What Remains of Me by Alison Gaylin Page B

plastic thing with hollow eyes that whirred angrily when you pulled the string, flailing and falling on its side like something broken. The real Thumbelina had been nothing like the doll in the ad. She’d been scary, in fact, and while Kelly had been disappointed, Catherine had sobbed.
    Cried real tears, just like now.
    â€œ We wanted that doll so bad, ” Kelly had tried.
    Catherine had nodded slowly, touching the necklace, tapping a finger against the two small diamonds. “ We never should have opened the box. ”
    Valentine’s Day couldn’t have been more than two months later. Catherine had come home very late. Close to 3:00 A.M. Kelly had been sound asleep and she’d woken up to the front door slamming, a car roaring away.
    â€œ Where were you? ” Mom had shouted.
    And then Catherine had said it, in an awful, smirking tone that made Kelly pull the pillow over her head. “ I was with my Valentine .”
    â€œ Tell me his name.”
    â€œYou don’t get to ask me that.”
    â€œCatherine—”
    â€œGet away from me!”
    Mom had exploded. She’d called her all kinds of horrible names.
    Kelly had gotten up. She’d left the bedroom she still supposedly shared with Catherine and padded into the hallway, just in time to see Mom slap Catherine hard across the face . . .
    â€œ I’m sorry ,” Mom had sobbed, just after the slap. “ I’m sorry, baby. We can fix this. Let me help you fix it .”
    Catherine had spotted Kelly in the doorway and run for her, her whole cheek bright red. She’d thrown her arms around her, hugged her for the first time in so long. “It’s in the top dresser drawer ,” she had whispered in her ear. “ Keep it for me .”
    Before Mom could stop her, she’d grabbed the car keys off the hook by the door. She’d run out, starting up Mom’s car and driving away—leggy, mature Catherine who had somehow learned how to drive. Mom had run out of the house, screaming after her own car before finally collapsing on the front step, Kelly staring at her, not knowing what to do.
    â€œ Go back to your room ,” Mom had told Kelly. And so she had. She’d looked in the top dresser drawer and seen it there. The necklace.
    ON THE KITCHEN RADIO NOW, THE ANNOUNCER INTONED, “looooooowest prices evvvverrrrr” in a rumbling, movie demon voice, and Kelly tried to make those words drown out what was looping through her brain. The car screech. Mom’s sobs. “ Don’t leave me. Don’t leave me. ”
    It was easier to pretend Catherine was alive and in the room with her, sneaking candy, trying to put one over on Mom the way they used to before everything went sour.
    In Kelly’s shirt pocket was Len’s phone number, written on the back of a Denny’s matchbook. “ So you’ll think of me when you light up ,” he had said.
    â€œDid it count, Catherine?” Kelly whispered to the picture when the radio was at its loudest. “Tonight with Len? Can I call it my first time?”
    Kelly popped the whole chocolate in her mouth, curling her tongue around it, closing her eyes for the sweet, rich taste.
    She gagged. It was awful. Stale and nearly tasteless. Kelly spit it out into her hands, picked up another, tested it with her fingers. It felt like plastic—not even a hint of softness. How old is this box of candy?
    â€œWhat is wrong with you, Mom?” she said, under her breath, then left the bedroom in a few long steps, grabbing her shoes on the way out, making it into her own room at last as an ad for some skin care cream blared. Softly, carefully, Kelly closed her door. She grabbed a tissue out of the box on her nightstand, wrapped the candy in it, a strange sadness flooding through her, the chalky taste lingering.
    What is wrong with you, Mom?
    She headed across the hall to the bathroom. “Rockin’ Robin” tweetilee deeted out of