The Last Girl

  Aron, following his divorce from Carolyn, had left teaching and took a job as a loan offficer at a bank in Falls River, a city twice the size of Marine, almost forty miles away. Sonya would see her father every other weekend, and he would take her to Bill’s house instead of his apartment, although there were few children her age, so Aron or Bill would take her shopping or to a movie, returning Sonya to her mother’s house by Sunday afternoon so Aron could drive back to Falls River. If he worked overtime or the weather was icy in winter, Sonya would not see him that weekend.

  He always paid his child support on time.

  Sonya’s stepfather Cal managed to fill in the blanks, and Sonya missed him more than she thought she would.

  My whole life is different now, she thought. All I can do is go along.

  She regretted becoming angry that morning, but Aron never had much patience with her. She sometimes felt as if she was an unwelcome reminder of his failed marriage to her mother. If she was not around, he could get on with his life, and so could she.

  But where is my life? she thought. If I couldn’t live with Cal, I have to live with Dad.

  Aron lost his job last February. By this time, Bill was retiring and needed someone to help him. Divorced for years, Bill had lived alone. Aron was collecting unemployment checks. He let the lease go on his apartment and moved in with his brother. A few months later, Carolyn passed away, and Cal sent Sonya to live with Aron and Bill.

  The bus passed the used car dealerships, the lots empty, along with the gas station/convenience stores dotted along Farm Road. Marine Hardware was across the street from the Devotion Church of God; a large, modern structure, the steeple ended at a white crucifix pointing to the sky. Most people in East Marine attended Devotion, a Christian congregation. However, Sonya was not raised in any church; the adults in her life seemed to have no use for religion.

  The bus reached the intersection of Farm Road and turned at Sonya’s block, Garland Street. Mr. Wells dropped her off at the end of her driveway, and promised to pick her up there tomorrow around seven-thirty.

  Sonya was walking towards her house when she heard voices behind her. She turned to see the pale blond heads of the Four Js on their bicycles, returning from their half-day at East Marine Middle School.

  The Four Js were almost-identical quadruplets; Joseph, Joshua, Jason, and Jack(short for Jonathon) Stone. They lived down the street with their widowed mother Barb and big brother Kyle.

  Sonya had been spending her summer getting used to living with her father and uncle when she discovered Kyle Stone, who managed to take her mind off her misery.

  Sonya’s hobby was photography, Carolyn giving her a digital Kodak camera for Christmas. One hot afternoon, Sonya wandered down the street with the camera, intent on getting Kyle to talk to her.

  The first time she saw him, he was riding his old ten-speed towards her house with his brothers on their bikes. His hair was brown, curls growing long at the neck, hazel eyes surrounded by dark lashes, lips and face still soft. His smile was teasing but warm, he was making the boys laugh.

  Sonya was in the front yard, walking Helga on a leash. The boys waved at her, Kyle following.

  Sonya was fascinated in minutes. However, she did not learn Kyle’s name until weeks later, when Bill noticed Barb driving by in her old Dodge.

  Bill had been on the couch, looking out through the front window, as had become his habit. Sonya sometimes wondered if he was being more watchful because he was starting to forget so much.

  “I should go over and see Barb,” he said. “Losing a child is hard.”

  “What child?” Sonya asked.

  “Her baby girl. Lily. Barb and Wayne already had Kyle. Wayne was a Blue Diamond. They had all those boys later. Four babies at once. Amazing.”

  Sonya had found Kyle working underneath his old blue Camaro. He squirmed out from under the car, a look of alarm passing his face when he saw her, camera in hand.

  “Hi,” he said.

  “Hi. I’m Sonya. I live up the street.”

  “Right. Bill’s niece...”

  He was not wearing a shirt, only cut-off denim jeans. She noticed the lack of body hair, except around his navel. She caught herself looking down, and her face grew hot. “Can I take a picture of your car?”

  Kyle ran his greasy hands through his hair, bangs wet with sweat. “Why do you want to take a picture?”

  “I like old cars.”

  He shrugged. “Go ahead, then.”

  She lined up the shot and pressed the button. When she turned the lens towards Kyle, she realized he was looking at her.

  Sonya was dressed in a loose terry-cloth tank top and knee length shorts with flip-flops. Her hair was in a ponytail. She already had a fading sunburn on her arms, the red skin making way for more freckles. Her looks made her feel different and a little self-conscious. However, she never seemed to care if boys noticed.

  Until now.

  She decided to smile at him. “So...what do you do?”

  “You mean, a job?”

  “Right.”

  “I’m working at Metal Concepts. Third shift.”

  “You like it there?”

  “It’s okay.”

  Sonya could feel him losing interest, so she lowered her camera, taking a step back. “Well, it was nice meeting you.”

  “Same here.”

  Sonya felt like a fool later. She wished she could have said more, but what could she say to a boy five years older, who worked full-time, school a part of his past?

  Sonya watched the Four Js ride away before walking up to Bill’s house, entering through the side door. Helga stopped barking and greeted Sonya, the Boxer’s stubby tail wagging.

  Helga’s sturdy body was white, a brown spot over one eye, the cropped ears also brown. The neck and shoulders were wide, jowls and underbite giving her a falsely vicious look. Helga’s nature had calmed with age, but she was still playful and comical, having spent her whole life with Bill, although Sonya was no stranger to the dog, who had finally grown used to new people living in her house.

  Sonya pulled her backpack off before petting Helga, who followed Sonya to the kitchen table.

  Bill’s house was small, resembling a log cabin, a stone chimney to one side, an unattached garage at the other. Sliding glass doors at the dining area led to a wooden deck and a fenced in back yard.

  The kitchen was modest, full of Bill’s personal charm, with small photographs and mementos on the stainless steel refrigerator. Most of the people in the photos Sonya did not recognize, but there was a studio portrait of Sonya as an infant, wearing a red velvet dress with a lace band around her bald head. She was looking off to the side, her innocent baby-smile frozen in time.

  Sonya had noticed that the truck was gone from the driveway, so she was surprised, when she turned the corner, to see Bill standing at his easy chair in front of the TV, the volume low.

  The living room, like the rest of the house, was cozy and somewhat cluttered, with yellow sticky notes stuck on the wall by the phone and Helga’s toys scattered on the dark green carpet. At first, Sonya thought Bill was putting out a cigarette in an old coffee can, but she soon realized, from the pungent smell, that she was wrong.

  Bill grinned, waving the smoke away with his hand. “I didn’t hear you come in.”

  “Where’s Dad?”

  “Had a job interview.” Bill pushed the plastic lid over the coffee can. “Are you hungry?”

  “Yes.”

  “I’ll make you a grilled cheese.” Sonya followed Bill to the kitchen counter. Bill pulled out bread, butter, and cheese slices from the refrigerator. Aron had told Sonya to watch Bill when he cooked, but he had yet to set a fire or burn himself.

  “You want juice or a soda?” he asked.

  “I’ll get a Dr. Pepper.”

  Sonya was reaching for a can of Dr. Pepper out of the refrigerator when she heard her cell phone ring in her backpack.
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  Sonya’s ringtone was nothing but the boring ’ring-ring’ that was loud enough for her and Bill to hear. She unzipped the backpack as fast as she could and checked who was calling:

  CHAMBERS, BOBBY

  She had given Bobby her number, but she was surprised he called so soon. “Hello, Bobby...”

  “Hi. I just got the news. Crazy.”

  “What?”

  “You don’t know about Jessica Holden?”

  “Who?”

  “Kelly was looking for Jess at school. Some psycho attacked her, cut up her face.”

  Sonya was watching Bill, with a pancake turner, flip the grilled cheese over on the skillet. “Oh, my God. That’s terrible...”

  “She was walking out to her bus stop alone and he jumped her. She’ll have stitches on her face, and end up with scars. Poor Jess.”

  “Who would do something like that?”

  “I don’t know. You live on Garland, right?”

  “Yes.”

  “Jess lives on Warner.”

  “That’s three blocks from here.”

  “I’m sure they’ll catch him, but be careful.”

  Bill laid the finished grilled cheese on a paper plate, placing it in front of Sonya on the counter before starting a sandwich for himself. He threw Helga a cheese slice, the dog gobbling it in one bite.

  “Okay, Bobby. Thanks for calling me.”

  “You know, Princess likes you. She asked about you.”

  Sonya was taken aback, thinking Piper seemed more into being seen with Bobby and her little worshippers like Kelly. “That’s cool.”

  “Are you doing anything later?”

  “No. Just a little homework.”

  “Princess invited me over, and she thought you might like to come, too.”

  “I don’t have a way there.”

  “She lives off of One Hundred and Fiftieth Avenue, near the lake.”

  “Maybe my dad could give me a ride. I could call you back.”

  She said good-bye and took a bite of her sandwich, the melted cheese still warm. “Where did Dad go for his interview?”

  Bill had his back to her at the stove. He became still, and Sonya realized he was trying to remember. “Um...some agency.”

  “I hope he gets a job,” Sonya said.

  “Me, too.”

  “Maybe he could go back to teaching.”

  “That’s about as likely as a Watchtower reunion tour.”

  Sonya, the realization dawning on her, broke into a smile. “That’ll never happen.”

  Bill turned around, placing his sandwich on another plate. “One hit wonder. In Germany and the Netherlands. Big in Japan.”

  “That’s what Watchtower should call their reunion CD,” Sonya said. “Big in Japan.”

  Bill tried not to laugh while chewing. “He’ll find something, even if he has to commute to Falls River. So...how was school?”

  “Okay. My new friend Bobby just called me. A girl from our class was attacked this morning...”

  Sonya looked into Bill’s eyes, so large and clear, as she explained what happened to Jessica. She did not wonder if Bill would remember any of it hours later, but he was with her then, listening to every word.

  *****

  While waiting for Aron to return, Sonya opened her lap-top. She clicked on ‘My Photos.’

  Sonya would usually store the photographs she took. Over the summer, she captured images from visits to the lake and the surrounding woods, along with pictures of Aron, Bill, and Helga. She came to the photos of Carolyn, towards the end of her life; a scarf wrapped around her bald head, once full of thick red hair. She had lost almost thirty pounds, her face gaunt. Carolyn never liked having her picture taken, Sonya would have to sneak up on her. Once, she photographed Carolyn on the couch; bald, wearing a nightgown, the oxygen mask over her face. When Carolyn saw the flash of the Kodak, she said,”I don’t want you to remember me like this, Sonya. No more pictures.”

  She died a week later, her ravaged lungs full of fluid.

  Sonya did not look at those photos for long, she was trying hard to push her grief aside, but there was no way she could stop missing her mother. The house where Sonya lived with Carolyn and Cal was on One Hundred and Forty-Seventh Avenue, just a few blocks from Piper and the lake. Sonya had lived in a four-bedroom, two bathroom house. Two of the rooms were hers; one to sleep in, another for her toys and computer. She had been the only child, never knowing any different, spoiled by adults but also a loner. She was Carolyn’s miracle baby and Cal’s substitute son, going to work with him on Saturdays, Cal the Marine Press’s only crime reporter. Carolyn would sometimes object to Cal showing Sonya photos of bloody crime scenes, but Sonya was never disturbed by the images. Cal introduced her to the other writers and police investigators, indirectly learning how crimes were solved.

  She was sure Cal had heard about the attack on Jessica by now, and even Bill thought the attacker was a jealous boyfriend.

  “Maybe he didn’t want anyone else taking her away from him,” Bill said. “People do crazy things when they’re desperate.”

  Sonya found the photo of Kyle’s Camaro, a few rust stains on the front grille, some scratches on the hood. He did not own any other vehcle, and Kyle would have to work long hours at Metal Concepts to restore that car. Sonya only took one photo of the Camaro, but had managed to capture Kyle’s right arm and the side of his head. She sighed and closed the image. She had looked at it several times since, trying to get up the nerve to speak to him again, then telling herself that he was too old for her. He probably already had a girlfriend, buddies his own age, who would kid him about the little girl who was always coming around.

  Sonya did not want to be that little girl.

  *****

  “Where did you find Bill this morning?” Sonya asked.

  She was in the truck with Aron, who was taking her to Piper’s house. He still wore his work blazer, tie loosened. “He was about a mile from Farm Road, Helga following him.”

  “Where was he going?”

  “Who knows? He was confused, almost started crying when I found him.”

  “How was your interview?”

  “They said they’d call.” At fifty-four years old, Aron Neslund never thought he would find himself being interviewed by someone half his age, but that was exactly what happened at Work Staffing. He was given a series of tests on a computer, his resume sent out for temporary clerical jobs.

  “Do you ever get money from your songs?” Sonya asked.

  Aron’s lips twisted in a smile. “Not in a long, long time, Honey.”

  “Did the record company screw you over?”

  “They screwed all of us over. We sued, along with several other acts. I got one big check, used it for school.”

  Sonya had always been fascinated with her father‘s past as a musician, although he had not picked up a guitar in years. “How come you didn’t join another band?”

  “I was tired of it by then. Besides, I was just a bass player.”

  “George Harrison was a bass player. So is Sting.”

  “They are talented bass players.”

  “You wrote songs.”

  “Where does this girl live?”

  Sonya knew he was just changing the subject. “One Hundred and Fiftieth Avenue. By my old house.”

  Aron turned off Farm Road and on to White Lake Road. “I’m sorry about what happened this morning. Carolyn and Cal used to do a lot for you, they were good parents, but you’re going to need to be more responsible from now on. I might get a job, and I don’t know about Bill—”

  “I take driver’s ed next year.”

  “So?”

  “I could help look for Bill.”

  Aron tried not to laugh, but Sonya could see his smile. “Thanks. But you have school and friends. You’ll need to get a job if you want a car. My credit is shot.”

  “I could get a job now.”

/>   “Doing what?” Aron asked.

  “Babysitting, cleaning, raking leaves...”

  “You didn’t mow the lawn all summer.”

  “The mower was broken.”

  He shrugged. “That mower is a piece of crap.” He cruised up to the intersection between White Lake and One Hundred and Fiftieth. “Do I turn left or right?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “What’s the address again?”

  “13350.”

  “I think that’s going right. What do you know about this girl?”

  “She’s friends with Bobby. She has a lot of friends.”

  “And they all know the girl who was attacked?” Aron asked.

  Sonya had explained about what happened to Jessica when Aron returned home. “They all know each other from the middle school.”

  “It’s good you’re making friends.”

  “Jessica lives on Warner.”

  “I’ll get up with you in the morning, make sure you get on the bus safe.”

  “Do you think another girl could get attacked?”

  “Maybe.” Aron slowed down to check the numbers on the mailboxes, then sped up until he reached the corner of One Hundred and Fiftieth and Brooks. “There it is.”

  A large, two-story white house with blue trim loomed on a hill. The red roof was peaked and a wrap-around porch ended at an attached, two-car garage.

  Aron cruised up the long, paved driveway. “Nice place. I wonder what Piper’s parents do for a living.”

  Chapter Three

  Piper greeted Sonya at the door, a white toy poodle in her arms. She was still in her blue T-shirt and jeans, but now barefoot, toenails painted pink.

  Sonya entered the foyer. The walls were a light blue with a grandfather clock in the corner and a chandelier above them, the spiral staircase in a dark wood leading upstairs.

  “Bobby and I are hanging out in the living room,” Piper said. “This is Jo-Jo.”

  Piper laid the poodle on the floor, and the dog did a little dance on its hind legs, showing off for guests. Helga could knock over a lamp attempting the same thing, and Sonya was taken with Jo-Jo’s daintiness and grace.

  She followed Piper into a spacious living room with a fireplace and suede furniture the color of chocolate. Another small room contained a picture window, a white piano close by. A painted portrait of a blonde little girl in a pink tutu, her hair pinned up, hands clasped in front of her, took up space above the fireplace, a large screen TV on the next wall. Bobby was sitting at a sofa, a MacBook open in front of him on the coffee table.