out.
“So, you’re home then? Every night?” he asks, and slides his hand up to Malina’s shoulder, where he burrows his thumb under her delicate collarbone.
The proper name is the clavicle. She knows because Mr. Herze once broke one of hers. He presses his face close and studies her eyes. He’s inspecting her for signs she’s taken one of her pills. She stares back, doesn’t let her eyes stray, holds her lids wide while reminding herself to blink so he’ll know she hasn’t. Dr. Cannon says if she does her counting and gets plenty of fresh air, she’ll have no need of them.
“You’re certain you’ve not taken to driving after dark?”
Malina drifts closer to Mr. Herze so anyone passing will think she is nuzzling her husband.
“Why would you ask such a silly thing? I have so much to do with my evenings. I can’t remember the last time I started an engine after sunset.”
And before she can stop herself, Malina has lied to her husband.
Day 2
CHAPTER FIVE
I t’s been one full day since Elizabeth disappeared. Grace stands at the kitchen window, both hands resting on her hard, round stomach, and looks onto the dark alley, hoping Elizabeth will shuffle out from behind the garage, her arms stiff at her sides, her head lowered. But there is no one. The night air is cool and motionless. Inside, the oven clicks and heats the house, filling it with the smell of apple-banana muffins. Grace gathers her hair on top of her head, twists it, pins it in place, and turns her face toward the small fan Mother placed in the open window. The fan rotates from side to side, drawing in the outside air, cooling Grace’s face and neck.
The neighborhood is quiet because after a full twenty-four hours, no one expects to find Elizabeth on Alder Avenue. The search has moved north and south, east and west. After the first night, James brought home maps of the city, and like he did on the back of an envelope, he drew boxes, numbered them, and wrote men’s names inside each. When Saturday morning broke, everyone piled in their cars and congregated at the church. James separated the men and told them where to go. All day, they searched. They walked along Woodward Avenue, stopping in every shop, store, or restaurant to ask if anyone had seen Elizabeth. They knocked on doors, asked neighbors to unlock sheds, and pressed their faces to the windows of parked cars. For now, no one is talking about who killed that woman on Willingham or if men will lose jobs for taking up with colored prostitutes. All is forgotten until Elizabeth comes home.
Grace spent the day at the church with the other ladies while the men searched. The ladies gathered in the basement and kept the coffee brewing and plenty of hot food at the ready. But at five o’clock, James took Grace home because her ankles and fingers had swelled and she was kneading her back with her fists. “No more,” he had said as he pulled into their driveway and left the car to idle. “You’ll stay home from now on, for the good of the baby.” He loves Grace, wants only to protect her and the baby they have dreamed of for five years. It’s all Grace has ever wanted—a man and a child to love. Now she has both. Maybe it’s too much. Maybe it’s more joy than one woman should have and that’s why this bad thing has come into their lives. “You and your mother stay with the phone,” James had said before leaving Grace and returning to the search. “Call the hospitals again. You never know.” And then he had held Grace’s face in his two hands, made her meet his eyes with hers, and said, “You have to stop blaming yourself. You know how she wanders. Don’t worry. I’ll find her.”
It’s well after dark when the ticking from the small timer over the stove begins to slow. It stops altogether and dings. Mother pulls a tray of muffins from the oven and sets them on the table. She’ll take them to the church in the morning. If Elizabeth is found tonight, and surely she will be,
“So, you’re home then? Every night?” he asks, and slides his hand up to Malina’s shoulder, where he burrows his thumb under her delicate collarbone.
The proper name is the clavicle. She knows because Mr. Herze once broke one of hers. He presses his face close and studies her eyes. He’s inspecting her for signs she’s taken one of her pills. She stares back, doesn’t let her eyes stray, holds her lids wide while reminding herself to blink so he’ll know she hasn’t. Dr. Cannon says if she does her counting and gets plenty of fresh air, she’ll have no need of them.
“You’re certain you’ve not taken to driving after dark?”
Malina drifts closer to Mr. Herze so anyone passing will think she is nuzzling her husband.
“Why would you ask such a silly thing? I have so much to do with my evenings. I can’t remember the last time I started an engine after sunset.”
And before she can stop herself, Malina has lied to her husband.
Day 2
CHAPTER FIVE
I t’s been one full day since Elizabeth disappeared. Grace stands at the kitchen window, both hands resting on her hard, round stomach, and looks onto the dark alley, hoping Elizabeth will shuffle out from behind the garage, her arms stiff at her sides, her head lowered. But there is no one. The night air is cool and motionless. Inside, the oven clicks and heats the house, filling it with the smell of apple-banana muffins. Grace gathers her hair on top of her head, twists it, pins it in place, and turns her face toward the small fan Mother placed in the open window. The fan rotates from side to side, drawing in the outside air, cooling Grace’s face and neck.
The neighborhood is quiet because after a full twenty-four hours, no one expects to find Elizabeth on Alder Avenue. The search has moved north and south, east and west. After the first night, James brought home maps of the city, and like he did on the back of an envelope, he drew boxes, numbered them, and wrote men’s names inside each. When Saturday morning broke, everyone piled in their cars and congregated at the church. James separated the men and told them where to go. All day, they searched. They walked along Woodward Avenue, stopping in every shop, store, or restaurant to ask if anyone had seen Elizabeth. They knocked on doors, asked neighbors to unlock sheds, and pressed their faces to the windows of parked cars. For now, no one is talking about who killed that woman on Willingham or if men will lose jobs for taking up with colored prostitutes. All is forgotten until Elizabeth comes home.
Grace spent the day at the church with the other ladies while the men searched. The ladies gathered in the basement and kept the coffee brewing and plenty of hot food at the ready. But at five o’clock, James took Grace home because her ankles and fingers had swelled and she was kneading her back with her fists. “No more,” he had said as he pulled into their driveway and left the car to idle. “You’ll stay home from now on, for the good of the baby.” He loves Grace, wants only to protect her and the baby they have dreamed of for five years. It’s all Grace has ever wanted—a man and a child to love. Now she has both. Maybe it’s too much. Maybe it’s more joy than one woman should have and that’s why this bad thing has come into their lives. “You and your mother stay with the phone,” James had said before leaving Grace and returning to the search. “Call the hospitals again. You never know.” And then he had held Grace’s face in his two hands, made her meet his eyes with hers, and said, “You have to stop blaming yourself. You know how she wanders. Don’t worry. I’ll find her.”
It’s well after dark when the ticking from the small timer over the stove begins to slow. It stops altogether and dings. Mother pulls a tray of muffins from the oven and sets them on the table. She’ll take them to the church in the morning. If Elizabeth is found tonight, and surely she will be,
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