And she went on to tell him about the storied East Coast hotel she had grown up in, the one that had closed last year, the one her father had managed.
“Well,” he said, his voice as wobbly as a top. He looked over what appeared to be a schedule, pushing his glasses up his nose. He was a man to whom things happened. A man whose choices were made for him. “I guess you came at the right time. Half the staff just went back to college.”
“That’s fantastic!”
“It’s a front-desk position.”
“Great!”
“Yeah, well . . .” He gave her a wagging finger—an attempt at authority. “You’ll have to start with the night shift. The girl who works it now has been waiting to move to days.”
Mary’s smile came slow and genuine. “The night shift is perfect,” she said.
Bob looked at her, his suspicion piqued. No one wanted the night shift. Not ever.
“I have a sister,” Mary said. “She lives with me. I can sleep while she’s at school.”
THE GIRLS FOUND AN APARTMENT above a Laundromat in a building behind the town’s grocery store. The landlord met them at the property the afternoon that Mary got her job at Sea Cliff. He watched Mary as she walked through the space, her hands clasped behind her.
“So utilities are included?” she asked.
“Gas, water, and electric. You have to pay for the phone. And cable if you get it.”
Mary paid the first month’s rent and deposit in cash. She’d done pretty well that summer and had managed to save a bit.
It was a small one-bedroom, smaller than even the trailer she and Hannah had lived in, but it was clean, or smelled so at least, with the warm scented air wafting up from the enormous metal driers that churned and spun all hours of the day. It would get hot, Mary knew, in the summer. But they had arrived in early fall, when fog rolled in from the sea and settled into the valleys, sapping the heat out of the nights.
Their first evening there, Hannah kneeled by the front window and peered out. She looked down to the metal slot through which the postman would slide their mail, down to the doorway that led to the stairs, down to the Dumpster, where they were told they would put their trash. “I like it,” she said.
Mary sat down on the carpet behind her, but she didn’t say a word, she just watched Hannah, watched her face become illuminated with the headlights of passing cars. And that night the Chase girls pulled their sleeping bags out once again and set them on the floor. They opened the windows wide, trying to lure in the ocean air. And as they lay beside each other, Mary spun her finger through one of Hannah’s curls.
“It’s going to be tight for a while,” she said, feeling the beginnings of sleep start to spread through her body like a thin layer of ice on water. “Until I get paid.”
Hannah nodded. She understood.
“And I’m going to have to be at work while you’re sleeping at night. But I’ll be home early. Before you leave for school.”
Without seeing Hannah’s face, Mary knew that joy had spread across it. And when Hannah spoke, her words galloped with anticipation. “Do you think the school here will have lockers?”
“Probably,” said Mary. “Mine did.”
Hannah inhaled. “That’s so awesome,” she whispered, the words rushing back out.
“We’ll call the school tomorrow. I’ll find out when you can start.”
Then Hannah rolled onto her side and curled into Mary, laying one arm over her sister. She buried her face into Mary’s sleeping bag, and her words were muffled when she said, “Thanks, Mare.”
The next morning, from a pay phone in front of the grocery store, Mary called the local middle school. She had to speak with three different people and wait on hold for several minutes before the principal got on the line to talk about Hannah and her situation, as it was termed.
“And she’s had no formal schooling?” His voice crackled over the line; the receiver felt slick in Mary’s hand.
Mary leaned against the glass wall of the phone booth. “No, she has,” she said. “She went to kindergarten. Since then, I’ve been teaching her myself.”
There was silence on the line. “Well, she’ll need to take placement exams so we can find the right spot for her.”
“When?” Mary asked. “When can you do the exams?”
The placement exams were to be administered in a few days. The girls spent the rest of the day doing what little they could with the money they had. They bought some groceries. Mary put gas in the Blazer. They were coming back from the beach when they passed a house with two bikes out front. There was a cardboard sign on them. FOR SALE.
Mary pulled over.
“Look,” said Mary, nodding toward the bikes. One looked like it would fit Hannah. Mary unfastened her seat belt and opened the truck door. “I’m gonna see what they want for it.”
Mary knocked on the door. Two minutes later, she was pushing one toward the car.
“Get the back!” she called to Hannah.
Hannah scrambled out of the Blazer and pressed hard to pop the heavy tailgate of the truck.
“You like it?” Mary grinned as she reached the truck. “It’s your new bike.”
Hannah looked at the bike. It was metallic green, with long antennae-like handlebars and a big white banana seat. Hannah laughed, her hand running over the top of her head. “It’s crazy.”
“Okay, try and get it in the truck. I’m going to go get the other one.”
“What do you mean?”
“It needed a sister,” said Mary, without looking back as she marched toward the house.
As the girls drove away, Hannah watched the bikes bounce and shake behind her. “How much were these things?”
“I got ’em both for twenty bucks.” Mary joined Hannah in looking at their new acquisitions in the rearview mirror.
Hannah leaned back in her seat, crossing her arms over her chest. “We should name them.”
“No,” replied Mary, patting the dashboard. “The Blazer would be jealous.”
“You . . . are so weird,” said Hannah, smiling.
WITHOUT A TABLE OR CHAIRS, the girls ate dinner that night on the floor, resting the once-frozen French-bread pizza on the torn-in-half box that it came in.
Mary took a bite. “Don’t open the door,” she instructed, wincing against the scalding cheese. “Ever. When I’m not here.”
Hannah swallowed down a more diminutive bite. “I know, Mare.” She had been through all this before. Hannah had been spending nights alone since she was six. “I’m not stupid.”
Mary looked around the barren room. There was no television. No phone. Just two sleeping bags on the floor, a clock radio that had been left in the apartment, and some of the girls’ paperbacks. “If something happens, just go to the grocery store. Someone will be there.” Hannah was reading the box she was using as a plate. “Bunny?”
“I know, Mare,” Hannah said, positioning her pizza in front of her mouth for another bite. “Go to the grocery store.”