bedroom, put on my headphones, and messed around with some beats, but when I played them back they all sounded angry, chaotic, confused. Like they didn’t know what they wanted to be yet.

  Later that night I texted Crystal, said I was looking forward to going to the beach and asked if she wanted me to pick up anything on the way to her place.

  She didn’t answer.

  * * *

  Around ten in the morning I threw my bathing suit in my bag, grabbed a towel and some lotion, and headed over to Crystal’s. She hadn’t answered any of my texts that morning or my phone call, but I figured she might still be sleeping.

  When I got to her place, all the windows were closed and she didn’t answer the door. I knocked a few times and called out. Then I went around to every window, trying to see inside, but the blinds were closed. I checked around the back of the house—her car wasn’t in the carport. I thought about asking the upstairs tenants if they’d seen her but it didn’t look like anyone was home.

  I went back to our apartment, disappointed Crystal had forgotten our plan. Maybe she had to go in to work or something. I texted her a few times that day and night, but she wasn’t answering any of my messages. I checked her Facebook, mostly photos of her with different guys and shots of her at the bar or partying with friends. She hadn’t updated her status since the night we were at the bar: Can’t wait to see the Headkickers! The bar will be rocking!

  “I can’t find Crystal,” I said the minute Mom got home. “We were going to the beach.”

  “I’m sorry, baby. But are you really surprised?”

  I knew Crystal blew off lots of people, but I was hurt she did it to me. “She’s not answering my texts.”

  “I’ve been trying her too. She probably just forgot her cell somewhere. She’ll check in soon.”

  * * *

  I came home from the gym the next day to find Mom watching TV and painting her toenails. She was working late that night at the hotel for a wedding.

  “Mom, I need to talk.”

  “What’s wrong?” She looked up, her face concerned.

  “I went by Crystal’s a couple of times today, but she’s not around. She didn’t show up for work either. No one’s seen her.”

  “I know you’re worried, Sky, but this is what Crystal does. You know that. Remember last year when she took off? She used to disappear for weeks and Dallas and I’d be so scared, then she’d show up like it was no big deal and we’d find out she was partying somewhere with friends or some guy.”

  “Not this time, Mom. Not after the other night.”

  She capped her nail polish bottle and looked at me. “Especially this time. Dallas and I were expecting something like this.”

  I chewed my lower lip. “But she didn’t tell me.”

  My mom covered my hand with her own. “She still loves you, Sky. You’re her number-one niece.”

  I smiled weakly. “Because I’m her only niece.”

  “Exactly.” She patted my knee and stood up. “I better get ready for work.” She looked back at me. “Don’t worry, baby. She’ll be back soon.”

  While Mom went to get dressed, I pulled her key chain out of her purse and took the key to Crystal’s place.

  * * *

  It was nine o’clock and the sun was just setting when I pulled up in front of Crystal’s. There didn’t seem to be any lights on in her suite. No lights upstairs, either, which was good.

  I opened the front door slowly, my eyes quickly taking everything in.

  “Hello?” I called out. What if she had some guy over, or came running out with a towel wrapped around her, pissed I was violating her privacy? But the place was quiet. It was a little creepy being there alone.

  The ashtray on the coffee table was full; empties stood in a cluster. All the cigarette butts were her brand—Player’s light, king-size. The kitchen sink was full of dishes and the garbage smelled. I pulled the bag out of the pail, tied it up, and left it by the front door. I made my way down the hall into her bedroom.

  Her bed was unmade, a tangle of sheets and pillows. A beer bottle was on her night table, and the little foil crane I’d made was sitting on a Kleenex box. I picked it up, fingered the wings as I looked around.

  Her perfume hung in the air. Some of her drawers were pulled out, clothes heaped in a laundry basket, but I couldn’t tell if anything was gone.

  I checked her bathroom—no toothbrush in the stand. I opened all her drawers. Her makeup was gone too. I looked in the shower. No razor, just a couple of almost-empty shampoo bottles and a sliver of soap.

  I stood in the hallway and frowned. Where was she?

  Back in the living room, I sat on her couch, put my hand on the pillow lying there. I shouldn’t have made her talk about Cash Creek. I shouldn’t have brought any of it up at all.

  She still had two joints inside the box on her side table. I moved to her desk, rummaged through some Post-it notes, just random notes about groceries or reminders, phone numbers. I turned on her computer and checked her search history. There was some stuff about some bands, and at the top: Cash Creek.

  I stared at the name, my heart beating fast. I did a search, checked the links that came up. She’d clicked on one about cattle ranches in the Okanagan. It was a listing for ranches. I scanned the names but they didn’t mean anything to me.

  I shut down her computer, left a note on her counter: Please call me! Then I cleaned up her dishes, took out her garbage, and made her bed. I grabbed the two joints out of the box—figured she wouldn’t mind.

  I walked back into her bedroom and checked her night table drawer, under her mattress, in her closet, searching everywhere for the gun. It was gone.

  I wish we’d killed them. I wish it all the time.

  The way she’d looked at me, like I wasn’t even there.

  * * *

  In the morning Mom shuffled into the kitchen in her boxer shorts and tank top, her hair messy. She yawned as she opened the freezer and pulled out a box.

  She glanced at my cup of coffee. “That’ll stunt your growth, you know.” She smiled at our running joke, which started after I shot up past her years ago.

  She popped some Eggos into the toaster, grabbed the syrup out of the fridge, then sat across from me, using her fingers to taste some syrup from the lid.

  I’d been thinking about what I’d discovered at Crystal’s place, had even logged onto my laptop last night and searched again for Cash Creek. It was a really small town, only about three thousand people. Wikipedia mentioned dairy farming and cattle ranching, but when I Googled “Cattle ranches, Cash Creek,” I didn’t get any hits.

  Mom was talking about what we could do that day. I couldn’t really concentrate on what she was saying. I was thinking about how to tell her what I’d learned but every time I opened my mouth, she went on about something else.

  “Maybe we could go to Stanley Park. Do you feel like Rollerblading around the seawall?” She got up and took her Eggos out of the toaster, dropped them onto her plate, and slathered them with butter. “Or we could go to Granville Island and walk around the stores, maybe check out the market.”

  She sat
back down across from me, picked up the syrup bottle.

  I took a breath. “I went over to Crystal’s last night.”

  Her eyebrows pulled together. “She’s home?” She set the bottle down.

  “No, I borrowed your key.”

  Now she looked pissed. “You mean you took it.”

  I shrugged. “I needed to see inside her place. It looks like she left Sunday, maybe not long after I went over.”

  “Yeah.” She took a few long sips of her coffee, watching me over the rim.

  “I think she went to Cash Creek.”

  She started shaking her head but I kept talking. “Mom, listen. She was on her computer, looking up Cash Creek. I bet she was looking for those guys.”

  All the color had gone out of Mom’s face, and her hand was gripping the edge of the table like she was trying to hold herself up.

  “Mom?”

  She got up and refilled her coffee. She was stirring in sugar, only her profile visible, but I could see her eyelashes flickering like she was blinking hard.

  “Crystal would never go back there,” she said.

  “You don’t know what—”

  “I know my sister, Skylar. She wouldn’t go there.”

  “Her gun is gone, Mom. I think she went back to kill them.”

  She turned around. “That’s crazy.”

  “She looked them up. Why would she do that?” I couldn’t tell her about my last conversation with Crystal, the stupid stuff I’d said.

  “Who knows, but there’s no way in hell she’s gone to Cash Creek.”

  “I think we should drive there and see.”

  “Absolutely not.”

  “Why not?”

  “It’s too dangerous, for one, and I can’t miss work.”

  “Why aren’t you worried?”

  “I am worried, okay? But Dallas and I learned a long time ago not to screw up our lives every time Crystal went off the rails. She’ll figure it out and she’ll come back and we’ll lend her money again and she’ll get another job.”

  “I can’t believe you’re not going to look for her!”

  “Skylar, you have no idea what we lived through in that town. None of us would ever go back there again.” She walked over, cupped my face. “Trust me.”