The Time of the Fireflies

  The doll had disappeared.

  Just like Mamma.

  Three seconds later, the telephone began to ring.

  My knees were wobbling as I zeroed in on an ugly green phone from the 1950s that probably weighed twenty pounds. I snatched it up, my hands sweaty.

  “Larissa, that you?”

  It was her, of course. “Yeah, I’m here. What do you want?” All at once I got plain, spittin’ mad. This girl was so mysterious all the time. “Tell me what’s going on or don’t ever call me again,” I told her fiercely.

  “You sound upset. What’s happened? Did — did — your mamma disappear?”

  “How do you know that?” I yelled into the receiver. “Where is she? Tell me right now!”

  “I’m sorry, but I can’t. There are funny rules about this calling business.”

  “It’s all some big joke to you, isn’t it?”

  “No, no, I promise!” She sounded frantic. “Whatever you do, don’t hang up on me!”

  I whirled around and a receiver fell off one of the stick phones, dangling on its frayed cord. I slammed it back in place. “Give me one good reason and maybe I’ll think about it.”

  “I could give you a whole bunch of reasons, but I can’t. Every time I tell you too much, the connection cuts out.” She paused to let that sink in.

  “Is that why every time you start giving me information I need — you suddenly disappear?”

  “Exactly. If I say too much, it might affect history. If something different happened than what was supposed to, it could be terrible. I can only give you hints. You’ve got to have faith in yourself. The more you believe in something, the better chance you have it will come true.”

  “I guess that does make sense,” I said slowly.

  “Right now you gotta think hard,” she went on. “You have all the answers, you just don’t know it. And you need the doll most of all. It’s got the last clue.”

  I shook my head. “Nope. The doll doesn’t have any clue. I’ve seen that doll my whole life and it doesn’t have anything on it.”

  The girl lowered her voice. “It’s not where you can see it.”

  “For your information, the doll is gone, too. How can I find it if somebody came into the store and stole her?” The front doors were unlocked when I got home, and neither of my parents had been here. The doll was rare and in almost perfect condition, except for the tiny chip on her chin. She was valuable, especially to a doll collector. Mamma had drilled that into me for years.

  A lightbulb came on in my head. “The doll is with Mamma, isn’t it? She’s the one who took it from the case! But wait. That still doesn’t make sense. My mother isn’t a person who just takes off without a note or a phone call — or her purse. Especially at night. With a baby coming.”

  The baby. Maybe Mamma had gone to the hospital.

  I dropped the telephone and ran to find the calendar Mamma kept on her bureau. I flipped the months backward and forward, counting the weeks she’d already crossed off. “The baby isn’t supposed to get here for five more weeks.”

  Early babies weren’t good. That had happened way too many times in our family already. This baby had to make it. She had to!

  “Oh, golly, the telephone!” I raced back and shoved the receiver to my ear. “Hello, hello, you still there?”

  The line was dead.

  “Dang it!” I yelled. Now I wouldn’t learn what she meant by the doll and the clue. Maybe she’d said too much already. The last thing she’d said was, “The clue is not where you can see it.” Our connection had probably been cut at that moment, and I hadn’t realized it when I ran off to find Mamma’s calendar.

  I stared at the rows of phones. The fact that the girl could call me at all was nothing short of a miracle. I was beginning to understand that she only had a limited amount of time and never wasted it by giving me details I could figure out on my own.

  Bounding downstairs, I grabbed the phone book to find the number to the hospital in St. Martinville to see if Maddie Renaud had checked herself in. She hadn’t. Then I called the hospital in New Iberia. She wasn’t there, either.

  So if Mamma wasn’t at the hospital having the baby, where was she?

  Finally, I grabbed the kitchen phone and punched in Mamma’s cell phone number. I couldn’t believe I’d forgotten to do that the very first thing.

  As I held the phone to my ear and listened to it ring, I slowly walked back upstairs. When I stood at the master bedroom door, a faint ringing was coming from Mamma’s purse.

  A wedge of emotion lodged in my throat. Mamma’s cell phone was sitting inside the pocket of her purse, merrily ringing away. Mamma had left the house, but she hadn’t gone willingly. I looked up the phone number for the sheriff’s office and started dialing.

  Sheriff Granger and Daddy pulled up to the curb at the very same time. “We’ll find Mamma, shar,” my father told me quietly as he hugged me hard.

  Sheriff Granger asked a million questions. When was the last time we’d seen Mamma? He wanted to know where I’d been and who I’d called so far. I showed them Mamma’s purse and phone still sitting on the dresser. And I told them about calling the hospitals.

  Sheriff Granger called the hospitals himself just to be sure Admissions hadn’t given me the runaround while Daddy called the neighbors and a few of our best customers.

  I sat on the edge of a velvet settee and rubbed at my scar while I listened to them. I didn’t tell either one of them about the deserted house. Or the fireflies. Or the girl calling on the antique telephone. They wouldn’t believe me anyway. They’d think I’d gone off the deep end.

  Maybe I was losing my mind. Maybe something was wrong with me, even more than a horrible scar. I got up to get a tissue for my watering eyes when the front doorbell jangled.

  Alyson Granger and her mamma came through, their arms laden with a casserole and rolls and a chocolate pound cake. Mrs. Granger said, “Larissa, child, show me where your kitchen is. These things are hot.”

  “Well, the pound cake isn’t,” Alyson added.

  I was so shocked I didn’t say a word. Just pointed, and then followed them past the front desk. Mrs. Granger set the covered dish on the stove and the basket of rolls on the counter. Alyson put the cake on the table, moving the bowl of apples that always sat there.

  “Now, I know this is nothing fancy,” Mrs. Granger said. “But I had a sneaking suspicion you and your daddy probably haven’t eaten any supper. So I brought over part of our supper. And we hadn’t yet cut the cake.”

  “You didn’t have to bring over your own meal,” I whispered.

  Mrs. Granger tsked her tongue. “My husband said your daddy barely got home from traveling tonight, and you’ve been alone for hours. Least we can do. It was actually Alyson’s idea.” She smiled at her daughter, and I felt my face turn red. Alyson was staring at our collection of refrigerator magnets like they were the most interesting thing she’d seen in a year.

  “I know you’re frantic over your mamma, Larissa.” Mrs. Granger put her arm around my shoulder. “But we’ll find her.”

  I nodded without speaking. That’s what everybody said, soon as they saw me. Like I wouldn’t believe it unless they told me. But how did they really know? Mamma could be anywhere. Hurt, kidnapped. Maybe she even ran away. I knew she had been so unhappy the last year. She’d hate knowing Mrs. Granger was in her kitchen. With my archenemy, Alyson.

  At least, I’d always thought she was my biggest enemy. I glanced at her out of the corner of my eye. Once more I could hear the paramedic’s voice telling me Alyson Granger had tried to pull me out of the bayou and called 911.

  “I feel a little sick to my stomach,” I said softly. “Don’t know if I can eat any supper. But, thank you, Mrs. Granger. Sure appreciate your thoughtfulness.”

  She briskly picked up her pot holders. “That’s what friends are for. Let’s just put it all in the fridge for your dinner tomorrow. It’ll keep just fine.”

  Friends? Were she and
my mamma friends? I never thought so. But folks didn’t bring dinner over at ten o’clock at night and hug you tight if they weren’t trying to be your friend.

  I could smell the scent of yeast dough and laundry soap on Mrs. Granger’s skin when she hugged me, and found it strangely soothing. “Let’s go see what the sheriff’s found out,” she said, slipping her arm through mine and taking Alyson’s arm with her other hand.

  After she gave her husband a few suggestions of names to call, the clocks in the store began to chime eleven. Mrs. Granger made hot coffee for my daddy. His eyes were bloodshot, and he kept running a hand through his ragged hair as he got up and down off a chair between telephone calls. He hadn’t shaved this morning, either, and he looked scruffy after the long day and a night on the road.

  After that, Mrs. Granger made hot chocolate with marshmallows for me and Alyson even though it was summertime. She said it was “a comfort drink.” After two or three sips, mine turned cold on a table doily. Alyson drank hers down, then walked around the store, taking in the tea sets and jewelry boxes and crates of old magazines.

  I watched her like a hawk stares at a mouse. Not because I thought she’d steal something, but because it was so strange to see Alyson Granger in our antique store.

  She caught me staring. “Someday I want to decorate my house in antiques. I love these small blue plates with the edge of ivy and flowers. Do you know where they’re from?”

  “They came from an estate sale in New Orleans a few months ago,” I told her. “They’re early-century Wedgwood from England.”

  I kept gawking as she examined a set of china dancing girls next, trying to remember details from that terrible night a year ago. My memory swam with a hundred voices and images, but I didn’t remember Alyson hanging on to me along the pilings.

  I’d lived the horrible experience all over again when I’d time slipped, but for the first time I finally remembered the woman in the ambulance holding bandages to my face as she talked about my accident.

  I didn’t want to be grateful to Alyson. I’d spent a year hating her. I didn’t want to consider that I’d been wrong or look at her in a whole new way. I rubbed at the scar as my eyes burned. Maybe I was the person who had misjudged and hated unfairly.

  Alyson perched on the edge of the sofa nervously. “I’m real sorry,” she said softly. “I hope they find your mamma.”

  A jumble of thoughts and words were stuck in my throat like glue. “Thanks,” I finally muttered, noticing that she didn’t try to reassure me that Mamma would come home like all the grown-ups did.

  “Um,” Alyson said, shifting uneasily. “Make sure you reheat the casserole at three hundred and fifty degrees.”

  It seemed such a silly, meaningless thing to say I almost giggled. I thought I was the only one who said things like that. I raised my face, gulping down my shyness. “Did you really do those things that day?”

  Alyson lifted her eyebrows. “What day are you talking about?”

  “The day I got this,” I answered, pointing to the jagged white line across my cheek. I brushed the hair off my face and felt myself get braver. “The scar from the bridge.”

  Her face fell. “That’s why you hate me, isn’t it? I tried a hundred times to say I was sorry, but …” Her voice trailed off. “I felt awful you ended up falling into the water. We never meant that to happen. We really didn’t. I know that’s hard to believe, but it is the truth. I am sorry, Larissa. Every time I see you I want to talk to you. Like the other day when I got you from the island in my brother’s boat — but everything I wanted to say sounded stupid in my head. And, well, I guess I’m a year too late.”

  “It’s never too late,” I heard myself say, and all at once I realized it was true. If Alyson had never meant to hurt me — and that day truly was an accident — maybe I had to rethink all my hateful feelings. Maybe it wasn’t too late to forgive, either. Alyson brushed at her eyes, turning her head toward her father so I wouldn’t see them watering. His gold sheriff’s badge glinted in the glow of the Tiffany lamps as he spoke into his cell phone.

  “So it was you who called 911?” I asked, not wanting to stop the conversation.

  She frowned again, clearly puzzled. “Yeah, didn’t you know that already?”

  “Not until — not until recently.”

  Alyson looked surprised. “’Course I did. Most of the other kids got scared when you actually fell in. I was terrified you were gonna drown. Never been so scared in all my life. If you died, we’d all be killers and go to jail.”

  I couldn’t help it. I snorted, and then laughed, remembering all the times I’d wished she and Tara would go to heck and never come back.

  Alyson cracked a smile. “Tara helped me hold you to the pilings while I used her cell phone to call for an ambulance, and then she ran home. Tara — her family — well, let’s just say, she’s not as bad as you think.”

  I was so surprised at this information I didn’t know how to react. Tara had tried to pull me out, too? I wasn’t ready to forgive Tara Doucet, but maybe that was something I needed to think about.

  “Did you see any alligators under the water? I was actually more scared of gators than of you drowning once we got you to the piling.”

  This whole conversation was surreal. “All I remember is the pain. Water pulling me under. My arms aching something fierce.”

  “For so long I wished I could go back in time and do that day all over again. I’d been here at your store, you know. With my mamma, for the first time.”

  “You were? I don’t remember that.”

  “Yeah, I saw your doll collection upstairs. I wanted to hold that pretty porcelain doll. The really old one that’s not for sale?”

  Something started to nag at my brain, but I couldn’t think what it was.

  “You had it that day on the bridge,” Alyson added. “Remember?”

  I reared back, blinking in surprise. “I had what?”

  “That beautiful doll. Tara just wanted to look at it. But you were being stingy about letting us hold it for even a minute.”

  I gripped the edge of the couch. “That’s because I wasn’t supposed to take it out of the case. My mamma would have tanned my hide and grounded me for a year. It’s a family heirloom.”

  “That must be why your folks don’t want to sell it.”

  Memories tugged at the edges of my mind, but just then, Sheriff Granger hung up the phone and pursed his lips, shaking his head.

  “No one’s seen her,” Daddy said, sounding defeated.

  The sheriff scratched the back of his neck. “We’ll file a missing persons report, but I can’t begin a search party until twenty-four hours have passed. Since your wife is an adult she could just be off somewhere with a friend — or just went away for a while on her own. I’m sorry, Luke. We’ll have to sit tight until tomorrow. But I’m betting she’ll show up.”

  Daddy hunched his shoulders, shaking his head. “This is not like Maddie. If there’d been an accident, wouldn’t we know?”

  His words hung in the air. Sheriff Granger looked sorry for him and didn’t speak at first.

  “But she didn’t take her purse,” I said. “If there was an accident, nobody would know who she was.”

  Sheriff Granger pursed his lips again, and I knew I was right. “The hospitals say nobody fitting her description has come in tonight.”

  Daddy made a choking sound and got up, striding across the room and then slamming the door of the kitchen behind him.

  Tears crashed down my face. My throat was so tight I couldn’t breathe. Twenty-four hours might be too late. Anything could happen in twenty-four hours.

  After the Grangers left, I put on my pajamas and brushed my hair. Wind blew at the trees like an invisible hand was shaking the limbs. Mamma was out there somewhere — alone.

  Daddy shuffled into my bedroom. It was long after midnight, but I couldn’t get my mind to stop imagining all the bad things that could happen. “Get into bed now, shar,” he said. After I
crawled in, he pulled a blanket over my shoulders. “Sleep, Larissa. That’s all you can do right now,” he whispered, his voice scratchy. “Things’ll look better in the morning.”

  After he closed the bedroom door, I stared at the shadows on my ceiling. The next instant, I sat up with a jerk. I’d forgotten to call my grandmother Kat. I wondered if Daddy had contacted her. I thought about running downstairs to ask him, but I was afraid to bother him. I was afraid to see him crying. Maybe he’d wait to see if Mamma came home on her own before worrying Grandma Kat.

  Deep in my gut, I knew Mamma wasn’t coming home on her own. She was gone because of the house on the island. Because of all the bad things that had happened in the past. My alarm clock ticked on my nightstand. Past one o’clock now. I balled my fists into my still-burning eyes, residue from the smoke at the Normand plantation house. I couldn’t stop thinking about Miss Anna trapped in her wheelchair at the top of the stairs while flames raged around her. Daphne dying in childbirth, Gwen in her casket, me in the ambulance. They all had to be connected, but how?

  * * *

  When I woke a few hours later, dawn was creeping under the blinds. My body felt slow as a slug. A dream caught at the edge of my brain. Alyson and I had never finished our conversation before Mrs. Granger hustled her home. She’d told me that I’d taken the doll out of the locked glass case the day of my accident. Even though I didn’t remember that part, her words had worked at my mind all night.

  Pressing my eyelids, I walked through each scene from the past step by step. I replayed Gwen lying in a casket, Grandma Kat’s friend Marla bringing in Anna Marie all muddy and wet from the bayou. I pictured Miss Anna giving the young, about-to-be-married Kat the doll to keep as an inheritance. Miss Anna crying when Hank handed her the doll from the mantle in Daphne’s bedroom after she died.

  Where was the doll during the wedding? Had Anna Marie been there or upstairs in the doll case? Squeezing my eyes tighter, I went back into my memory of hiding under the staircase during the wedding ceremony. I scanned the wedding guests all dressed up in their seats, the wedding bell decorations, heard the wedding music. Behind my eyes, I saw my grandmother and grandfather kissing and smiling at each other, heard the clapping of their friends and family. And I smelled the smoke burning in my nose all over again.