“Please,” he said, once it was stashed inside beneath the driver’s seat. “Don’t get the wrong idea. I’m a good Christian. A man of faith. But for a lot of complicated reasons, my daughter and me—we live our lives on the road. That means sleeping in campgrounds. Rest stops. People out there, they’re not always as nice as you. I learned that the hard way. I’ve never used this gun. Never plan to. It’s just to scare people when the situation calls for it.”
“Well, you’re scaring me plenty right now,” my mother told him. “No matter what your reasons, you shouldn’t be so careless about where you store that pistol.”
In the tone of a scolded child, he told her, “I’m sorry, ma’am. And you’re right. I won’t be so careless anymore.”
“Well, okay then. Now that that’s out of the way, why don’t we agree that you will call in a few days and we can see how things are with your daughter. How does that sound?”
“Sounds good to me. And thank you one more time. I may not look like it, but I do have access to a little money when I need it. So I can pay something in return. Or if there’s something else I can do, let me know, and I’ll find a way to give it to you.”
In response to that offer, my mother said nothing. It was not like her to discuss a fee for the things they did, that much I knew. So she just waited; I did too, watching Albert Lynch climb back into his van. He flicked off the emergency flashers, rolled down the window, and called out, “Abigail, I know you can hear me. I’m going to leave you for a bit, but I’ll be back. My hope, my prayer, is that your time here will help you get better.”
If the girl heard him, she gave no sign. She stood behind my mother’s back still, though turned around now, looking down our street riddled with those gaping foundations like a mouth full of cavities. Albert gave up waiting for any response, or maybe he never expected one. Either way, he offered us a last wave, less hesitant than any previous, before pulling away from the curb. As he vanished in the same direction as that red convertible, my mother took the bag of Abigail’s belongings from me. Without a word, we began the walk home. The slow, careful way she moved made me realize that my mother must have felt fatigue washing over her again.
In those early moments inside our house, Abigail did not seem so much a person with “something in her” as she did a houseguest, albeit an awkward one. She moved slowly around the living room, peering too closely at the clock, the cross, and the books imprisoned behind the glass of the curio hutch. She leaned in to study the grade-school portraits of Rose and me for so long, it felt as though she was touching them in some way, putting her fingerprints all over the frames.
“What exactly is wrong with her?” I asked my mother, since she seemed different from the only other haunted person I’d encountered in our house, that man at the kitchen table in the middle of the night years before.
I had followed her to the washroom, where she emptied the bag of Abigail’s belongings and inspected the broken zippers, torn hems, and tattered material. In a tired voice, she told me, “You don’t have to be a part of this, Sylvie. Once I get her cleaned up and fed, I’ll get her settled in the partitioned area that your father finally just about finished. In the meantime, you can go to your room and read or even go to the living room and watch TV for a change.”
She seemed so weary that I couldn’t help but want to be of some use to her. “Here, Mom. Let me get this laundry going while you help her settle in.”
My mother debated the idea, then put down Abigail’s clothes and went to a cabinet by the dryer. She pulled out a gift box with a torn scrap of Nativity wrapping paper taped to one side. Since my sister wore sweats to bed and walked around the house barefoot until the soles of her feet turned gray, I was never sure why my parents bothered getting her certain gifts. Now, my mother took out an unworn nightgown and slippers they’d given Rose the previous Christmas. She held up the gown, and it unfurled like a pale spirit before her. She carried that spirit, those slippers, from the room.