Little Girl Gone (11 page)

“You going to eat those sandwiches all by yourself?”

She had made them for Linda, but Madora would rather feed Django, who at least said thank you. Since seven that morning, she had been fetching and carrying for Linda, following Willis’s instructions. For breakfast she made her scrambled eggs with toast and a thick slice of fried ham. Madora never got ham for breakfast, but Willis said that after giving birth a girl needed lots of protein to help her regain her strength. Besides breakfast, lunch, and dinner, he also wanted Madora to make her a midafternoon snack. Madora was back and forth to the trailer all day: dusting, sweeping, emptying the portable toilet, even washing Linda, who seemed to have no natural instinct for cleanliness and needed to be coaxed into brushing her teeth and splashing water on herself.

She asked, “Do you like bologna?”

“I don’t know.” Django peered at the sandwiches on the plate. “What’s it taste like?”

Madora wondered how anyone in America could grow up without eating bologna; but Django was strange in many ways. She liked that about him. He used words she’d never heard spoken and talked about dinosaurs and stars
and planets with the confidence of a scientist, but at the same time he was ignorant of really ordinary things like bologna. And the stories he told! He was absolutely the biggest liar she had ever met, and that included Kay-Kay, who had told some whoppers.

She set the plate on the stoop in the carport shade. “Go ahead. Try it.”

“We never had plain white bread at our house,” he said, sitting on the step.

Now she knew he was a liar.

“My mom said it wasn’t nourishing.”

“Well, pardon me.” Madora tried to grab the sandwich back, but Django had already taken a big bite. He took another, chewing with his mouth open, the sandwich going around like clothes in the washing machine. His grin said thanks for lunch and dared her to get after him for bad manners. A bicolor blob of mustard and mayo squatted on his lower lip.

“You are disgusting,” she said and sat on the cement step beside him. Across the cul-de-sac a roadrunner scampered up the trail. Even if Django was the king of the liars, he was better company than Linda, who was getting meaner every day. But having him around was dangerous and she could not completely relax. Willis wasn’t expected home for hours, but still, if there was an emergency and he showed up unexpectedly… As she and Django bantered back and forth, she was always listening for the sound of the Tahoe on the gravel road.

Madora had seen Willis lose his temper once when they lived a couple of months in Great Falls, Oregon, just a wide spot in the road, really, but greener than anywhere she had lived before. He worked as a mechanic until he was falsely accused of harassing the owner’s daughter. Willis told the boss to go fuck himself and his bitch daughter too; and on the way out of town before sunup, he threw a wrench through one of the garage windows. His rage lasted all day and he drove like a crazy man, twenty miles over the speed limit down twisting mountain roads. If he knew about Django, Willis would tear into both of them.

“You shouldn’t be here. Willis wouldn’t like it.”

He shrugged. “My mom and dad are dead. Their car got hit.”

He had told her this before. She wondered if he had to keep saying it to convince himself.

She said, “My dad’s dead too.”

“Did it happen in his car?”

“He shot himself.”

“How come?”

“It was my mom’s fault,” she said. “She didn’t keep him happy.”

Django stopped chewing and gaped at her with a look of disgust. “That’s cracked.”

“But it’s true.”

“Get out. He’s the one who pulled the trigger.” Django put two fingers to his temple and made a click sound. “No one made him do it.”

“He loved her and he trusted her and she let him down.”

“How?”

“How should I know? She just did. And when that happens it’s the same as putting a bullet to a man’s head.”

“Who told you that shit? Willis?”

“Don’t cuss.”

“He doesn’t know everything.”

“And you do?”

“I have a genius IQ. I took a test.”

“So does Willis, probably. He’s really smart. Not with books, like you, but he knows stuff.”

“Have you got any Coke?”

“Willis says it’s not healthy.”

“It’s okay if you don’t drink, like, a gallon a day.”

He ate a second sandwich and fed a crust to Foo. “I like this bologna. Thanks. Were you going to eat all these yourself?”

“No, I made ’em for the dog.” She flipped him the bird.

He laughed and gave it right back to her. “How old are you anyway?”

“Old enough to know better.”

“Better than what?”

“Better than let you hang around here all day.” She picked a bit of lettuce out from between her teeth. “If Willis finds out—”

“How come you’re scared of him?”

“I’m not.”

“Liar.”

“He doesn’t like strangers.”

“He knows me.”

“You met him one time. That’s not the same as knowing someone.”

“If he knew me better, I wouldn’t be a stranger.”

Talking to Django could be exhausting.

“When’s he coming home?”

She shrugged. He had told her that after work he was going to the university for his interview to become a doctor. She had no idea how long such things took.

“What’s your favorite TV show?” Django asked. “Did you ever watch
Lost
?”

“We don’t have a TV anymore.”

“Oh, yeah. I forgot. Weird.”

This boy with all his questions was trouble waiting to happen. The truth of that was written in his bright and inquisitive expression. Madora knew what she had to do: tell him to go away and never come back; and somehow she had to sound like she meant it. That was the hard part, because he was just a kid but already she thought of him as her friend; and she’d had precious few of those, even back in Yuma.

Her life would be more interesting if she could go back to waiting tables at the diner up Interstate 8. She had tried to persuade Willis to let her do this, telling him she missed the friendly, hurry-up atmosphere of the diner, where she had been good at making customers feel welcome. Murray, the manager, said she was a natural. She had been proud and
eager to tell Willis how she had been praised, but he wasn’t impressed. He said all you needed to serve food was two legs, two hands, and a brain the size of a Brussels sprout. At the same time, it was dangerous work; oddballs wandered in and out and got crazy ideas about girls who made them feel at home. Willis wanted her to talk to Linda, make friends with her; and for a time she had tried, but Linda didn’t like her and was not interested in friendship unless it meant Madora would open the door of the trailer and let her walk out.

Linda had no time for Madora, but she liked Willis, though not in the beginning when her tantrums had been fierce. She’d twice bitten him, once on the pad of his thumb and again on his forearm. To punish her after the second incident, he told Madora not to feed her and turned off the lights in the trailer. One day in the dark without food and Linda had begged to be forgiven. In the months before her baby was born, after the tantrums stopped and she seemed finally reconciled to her captivity, she had become more docile. She never had much to say to Madora, but when Willis was around she bubbled up, joked, and flirted.

Freedom had returned to the front of Linda’s mind since the baby was born. For the last few days she had nagged Madora with questions designed to elicit information about where they lived and how far they were from the nearest town. When she was not asking questions, she was swearing never to tell a soul that she had been held captive. Linda was getting to be a pain in the butt. Willis, unperturbed, said to give her time; she’d settle down again.

Madora asked him how much longer Linda would be in the trailer and his answer made no sense.

“As long as necessary.”

Django said, “Got any cookies?”

“Go home and eat your own.”

“Willis doesn’t like ’em, huh?”

“Willis is none of your business.”

“Are you married to him?”

“Not yet.”

“My dad was married before he met my mom. He loved her too, but she got sick. Huck was only a baby when she died.”

Django talked about his rich half brother nonstop once he got started. He described his mansion with a landing pad for a helicopter, his airplane, and the bodyguards who spent their spare time lifting weights. As he spun his tale Madora imagined a movie about rich people and didn’t believe a word of it. It was easier for her to accept him as crazy and a world-class liar than believe a boy with a life right out of the movies, the son of a rock star, was riding his bike around the back roads of San Diego County.

“If he’s your brother, how come you hang out here?”

“Just getting things fixed up. My aunt’s gonna call him up pretty soon. Why? Don’t you want me around?”

“Evers Canyon isn’t like Beverly Hills. Once Foo and me were taking a walk and minding our own business and this guy comes out and sits on his front steps and he had this big old rifle on his knees, kind of like it was just
resting there, but I knew if Foo or me took one step on his property, he’d prob’ly shoot our heads off.” She could tell a tall tale as convincingly as Django.

“A trailer like that one?” Django nodded his head toward the backyard.

“Dummy. A
mobile home
.”

“Does somebody live in
your
trailer?”

“Why would anyone live in that old thing?” The pulse beating at the corner of Madora’s eyelid felt as obvious as an earthquake, and she put her hand up to cover it. “There aren’t any windows.”

“Where’s that whirring sound come from? Like an air conditioner?”

It was true. Even from the carport where they sat, she heard the purr of the air conditioner Willis had installed in the trailer. “We have a generator. Sometimes the electricity goes off in the house.”

Django finished his third sandwich. “I never heard of a generator going all the time.”

“So?” Madora rubbed her eye. “Shows you don’t know everything, I guess.”

Django burped and laughed.

“You are so gross.”

“Me and my friends used to have burping contests.”

“You have to go.”

Madora picked up the empty sandwich plate and stood. Foo danced around her ankles in expectation of a few crumbs. Django kept talking.

“Willis told my aunt he’s going into med school. Is that true? Is he going to be a doctor?”

That morning, talking about his upcoming interview, Willis had been as nervous as the feral cats that shivered around her legs when she laid out a plate of dinner scraps. Madora couldn’t do anything right. He called her stupid because his only tie had a spot on it. As if Madora was supposed to know that and clean it ahead of time when she did not think she had ever seen him wear a tie before.

Django said, “He’ll have to cut his hair before they let him work in a hospital.”

“You don’t know about hospitals.”

“I don’t think anyone wants a doctor with a braid.”

“Shut up!”

“What kind of doctor does he want to be?”

“None of your business.”

“He looks kinda creepy with all that hair.”

“I told you to shut up!”

His face bore its bright and questioning expression, as if he had the right to go where he wanted, open any door, ask any question that popped into his mind. She wondered at this peculiar boy who never stopped asking questions.

“Who are you anyway?”

“Django Jackson Jones.”

“You’re the weirdest boy I ever met.”

“Ditto for you,” Django said.

“Me?”

“You remind me of Rapunzel.”

“Is that a girl?”

“In the fairy tale. She was a prisoner in a tower waiting for her prince to come along.”

Madora laughed. “Willis is my prince.”

“Charming,” said Django.

“Willis has a gun. If you don’t get outta here, I’m gonna go get it and shoot you.”

“Have you ever been to Beverly Hills?”

“Are you deaf
and
retarded?”

“I’m going up there with my aunt, so I won’t be around for a couple of days.”

“That’s the best news yet.”

“I could bring you back a TV. If you wanted. There’s a bunch at the house.”

“Leave me alone.”

“Okay,” he said, walking off toward his bike.

“And don’t come back.”

“See you in a couple of days.”

M
adora watched Django ride off, and when she was sure he would not return to ask another intrusive question or tell her what he thought about something, she went into the kitchen and used up the last of the bologna and lettuce to make Linda a sandwich, which she carried back to the trailer.

The girl was in a foul mood. “It’s about goddamn time, Madora. I heard you yucking it up while I was starving in here.”

Though it was midafternoon, Linda still wore the shorty pajamas Willis had bought her when the weather grew too warm for flannel. She had rucked her blond hair back in a ponytail and put on lipstick, but there was a sour smell about her, as if she hadn’t washed in some time, although Madora brought her a bucket of fresh water and a clean towel and washcloth every morning. It did no good to nag her about cleanliness. Living on the streets as she had, she must have grown accustomed to unsanitary living.

“Who were you talking to?” Linda spoke in a voice that reminded Madora of her own when she was training Foo. “You can trust me. I won’t tell Willis.”

“I wasn’t talking to anyone. You’re hearing things.”

Linda shrugged and opened the sandwich and lifted out the bologna slice. Tipping her head back, she fed the whole thing into her little mouth, then closed the sandwich and ate the bread and lettuce slathered in mustard and mayonnaise.

“I like you, Madora. I don’t want you to get in trouble.”

“What kind of trouble?”

“Willis’d be way pissed if he knew you had someone around here. A boyfriend maybe?” She stuck her index finger in her mouth and scraped the food stuck to her gums. “You’re my friend. I’d never tell on you.”

Madora did not for the smallest sliver of a second believe that she and Linda were friends.