Seventeen
Fern was the first to know. She woke up early.
Her bedside glow-in-the-dark clock said quarter to five in the morning.
She tried to fall back asleep, but she had to urinate, so she pulled on her robe, slid her feet into her pink terry-cloth slippers and went down the hall to the bathroom.
She didn’t turn the light on because she didn’t want to rouse herself to wakefulness.
She reached for the toilet paper only to find an empty roll.
Her brother. He never ever replaced the toilet paper.
It was infuriating. She gingerly crept forward in the dark, underpants at her knees, to reach the under-sink cabinet.
She grabbed a roll and scurried back to the toilet, finished her business and pulled up her pants.
As she was repositioning a fresh roll of toilet paper into its holder, she heard the front door open and close.
She went to the window and drew aside the curtain.
A cold front had moved in, and the lawn was silvery with frost. A light snow falling.
She couldn’t see who was in the car. It was awfully early for anyone to be awake and driving somewhere, but sometimes her dad had to get to one of the stores extra early for a shipment or a problem that had cropped up overnight.
Smoke was rising from the exhaust pipe, the frantic rhythm of the windshield wipers not helping much with the layer of ice on the windshield.
The car wasn’t warm enough. And then the strangest thing happened.
Fern saw Mrs. Larkin hurrying across the street carrying a mint-green suitcase with an ivory leather border.
She recognized the suitcase because she and Bridie used it when they pretended to be Maria von Trapp leaving the convent and marching through town singing and swinging her luggage.
The inside of the suitcase was also light green except for one corner where beige powder from a compact had spilled, staining the fabric.
The driver’s door opened, and her father stepped out.
Dressed for work in a suit and tie. He hurried down the driveway and met Mrs. Larkin halfway.
Took her suitcase and opened the trunk. Fern stood still as a statue, but her teeth started chattering even though she wasn’t cold.
She watched as her father opened the passenger door and Mrs. Larkin slid inside.
Her father bent down to kiss Mrs. Larkin right on the lips.
“Dad?” Fern said quietly. Her heart started beating erratically.
Her palms started to sweat. She couldn’t possibly be witnessing what it seemed like she was witnessing.
She put both her hands on the window, started banging with her flattened palm.
But he didn’t hear her. He got into the car and adjusted his rearview mirror. Reversed down the driveway.
“Dad!” She raised her voice a little but not so much as to wake her mother or brother.
Between the bathroom window and the car windows, even if she screamed they wouldn’t hear her through the glass and across the lawn.
She waved both hands, trying to get her father’s attention.
She didn’t know what was happening, but she knew if she didn’t stop it, it would be very bad.
She ran down the stairs and flung open the front door just as the car turned out of the driveway and onto the street.
She ran across the lawn in her bare feet.
From the passenger side, Nina Larkin turned and saw Fern. Fern instinctively waved and saw Mrs. Larkin raise her hand and quickly drop it and turn her gaze forward. Her father said something to Mrs. Larkin, smiled, but he didn’t notice Fern. He put the car in drive and slowly drove down the street.
“Dad!” Fern started running, but her feet were so cold and the road so slippery and it was still dark.
“DAD! STOP!” she yelled. She couldn’t run as fast as the car was moving, and her father didn’t hear her.
She kept going—she’d never run so fast in her life, and even though it was freezing, she kept going and going, but by the time she was halfway down the block, whimpering and shivering, the car was out of sight. They were gone.