PART XI
THE KITCHEN
ALICE
The kitchen has been emptied of its furniture. Even the Spider has been packed up and carted away, and the old fireplace stands cold, clean-swept, dark, like a mouth open in a scream. Bits of cottonseed have found their way in through the window.
There is nowhere to place her but on the countertop.
Bits of the blanket remain, shreds and tatters, most of it eaten away by insects. The box is mostly intact: dark wood, laminated, it has stood up well to time. My initials are still faintly visible, although much of the rest of the paint has flaked away. It was yellow, I remember, and decorated with painted lilacs. It had been a gift from my mother on my seventeenth birthday, for holding my Sunday hat, fitted with lace as fine as a spider’s web and smelling of the lavender salts she placed next to it.
I wrapped her up in a blanket. I thought she would be safe, there, in the small yellow box that smelled like flowers.
Her bones are thin as a baby bird’s, her skull no larger than a palm.
She was blue when she came out—blue, and so cold.
I thought she would be warm—in the blanket, in the ground, under the willow tree.
TRENTON
The bones were small, far too small. Trenton felt a swinging sense of unreality, as he did sometimes in dreams, just before waking. It must be some kind of a sick joke.
But then Danny said, “Shit. Shit,” and Trenton knew it was not a dream.
“Who—who could have done this?” Caroline said. And then, without waiting for an answer, “Trenton, I need a drink. Please.”
But Trenton couldn’t move. The baby’s head was as small as an apple. It looked like it would blow apart to dust if he tried to touch it.
“Whoever buried her, it was a long time ago,” Danny said quietly.
“Her?” Minna said. “You think it’s a girl?”
Danny lifted an edge of the blanket, now hanging in tatters, that had once enfolded the child. Pink.
“Oh my God,” Caroline said, and turned away, cupping a hand over her mouth. Trenton felt a flicker of irritation—she was making this about her—and he hung on to it, tried to coax it into anger or some other familiar emotion.
“Amy made me dig under the willow tree,” Minna said, looking around the room as though she expected to be accused of unearthing the body deliberately. “She insisted. You know how Amy gets.” She turned pleading eyes to Trenton.
“What do we do with it—with her?” Trenton corrected himself quickly. Immediately, he wished he hadn’t asked. The words sounded so awful—like she was trash that needed to be dealt with.
Danny shook his head slowly. “I don’t know,” he said. “I don’t know.” Then he straightened up. “We’ll take her downtown. There might be something in the archives, but I doubt it.” He reached out and lowered the lid of the box gently, and Trenton was glad.
“Jesus,” Caroline muttered.
Amy appeared at the door, her face mashed up against the screen. What is it, Mom?” She opened the door before anyone could stop her. “Why won’t you let me see?”
“Trenton, get her out of here,” Minna said sharply. To Danny she said, “We’ll follow you. In our car.”
“Come on, Amybear.” Trenton lifted Amy, grateful for the excuse to leave the room. She wrapped her legs around his waist. Her breath smelled like ginger ale, and he could feel her heart beating through her ribs. He imagined all the fine, fragile bones holding her together, the caverns of her lungs, the thin tissue fabric of her organs, so easily disintegrated, and felt suddenly like crying. “Want to help me pack up the cars?”
“We’re leaving?” Amy said.
“We’re leaving.” Trenton almost added, And never coming back. He knew it was true instinctively. They would never return to Coral River.
“What about Penelope?” Amy asked.
Trenton jogged her a little higher in his arms. Minna and Danny were speaking together in low voices, planning, figuring out who would drive Caroline to the station. “Who’s Penelope?” he asked.
“Penelope is the girl in the box,” Amy said, swinging her feet.
Minna went silent. Trenton froze. Caroline and Danny stared.
“What do you mean, Amy?” Minna whispered.
“The book!” Amy said, as if it was obvious. “In The Raven Heliotrope they put Penelope in the ground so she’ll come back to life.”
Minna was very white. “Oh my God.” She flinched. “Oh my God. She’s right.”