38. Dolls
THIRTY-EIGHT
Dolls
CJ
Anna returned with a doll clutched in her arms. She tugged at CJ’s sleeve.
“I’m ready.”
He loved kids. They reminded him not all the world was tainted with evil. He held out his hand, which Anna eagerly took and headed to the door. When Angela didn’t move, he stretched out his other hand, coaxing her to join them. She looked at her sister, then tentatively reached out. He gave her hand a little squeeze and a special nod. She returned both.
He signed the girls out and loaded them into his new rental car, using the child seats he provided.
“Now, what did you do Friday after school?”
Anna told her life story while Angela remained silent in the passenger seat beside him. Angela concerned him, but he gave her the time she needed to shore up her defenses after their little talk. She had come dangerously close to falling apart.
By the time they pulled up to the girl’s school, Angela had added to her sister’s monologue. Slowly, he was able to piece together the last few days of Henrietta Jones’ life.
He walked through their home; the girls showed him everything. He asked Angela to play with her sister in her room while he looked through Henrietta’s bedroom. Their mother kept an immaculate house, a shrine to her dead husband, and filled every wall with pictures of him and their little girls.
He remembered Mac saying she didn’t have an extended family.
Boxes and boxes of Girl Scout cookies were stacked in the study. Anna walked in, carrying a cup filled to the rim with milk. She thrust it out at him.
“Whoa,” CJ said as he rescued the cup from her hands.
“For you,” the little girl said. “Momma always said you’re supposed to offer a drink to guests.”
“Ah, well, I thank you then.” He sat on the floor of the study in between stacks of cookie boxes. “You’re a Girl Scout?”
“I’m a Brownie. Angela’s a Junior.”
“I was a Boy Scout.”
“You were?”
“Yes, Eagle Scout.” He pointed to the stacked boxes. “Cookie time, I see.”
Her eyes lit up. “Yes. We were selling cookies before the storm hit. We were supposed to go out on Sunday too, but Mama took us to the park instead. Then we got ice cream. Mama was real happy.”
“Really,” CJ cooed, trying to keep her talking about her memory. He drank from his cup, getting a milk mustache on his upper lip. He pretended like he didn’t know.
Anna giggled and pointed at his lips.
“What?”
“You’re messy.”
He made a show of wiping his mouth, dragging his sleeve across his lips, and rubbing the milk mustache off his face. Her laughter filled the room, and he was pleased to bring this tiny moment of happiness into her life. Angela wandered in and sat beside him.
He pointed to Anna. “Your sister was telling me she’s a Brownie and you’re a Junior. She said you were selling cookies on Saturday.”
Angela’s gaze bounced across the stacks of cookie boxes and crash-landed on the carpet. She sighed. “We did.”
“I’d like to see where your mom sold the cookies.”
Angela lifted her eyes and met his. “We sold the cookies. Mama just stood on the curb. She didn’t talk to anyone.” He could see the pride in the firm set of her chin.
CJ sipped from his cup. This time he licked off his milk mustache. Anna giggled. “Remember what we talked about? Any little thing can be important.”
He wasn’t sure, but he thought she gave a nod of agreement, or maybe she thought he was the stupidest adult on the planet.
“Come. It’s almost noon. Let’s grab a bite to eat, and then you can show me where you sold cookies.”
“Are we going to sell some more?” Anna gazed up at CJ with innocent eyes.
“No, I—” He tried to explain the plan for the day, but Angela took over. Typical bossy older sister.
“We’re just gonna drive by the houses. Mr. CJ wants to see where we went with Mama. Get your dolly. We have to bring her back with us.”
“I don’t want to go back,” Anna whined. “Can’t we sleep at home? Mama will be back soon, won’t she?”
“Maybe,” Angela said. “Now get the doll. We need to go.”
He drove the neighborhoods while they guided him, arguing more often than not on where they had or hadn’t been. Angela’s memory surprised him. She knew each street they had visited.
Anna chimed in with their sales. He learned all about Mrs. Cleary with her three black cats who bought two boxes of Tagalongs. Sergeant Mallory didn’t like cookies, but he liked Girl Scouts. He bought a case for his work. Anna remembered because her mom didn’t have a case of cookies, and they had to come back.
Mr. Blackstone, with the black dog, ordered Thin Mints. Anna proudly informed CJ that Thin Mints were everybody’s most ‘favorite-ist’ cookie. Timothy, a high schooler, bought five boxes of Samoas. Anna scrunched up her nose at that because those were the yucky ones.
“Wow, you two really know a lot about the people you sold cookies to,” he said, after listening to an in-depth conversation about Mr. Willy and his pet monkey.
“Mama didn’t like us going to stranger’s houses,” Angela said. “She knows lots of people, so we go to their houses.”
“Sounds like a good plan. How does your mother know so many people?”
Angela shrugged. “She’s a volunteer.”
Anna tapped Angela’s headrest. “Mama didn’t know everyone, ’member? We went to that other neighborhood.” Her voice rose with excitement. “They didn’t have Girl Scouts of their own. We sold lots of boxes there.”
CJ’s ears perked up. “Really? Where is that?”
Angela’s mouth twisted as she tried to remember. They were looking for something out of the ordinary in Henrietta’s routine. “I’m not sure, Mr. CJ.” Tears pooled in the corners of her eyes.
Damn.
He reached over to pat her knee. “It’s okay. It’s hard to remember things. Did you get on a highway?”
“No,” Anna piped up from the backseat. “We drove through the fields, you remember? We went past the farm with the rabbits and the goats? It was all farms, except that neighborhood. It’s pretty and next to a forest. Mama pulled in there because the houses were close, and we wouldn’t have to walk far. Remember, Angie?”
Beside him, Angela nodded.
He breathed a sigh of relief. “Anna, your memory is super awesome. Now, how do I find this farm with the rabbits and goats?”
Between the two of them, they were able to direct him through town. The small development they took him too was on the edge of the city they lived in. He drove around that neighborhood, but they had little to tell him about the inhabitants. No stories of dogs, cats, birds, or monkeys. They didn’t even remember who bought what kind of cookies, or how many boxes. As they were driving out of the development, they passed a house nestled back against the trees. It looked out of place until CJ realized it took up two lots.
Anna bounced in her seat. “Angie! Angie! Remember him. He bought ten boxes. And gave us a fifty.”
Angela crossed her arms. “Yeah, I remember him.”
“What’s wrong, Angela?” CJ asked.
“I didn’t like him.”
“You were being a poop-face.” Anna stuck her tongue out. “He was nice, and he gave us extra.”
Angela shrugged.
CJ slowed down in front of the house. It was a nondescript cookie-cutter, builder’s home. The only thing distinctive about it was how it was set apart from its neighbors by the double lot. The lawn was cut and edged with meticulous precision. The bushes were well-groomed. Flower boxes sat in front of all the windows, and they overflowed with blooms. It looked quaint and inviting, more like an old lady lived there than a man who bought Girl Scout cookies.
It made his skin itch.
“Did your mother talk to him?”
“No, she watched from the curb like she always does,” Angela said.
“That’s not true,” Anna quipped from the backseat.
“Shut up,” Angela said. “He waved, and she waved back.”
“Mama did so talk to him.” Anna stuck out her tongue again.
“Shut up, Anna. You don’t even know what you’re talking about. You’re such a baby.”
“Girls,” CJ said. “Let’s not argue.”
The two fell silent. He pulled forward but stopped to let a white florist’s van turn into the driveway of the house. On the way out of the housing development, he searched for an ice cream shop to satisfy the argumentative little girls.