Chapter 6
Chapter Six
“ Y ou shouldn’t be doing this,” she muttered under her breath.
With a slight shake of her head, Libby lowered herself onto the carpet and peered under the bed. Using the flashlight on her phone, she pointed it at the hardwood floors and held her breath. Then, she used her hands to feel for a loose floorboard, a thin sheen of sweat erupting on the back of her neck.
What if she did find something under Annie’s bed?
Was she supposed to confront her with evidence stolen from her room?
Frowning, Libby stopped patting the floor and sat back on her legs. A twinge of pain erupted, starting at the small of her back and racing up her spine. She pressed her lips together and breathed slowly through her mouth. When she was done counting backward from ten, the muscle spasm stopped, and she gingerly rose back to her feet.
“You’re too old for this kind of thing, Lib.” She caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror—the wrinkled clothing, the wisps of hair escaping her braid—and grimaced. “You need to let it go.”
Except she couldn’t.
Not with Annie’s well-being on the line.
Libby curled one hand into a fist and used the other to rifle through Annie’s underwear drawer, even unfolding her socks to look into them. She went through one drawer after the next, the pounding in the back of her skull only growing stronger. Once she reached the last drawer, she lowered herself onto her knees and pressed her head against the dresser.
What would Annie think if she came home and saw this?
How would her foster daughter feel about finding her foster mother going through her clothes?
And what right did Libby have to invade her privacy like that?
You’re her guardian and the only parent she has. Like it or not, you have every right to be concerned.
She didn’t have a choice if she wanted to keep Annie safe and out of harm’s way. Still, it felt wrong and disconcerting to rifle through Annie’s things, knowing it was firmly in the gray area.
After she was done checking the drawers, Libby pushed herself up to her feet. Her knees were sore and had carpet burns, but she ignored them and walked over to the closet. There, she rifled through the clothes, pushing them from one side to the next. Once she was done, she patted the walls and felt for any secret compartments.
Libby was slowly losing her mind.
Having Annie come home at odd hours with dark circles under her eyes and very little color to her cheeks was unsettling. Even worse was how little she ate and the rancid smell that clung to her clothes whenever she came too close. It was a smell Libby couldn’t identify, no matter how much she tried.
And it wasn’t for a lack of trying either.
After hours spent scouring the internet for a diagnosis and symptoms, Libby had ended up right back where she started. She still had no idea what was wrong with Annie or why she was spending her morning off playing detective rather than relaxing and putting her feet up.
The thought of Annie being in trouble made Libby toss and turn at night.
But no matter how bad it was, she wanted to be prepared.
It was how she’d convinced herself to creep down the hallway and walk into Annie’s room like it wasn’t a big deal. And it was how she found herself throwing Annie’s clothes on the bed and rifling through them.
Her fingers were trembling, and she was sweating even more, although the window was open, and a fan whirred in the background.
The burning sensation in her stomach, low and unpleasant, remained.
Libby perched on the edge of Annie’s bed and scanned the clothes, running her fingers carefully through the fabric. Then, she folded a few items and hung up the rest, taking care to leave everything exactly as she found it. Once she was done with the closet, she went over the drawers again, pushing everything back to where it was. Desperate to find something to assuage her fears, and with a growing sense of hysteria at her own sense of incompetence, Libby’s heart started to race as she glanced around the room. Finally, Libby went into the bathroom and frantically tore through it, throwing half-empty shampoo bottles and used razors on the floor.
What was the matter with her?
Why had she ever believed she was going to be able to handle someone like Annie?
The social worker obviously hadn’t done her job properly.
A year later, the two of them were still adjusting, and Libby was beginning to think that was never going to change. When she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror—her flushed cheeks, heaving chest, and the wild mane around her face—Libby stopped. She gripped the sink and released a deep breath.
Her heart was still pounding as she splashed cold water on her face.
Get a grip. Go back outside and watch TV or something. Annie doesn’t have to know you were in here, and you didn’t find anything anyway.
But not finding anything didn’t ease the knots in her stomach.
After putting everything back in the bathroom, Libby shuffled out with her shoulders hunched and her head lowered. In the living room, she paced, picking up and setting down several knick-knacks as she did. An hour later, she forced herself onto the couch and picked up the remote.
Hours later, when the sun was setting below the horizon, bathing the world in hues of pink and purple, the front door clicked open. Libby was washing the pasta when she glanced over her shoulder and saw Annie walk in, even paler than before. She left her shoes and bag by the door and kept her hoodie up in spite of the sweltering heat.
“Is dinner ready?”
Libby swallowed past the lump in her throat. “It’ll be a few minutes. Why don’t you wash up?”
Annie said nothing and disappeared into her room.
Libby added the pasta to the pot of tomato sauce and stirred. Then, she took the tray of chicken out of the oven. She was setting everything on the table when Annie came back out but wouldn’t meet her gaze. In silence, the two of them sat across from each other, eating by the pale and dim light of the yellow lamp.
“So, how was school?”
Annie shrugged.
Libby twirled a spoonful of her pasta. “Have you given the volunteer thing with Ms. Ricker any more thought? I think it’s a great idea.”
Annie pushed her salad around her plate. “No, not really.”
Libby reached for her glass of water and took a long sip. “What about your progress report? They do give you one of those, right? To help you keep track of how you’re doing.”
Annie stabbed her cucumber and brought it up to her lips. “It’s okay.”
For the rest of dinner, she answered in monosyllabic words, if at all. By the time the meal was over, Annie pushed her chair back with a screech. Wordlessly, she carried the dishes and casseroles to the counter. She paused to roll up the sleeves of her hoodie and stepped in front of the sink.
Libby jumped out of her chair. “Why don’t you go and start on your homework? I’ll do the dishes tonight.”
Annie’s eyebrows drew together, and she held Libby’s gaze for a long time.
When she did glance away, Libby’s stomach dipped as she brushed past her. A heartbeat later, Libby heard her door slam shut. She listened for the sound of her voice while she washed the dishes and set them out to dry. Then, she put the food away in containers and shoved them into the fridge.
Libby sat down on the couch to watch TV, but she couldn’t understand a thing they said. When hours passed, and nothing happened, Libby got up and tiptoed down the hall. She held her breath as she pushed the door to Annie’s room open. Her heart was hammering unsteadily as she glanced around the semi-dark room and spotted a figure hunched under the covers.
Annie’s quiet breathing filled the air.
Libby’s free hand was trembling as she pulled the door shut. She took a step back and ran a hand over her face. “You’re being ridiculous. Give Annie her space, or she’s never going to trust you.”
Libby wandered through the house aimlessly for a while longer.
In her room, she changed into a nightgown and climbed into bed. With a frown, she picked up the book on her nightstand and flipped to the bookmarked page. She read the same paragraph a few times before throwing her hands up in the air. With a huff, she sank against the mattress and pulled the covers up to her chest.
All of her dreams were of Annie wandering through a forest, calling out to her. Unfortunately, no matter how hard she tried or how detailed Annie’s descriptions were of her surroundings, Libby just couldn’t reach her.
In the morning, Libby opened her eyes when the first patch of light lit up the horizon. She sat up in bed, shoved her hair out of her eyes, and grimaced. In her bathroom, she splashed cold water on her face and avoided looking in the mirror. After a quick shower, Libby selected her usual knee-length skirt and blouse. She gathered her hair on top of her head, slipped her feet into a pair of sensible flats, and walked out of the room.
Annie was already in the kitchen, eating her cereal in a bowl over the sink.
“I can make you something,” Libby offered after a brief pause. “Since you’re up early.”
Annie twisted to face her, the circles under her eyes even more pronounced. “I’m fine.”
“Why don’t I walk you to school? I’m not the one who has to open up the clinic today.”
Annie shoved the last of the cereal into her mouth. Wordlessly, she washed her bowl and spoon and set them out to dry. Then, she disappeared into her room and came back out with her book bag. Libby filled up her travel mug with coffee and then snatched her purse off the counter.
Outside, birds chirped in the distance, and a warm breeze drifted past.
On their way to school, they ducked down Gifford Street and turned left onto Kathy Lee Bates Road, then right onto Hamlin Avenue. Once they spilled back out onto Dilmingham Avenue, Libby spotted Shivericks Pond in the distance, the water glistening beneath the morning sun.
Annie hadn’t said a word the entire walk, and Libby didn’t want to push her.
But her mind was still racing and doing somersaults until they arrived at school, a two-story, red brick building with an immaculate lawn out front; a circular-shaped chimney jutted out the center of the building, and white panes covered all of the windows. Ms. Ricker stood out front with her phone pressed to her ear.
She waved at Annie, who raced past them and ducked into the school.
Charlotte hung up the phone and smiled. “It’s good to see you again, Libby. How are you?”
“I’m very worried about Annie,” Libby admitted, pausing to shift from one foot to the other. “She’s coming home at odd hours. She barely eats. I don’t know if she sleeps, and she won’t talk to me.”
Charlotte frowned as she glanced over her shoulder and then back at her. “Being withdrawn and reserved is normal for her age. You just have to keep an eye out and intervene if it becomes obvious that something is wrong.”
“How is she doing in school? Do you have any idea? I’m sorry… I know this isn’t your job…”
Charlotte’s hand drifted to her stomach, and she glanced back over her shoulders. “Don’t apologize. It’s okay. As far as I know, she’s doing fine, but I can ask her summer school teacher to get in touch with you if you want.”
Libby breathed a sigh of relief. “Please, I’d really appreciate that.”
The two of them were still getting to know each other, but Libby was already immensely grateful for Charlotte, who was something of a godsend during these trying times.
Please, let her be the answer to my prayers.