The Weight of Blood (5 page)

A lump rose in my throat. Few people referred to Cheri as my friend. It was always “that
______
girl.” Fill in the blank:
poor, retarded, dead
.

“I'm sorry about what happened. She seemed like a nice kid.”

“She was,” I said.

Daniel stood up, observing my uneaten lunch without comment. “I guess we should get back to work.” We made our way back to the trailer, grasshoppers zinging through the weeds in front of us. I should've been relieved that he didn't remember the night at the bonfire, but I wasn't. I tried to think of an explanation that had nothing to do with me. Maybe he had kissed so many girls that their faces blurred together after a while. I didn't really believe that, though. I'd never seen him with a girl at school.

“Hey,” he said. “Let's rock-paper-scissors to see who gets to clean the fridge.” I lost, with the fleeting consolation of his hand closing over my fist.
Paper covers rock.

I was in no hurry to get to the kitchen, so I started on the empty back room instead. It was dark, but I didn't want to bother asking Daniel to help with the curtains if I wouldn't be in there long. The carpet had been torn out, and the exposed plywood floor was blotched with stains. There wasn't much trash to pick up, just a few candy wrappers and cigarette butts, and then I moved on to the closet. It looked like it had already been cleared, but when I swept my hand across the top shelf, I felt something crammed into the corner. I pulled down a wad of twisted bedding and heard the clink of metal against the bare floor. I knelt to find a thin silver chain with a charm attached. My spine prickled as I held up the necklace for a better look. A blue butterfly dangled from the chain, a familiar chip missing from its left wing. I recognized the necklace because it was mine. I'd given it to Cheri a couple years back when I cleaned out my jewelry box. It was nothing special, a trinket I'd won at the school carnival, but Cheri had loved it. She wore it every day, up until she disappeared.

I clutched the necklace in my palm and sank to the floor, my heart thudding. Had she been here, in this trailer, in this room? Or was it merely a coincidence? She could have lost the necklace or given it away. Maybe I was wrong and the necklace wasn't even mine. Surely there were others; the butterfly charm was cheap—maybe they all had chipped wings. “Tell me,” I whispered to the dark room. I knew Cheri's bones lay sealed in the earth, that weeds covered her grave, but I was quiet, and I listened.
Tell me what happened to you
. If she persisted somehow, in some form, within the membrane of this world or the next, she gave no sign. My head throbbed, pressure building inside my skull. I waited until I could no longer stare at the stains on the floor, and I retreated to the bathroom, shutting the door behind me.

“Hey,” Daniel said, tapping on the bathroom door. “You've been in there a while. You do know that's not a working bathroom, right?”

He was trying to be funny. “I'm fine,” I lied, rubbing my eyes and sliding down from the counter. “Just finishing up.”

He pushed the door open a crack. “Need some help? I'm about done out here. Except for the kitchen, I mean. Still saving that for you.”

“I'm good,” I said, turning my back to the door and shoving it closed with my foot. I pulled out the vanity drawers and dumped their meager contents—Band-Aid wrappers, cotton swabs, crumpled toothpaste tubes. Things Cheri might or might not have used. I peeled a stiff towel from the tub, a pair of socks. Had she showered in here? Changed clothes? In the year she was missing, she'd been living somewhere, doing those everyday things. An entire year, hundreds of days, and on any one of those days I could have found her alive and brought her home. I hadn't looked hard enough. No one had.

I didn't want to talk to Daniel, but I couldn't hide out in the bathroom all day, so I dragged my trash bag past him to the kitchen and started clearing the cabinets.

“Whoa,” he said. “You okay? You get something in your eyes?”

I looked away from him. “I'm allergic to mold.”

“Maybe you should go outside for a minute, take a break.”

I ignored him, brushing mouse droppings from the shelves. I couldn't take a break. If I left the trailer, I wouldn't want to come back. It would be better to finish early and start walking, meet Judd partway. After a minute, Daniel gave up on waiting for a response and unscrewed the lid from a bottle of bleach. He doused the sink and counters and started to scrub.

Dad called after dinner to ask how work was going, and I kept my answers as vague as possible. I'd promised to tell him if anything at my new job made me uncomfortable, but I couldn't tell him about the necklace any more than I could tell him I'd spent the day alone with Daniel. I didn't want him to get worried and make me quit.

I spent the rest of the evening on the phone, letting Bess distract me with questions. She was irritated that I didn't sound more excited about working with Daniel, but any thoughts of him had been pushed to the back of my mind. I wanted to tell her about the necklace, but I couldn't bring myself to do it. She'd never fully understood my friendship with Cheri and barely tolerated my continued interest in her. I tried to go to bed, but no amount of singing frogs could lull me to sleep with the necklace hiding under my mattress, so I started a new list on the reverse side of “What Happened to Cheri.”

1. Coincidence. Someone else had the exact same necklace. With the exact same chip.

2. Cheri lost the necklace or gave it to someone else. No connection to the trailer.

3. She stayed in the trailer sometime during the year she was missing. For how long? Alone? If not, who was she with?

I didn't scratch out number one, but I didn't believe it. Number two wasn't likely, either, because Cheri had loved that necklace and wasn't careless with her things. I had no way of knowing what had really happened. She'd been in the trailer or she hadn't. Either way, she was gone, and no list would bring her back.

Lila

Ransome Crowley, the field supervisor, lived in the cottage up the hill from the garage, the cottage I'd assumed was mine. She had the posture and skin of someone much older than her fifty years, which she attributed, without bitterness, to a lifetime of hard work and hand-rolled cigarettes. She was so scrawny, I thought at first that she must be seriously ill. That was before I saw how she worked the rows, heaving rocks and yanking weeds with ruthless authority, her gray hair knotted in a heavy bun at the base of her skull.

“I work the fields three seasons, put up the canning and preserves,” she said, shaking dirt out of her stiff canvas gloves. “Wintertime I do my quilting, sometimes go up to my sister's place in Blue Eye. Job don't pay much, but I live here for free.” She gestured at the drab cinder-block cottage. “And Crete, he leaves me be for the most part, long as the work gets done. Don't like to get his hands too dirty.”

“You run this whole farm yourself?” It was small in comparison to my parents' acres of corn and soybeans, but a lot of work for one person.

“Oh, he hires on a bit at planting and harvest, when we need bodies. But most of it's me. What else am I gonna do? Got no man around to wait on.”

She didn't look me in the eye when she talked, and she asked no questions about where I'd come from, how I'd ended up here. The gloves she'd given me were curled into the shape of someone else's hands, and I flexed my fingers to loosen them.

“Have there been others like me?” I asked, wondering why he'd chosen now to hire long-term help. Maybe he thought Ransome was getting too old to handle it on her own.

“Like you?” She directed her gaze down a row of spiraling vines. “I wouldn't say so. Not exactly. No.”

We spent the morning together weeding, Ransome watching closely to ensure that I could distinguish good plants from bad. During her frequent smoke breaks, she talked about the vegetables: the difference between pole beans and bush beans, the best tomatoes to eat raw and the best ones to make into sauce, the right time to pick zucchini. My shirt was soaked through with sweat by the time we stopped for lunch, and my legs and back ached from all the squatting and kneeling. Ransome rolled out a tarp under the tree that shaded the garage. I sat down and watched as she spread out the contents of her cooler. Chunks of ham. Boiled eggs. A crumbled biscuit. A jar of murky tea.

We sat together in the shade, the breeze warm as breath on my damp skin. Birds chirped and whistled in the field, and I could hear Ransome working the ham with her dentures. “Didn't you bring anything?” she asked finally.

I shook my head. “He said meals were included.”

Ransome groaned. Apparently, Crete hadn't mentioned anything to her about feeding me.

“He probably meant at the restaurant. Out here, you gotta bring something.”

“Sorry,” I said. “I haven't had a chance to go shopping.”

She spread her napkin out in front of me and weighted it down with an egg and a slab of ham. She handed me the plastic container that had held the eggs and filled it with tea, spilling some over the side and down my arm. Translucent slivers of ice floated at the top. I took a sip and quickly drained the cup.

“This is really good.”

“I mash up mint leaves in the bottom,” she said, not looking at me. “And plenty of sugar.”

“Thanks for the food.”

She shrugged, scanning the hills, where large patches of shadow spilled over the treetops as clouds slid by. A hawk drifted in broad circles high above us, its wings outstretched and motionless as the currents kept it aloft. “Gotta eat to work,” she said.

I spent the next few days working in the fields. Ransome shared her meals with me, claiming she was too busy to drive me into town to go grocery shopping. She must have complained about feeding me, though, because Judd stopped by the garage on the third day with a sack full of food. I was disappointed when I dumped it out on my bed and found only prepackaged snacks—crackers, Slim Jims, peanuts—nothing I could make a real meal out of. Later that afternoon, Crete's truck rumbled down the road, kicking up dust. He tapped the horn and dangled his deeply tanned arm out the window, slapping the door like it was a horse's flank. “Hey there,” he hollered, smiling. “Ready to get trained on the dinner rush?”

I was helping Ransome maneuver a wheelbarrow full of rocks to the end of the row so we could dump it. “Go on,” she muttered, shooing me away. “I'll finish up.” I scrubbed my hands and splashed water on my face at the outdoor spigot, drying off with a flannel rag Ransome had draped over the handle. I hoped that I looked halfway presentable.

“You about wore out?” Crete asked as I climbed into the cab of the pickup. “I promise this'll be an easy shift, and you can get back home and rest.”

“I can't remember the last time I sweated so much,” I said. “Mind if I turn up the air?”

He chuckled. “By all means.”

We parked out front, and he guided me through the store by my elbow. “Gabby,” he said, flagging down a girl with frizzy blond hair who looked about my age. She wore frayed cutoffs and a white T-shirt with dane's general store ironed onto it in shiny black letters. “This is Lila, the lovely new waitress I told you about. Take good care of her, you hear?” He gave my arm a little squeeze and left me with her.

“Hi there,” she said. “I heard you were up here the other day. I must've just missed you.” She had a warm, genuine smile and a smattering of freckles across her nose and cheeks. “I'm Gabby.”

“Lila,” I said. “I guess you already knew that.”

“That's such a pretty name,” she said. “Now, where is it you're from, exactly? Crete didn't say.”

“Iowa.”

“Iowa! I knew you weren't from anywhere around here. I could tell by looking. Whereabouts in Iowa?”

“Uh … northern?” There was no point in explaining where I was from. She wouldn't have heard of Waverly, the little farming town where I'd grown up, or Decorah, where I'd stayed with a cousin after my parents died. Probably not Cedar Falls, either, where I'd exhausted the supply of foster homes. Possibly she'd heard of Des Moines, but I wasn't from Des Moines, not in any way that mattered. I'd boarded a bus there, was all.

She smiled and I smiled back. “We'll have a shirt ready for you next time. Now, let's hurry up with kitchen training so you can get on to waiting tables. That's where the money is.”

The dinner menu was simple—greasy burgers and sandwiches slathered with mayonnaise. Judd showed me how to work the grill. Gabby had me shadow her as she waited tables. The indoor dining space held only ten people, including the two stools at the counter, but the outdoor patio was twice as big. We served Mountain Dew and Pepsi and sweet tea in plastic cups and brought out the sandwiches on red trays with little bags of potato chips.

Gabby knew everyone who came in, and most of them smiled and chatted with her. Nobody smiled at me. They stared like I was on display at the zoo. One table of inbred-looking assholes with Billy Ray Cyrus haircuts knocked their drinks on the floor and laughed while I cleaned up their mess. I wanted to kick in their teeth, but I was determined not to let anything get to me. The social worker had been right. I had nothing to fall back on. I couldn't afford to screw up. I concentrated on the lousy tips left on the tables and did my best not to look pissed. It was six-thirty and the slow stream of customers had dried up when a burly guy in a ball cap walked toward the counter where Gabby and I were wiping down ketchup bottles. His clothes were streaked with grime, like he'd been tuning up a car or handling livestock, and I felt a familiar pang, my weakness for a good-looking workingman. Without reading any weird Freudian crap into it, I knew it probably had something to do with my grandpa and stepdad being farmers and my mom always telling me that a man with clean nails hides his dirt on the inside.

“Why don't you take this one?” Gabby murmured. “Carl's a good tipper.”

“Hello, sir,” I said, stepping around the counter and grabbing a menu. “Would you like to dine inside or outside?”

His laugh was husky and soft as he studied me, half-delighted, half-confused, as though I were some mythical creature he had heard about but wasn't sure existed. I felt my face flush as Gabby laughed, too.

“No need to treat him so fancy,” she said. “He's Crete's baby brother. Comes every day at the same time, sits on that stool there, eats two burgers with pickles, and drinks his tea extra sweet. You barely need to talk to him.”

“You're a sweetheart, Gabs,” he said, taking off his hat and ruffling his flattened hair. “Carl Dane. And you are?”

“Lila.” He enveloped my hand with his, which was warm and calloused, and pumped it up and down.

“She's from
Iowa
,” Gabby said, as if it were equivalent to Oz.

He was tall and sturdy and blue-eyed like Crete, but Carl's nose was straight and his smile more boyish. I guessed he was in his early twenties, quite a bit younger than his brother, not too much older than me.

“Glad to meet you,” Carl said, releasing my hand but still staring, amused.

I stepped into the kitchen to give Judd the ticket and pour a glass of tea. When I came back out, Carl had a newspaper folded in front of him but wasn't reading it. I set the drink down and started to walk away.. “Hey,” he said. “How you like Henbane so far?”

It took me a moment to think of something good to say. “It's really green,” I said finally.

He grinned. “True. You been downtown yet? Crete let you out?”

“I just got here, really. I've only been here and at the farm.”

“Huh,” he said. “Well, you really ought to check out town, then, when you get a chance.”

“Yeah,” I said, chewing my lip. “I will. I need to get some groceries.” He looked like he wanted to keep talking, but I grabbed a rag and made myself busy cleaning tables until Judd called the order up. I served Carl's food and carried the last of the dirty trays to the kitchen, squeezing past Judd as he left for the night. I'd started to scrape the contents of the trays into the trash when I realized just how hungry I was. We'd been too busy earlier for meal breaks, and I didn't feel like fixing anything now that we were so close to closing. Plenty of times at IHOP, I'd snatched bites of food while busing tables—kids were always leaving pancakes untouched or stacking bacon and sausage to the side in finicky piles. I picked up a half-eaten burger and took a bite from the clean side. The door swung open, and Carl walked in as I stood eating out of the bus tub.

He stopped and stared, and I burned with embarrassment, my mouth stuffed full. “I was just gonna get some more pickles,” he said, reaching toward the cooler. I turned back to the sink and ran water until I heard the door swing closed. I hoped he wasn't going to tell Crete I was eating the trash. It wasn't like I was stealing; it was just going to be thrown out anyway. I made sure I was alone, and I took another bite.

I cleaned everything I could think of in the kitchen, hoping Carl would be gone by the time I came out. But he wasn't. “Anything else you need me to do, Gabby?” I asked.

“No,” she said, not bothering to check my work. “You did great. You can go on home. Now hurry up so I can leave,” she told Carl, slouching on the counter next to him.

“I need to start coming in earlier,” Carl said, one burger still on his plate, “so I can actually finish my food.”

I hung up my apron and left the two of them to their friendly bickering, mentally calculating the tips in my pocket. The air outside was slightly less stifling than it had been inside. Crete's truck wasn't in the parking lot, and I wasn't sure if I should wait for him or start walking. It wasn't too far to the farm, maybe a few miles, but I was worn out. I could see the river edged by a wide, rocky beach on the other side of the road and wondered how it would feel to wade in, sink down into the clear, cool water, and let it bear my weight.

“Hey.”

Carl stood next to me, close enough that I could smell the sweat and dust that covered him. He held out a paper sack.

“What's that?”

“I … It's a burger.”

I glared at him.

“Look, I didn't mean to embarrass you—”

“I'm not embarrassed.”

“Gabby figured you ate before your shift. She said next time—”

“You told her? Are you trying to get me fired?”

“No, I … I just thought you might be hungry.”

“Not anymore.” I walked over to one of the benches in front of the store and sat down. My feet hurt. Actually, my whole body hurt.

Carl came over and leaned against the wall next to me. “Look, I'm sorry,” he said.

I could tell that he meant it. And really, he didn't have anything to be sorry for. He'd only been trying to help me out. “It's okay,” I said. “No big deal. It's just been a long day.” I took off my shoes and checked for blisters.

“I can give you a ride if you want. I'm heading over to Crete's.”

“Thanks,” I said. “I think I'll just wait.”

“Okay.” He stuck his hands in his pockets. “Guess I'll see you tomorrow.” He started toward his truck, then turned around. “I didn't mean that in a weird stalker sort of way, just that I always eat here, and … I'll stop talking now.” He grinned, and I couldn't help smiling back at him.

Just then Crete pulled up and stepped out of his truck. “Sorry I'm late,” he said to me. “Hope you weren't waiting too long.”

“Your brother was keeping me company,” I said, putting my shoes back on.

Crete patted Carl on the back and slung his arm around his shoulders. The resemblance between the two was more obvious when they were standing side by side. They had the same dark brows, strong jawline, and slightly cleft chin. Crete was an inch or two taller and slightly heavier.