Newt Run
Alison Gray
Sarah was careful to keep the egg with her at all times. Unless she was washing or getting dressed she never took her hands from it, and even then she made sure to fold it neatly inside of a towel or place it somewhere she felt it would be equally safe. Allison tried to talk to Sarah about the egg, asking her where she'd gotten it, but either the girl didn't remember or she wouldn't say. All she told Allison was that she'd been given a chance to make things right.
"Make what right?" Allison asked her.
"Everything!" Sarah answered, laughing.
That was two days ago. Since then, and despite her best efforts, Allison has grown increasingly worried; it isn't natural for a 12 year old girl to make up stories about a magic egg (nor, strictly speaking, would it have been natural for anyone.) Allison told herself that it was just a phase, and that in everything else Sarah was a perfectly ordinary girl: she liked books, hated school, and wasn't entirely sure how she felt about boys. Recently she had decided that she wanted to learn how to cook, and she is with Allison in the kitchen now, helping her to chop vegetables. On the counter beside her, resting in a small dish, is the egg. From time to time Sarah pauses to touch it, running the ends of her fingers over its cool, dimpled shell.
Once they are finished with the vegetables, Allison helps Sarah to boil some noodles. Afterwards, she turns on the television and sits down at the round, wooden table. From time to time she checks on Sarah, making sure that she's being careful around the stove.
"I'm old enough to do it myself," Sarah tells her, resentful of the attention.
"You're pretty big," Allison responds. "But you still need to be careful."
The girl clicks her tongue in frustration. It's a habit she's picked up from Allison, and hearing it never fails to make Allison smile. Indulgent, she leaves the girl alone.
On the news they are showing a report about an accident at the mines. Allison turns up the volume. Behind her she can hear Sarah humming a sweet, unmeaning tune.
"The cause of the explosion is still unknown," the reporter on the screen is saying, a young man with an earnest expression a bad, shapeless haircut. "Officials have confirmed that a large amount of powder was disrupted by the blast, and preliminary tests show that the water supply has been contaminated. Powder has never been demonstrably toxic, but until further testing has been completed, residents are being urged to drink bottled water."
While she can hear the tap running behind her, Allison does not immediately connect this sound to the news report; she is sitting in a dull, golden haze, safe and complacent, and tired after a long day of work. By the time she turns to Sarah again, the girl has already finished drinking half a glass of water.
Rushing from the table, Allison snatches away the glass, causing water to slop over the edge and down the front of Sarah's shirt.
"I'm sorry!" Allison cries, attempting to dry the girl off with the flat of her hand. Sarah squirms away.
"You hurt me," she says.
A familiar wave of guilt rises in Allison's chest; although she has done her best to push the thought away, a part of her is still convinced that she doesn't deserve Sarah. A narrow sliver of doubt remains that the girl is not really her daughter (the unvoiced corollary of which is that Allison has stolen someone else's child), and in moments like this, sure that she's made a mistake a "real mother" would never make, Allison's doubt assaults her like a licking tongue of flame.
"What's wrong?" the girl whines, her eyes darting to the egg. She reaches out and takes it from the dish, cupping it protectively to her chest.
"I'm sorry," Allison stammers. "But the news says we shouldn't drink from the tap for a while."
"Why? Is the water dirty?"
"There's something in it that might not be good for you."
"Am I gonna get sick?"
"No!" Allison says, brushing a loose strand of hair from the girl's forehead. "No, everything's fine. Come on, let's have dinner. I'm hungry, aren't you?"
Sarah nods and Allison helps her to finish cooking. They sit down to eat, but Sarah barely touches her food. Frowning into her plate, her hand strays continually to the egg, pouring over it with her fingers, as if seeking out some flaw or hidden sign on its surface. Soon she asks to be excused. Flush with an uncertain anxiety, Allison tells her to go on. She gets up and clears the table, using a pair of plastic gloves so that the tainted water will not get on her hands. Soon she is worrying about how much Sarah had to drink, and what kind of effects the drug could have on a little girl. Despite what the news said, she wonders if she should take Sarah to the hospital, just to be sure, reasoning that any mother would do the same.
She puts away the dishes and goes to check on Sarah, but the girl is not in front of the TV, nor is she in her bedroom. Allison looks in the bathroom, drawing back the shower curtain to reveal an empty tub. Quickly, she returns to the kitchen.
"Sarah?" she calls, frightened by the note of panic in her voice.
She moves through the small apartment again, but there is no sign of the girl. Fear grips her insides: in the front hall she finds Sarah's boots missing, along with her coat. By now the fear has risen to her throat, and Allison is stepping into her own boots, her hands dumb and fumbling. At last she stands up and opens the door, rushing out of the apartment and into the snow.