a kid?” Junie watched her mother’s face soften, the worry in her eyes replaced with empathy.
“Oh, honey. Why didn’t I see that Daddy’s death would unearth this for you? Of course this would bring Ellen’s disappearance rushing back. I’m so sorry.”
“It’s okay. I don’t think it’s that. It’s just…I saw her today. I mean, I didn’t see her, see her. I saw an image of her, outside, when I was playing with Sarah.”
“A memory,” Ruth said, plain and simple, as if it explained everything. Her typical pragmatic response.
“That’s the thing. I can’t ever remember seeing Ellen so frightened. She was terrified, screaming.”
“Death does all sorts of things to the living,” Ruth said.
Junie’s head snapped up. “Death? We don’t know if Ellen is dead. You can’t know that.” The desperation in Junie’s voice was palpable. “Don’t…don’t assume that.”
“Oh, Junie, I didn’t mean Ellen. I meant your father’s death.”
“But what if it was something more? What if they missed something all those years ago? What if it’s a sign of some sort?”
“Oh, Junie, I really don’t think—”
“I know. I know. Neither do I, really, but all I know is that she disappeared. I can’t remember the last time we even talked about her. It’s almost as if she had never existed at all.”
“We talked about her at your wedding. Remember?”
Junie nodded, remembering the passing comment among the excitement. I wish Ellen could have been here . She’d been too wrapped up in her own reverie to give Ellen’s memory the careful thought it deserved.
“You had such a difficult time with her disappearance. You were so young, just seven, remember. You refused to believe she wasn’t coming back and, well, after a while, I guess you realized that maybe she wasn’t, and eventually you just went on. We all did. It was a very difficult time for everyone. You might not remember, but Ellen’s disappearance changed everything.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, when a child disappears like that, everyone comes under scrutiny. People say things they don’t mean, things they’d never say under different circumstances. Suffice it to say, it’s not a time anyone wants to rehash.” Ruth got up and put her teacup in the sink.
Junie followed. “Who came under scrutiny?”
Ruth turned to her, letting out a loud sigh. “Junie, I love you, but I’m exhausted. I have to go to bed.”
Guilt chased frustration around Junie’s body, tightening like a robe around her middle. Another of her mother’s pragmatic traits—dismissing her daughter in a gentle, loving way, putting an end to an uncomfortable discussion, and leaving Junie wanting more.
Chapter Eight
Junie woke up at four thirty, too restless to fall back to sleep. She spent the night tossing and turning. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw Ellen’s frightened face or heard her father’s voice. Her chest tightened, as if a thick blanket of doom were lying over her. She closed her eyes against a wave of sadness and pushed herself from the bed. Brian slept beside her. Junie pulled on her sweatpants and headed for the kitchen, thinking of Ellen.
She pulled cake flour, sugar, and three pans from the cabinet above her mother’s refrigerator. She’d learned long ago to keep her mother’s shelves stocked with must-have baking items. She’d taken one too many midnight trips to Walmart to grab the necessary supplies to satisfy her sudden urge to bake. At least they carried Wilton products, which made it easier than hunting down supplies. She always packed a few not-so-readily available items, and the rest she kept on hand.
Junie measured the sugar and water, watching it rise to a boil, waiting for the dark amber color to appear. She heated up the whipping cream before removing the boiling sugar mixture from the stove. She never imagined that her father’s death would smell so sweet. In fact, she had never imagined her
“Oh, honey. Why didn’t I see that Daddy’s death would unearth this for you? Of course this would bring Ellen’s disappearance rushing back. I’m so sorry.”
“It’s okay. I don’t think it’s that. It’s just…I saw her today. I mean, I didn’t see her, see her. I saw an image of her, outside, when I was playing with Sarah.”
“A memory,” Ruth said, plain and simple, as if it explained everything. Her typical pragmatic response.
“That’s the thing. I can’t ever remember seeing Ellen so frightened. She was terrified, screaming.”
“Death does all sorts of things to the living,” Ruth said.
Junie’s head snapped up. “Death? We don’t know if Ellen is dead. You can’t know that.” The desperation in Junie’s voice was palpable. “Don’t…don’t assume that.”
“Oh, Junie, I didn’t mean Ellen. I meant your father’s death.”
“But what if it was something more? What if they missed something all those years ago? What if it’s a sign of some sort?”
“Oh, Junie, I really don’t think—”
“I know. I know. Neither do I, really, but all I know is that she disappeared. I can’t remember the last time we even talked about her. It’s almost as if she had never existed at all.”
“We talked about her at your wedding. Remember?”
Junie nodded, remembering the passing comment among the excitement. I wish Ellen could have been here . She’d been too wrapped up in her own reverie to give Ellen’s memory the careful thought it deserved.
“You had such a difficult time with her disappearance. You were so young, just seven, remember. You refused to believe she wasn’t coming back and, well, after a while, I guess you realized that maybe she wasn’t, and eventually you just went on. We all did. It was a very difficult time for everyone. You might not remember, but Ellen’s disappearance changed everything.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, when a child disappears like that, everyone comes under scrutiny. People say things they don’t mean, things they’d never say under different circumstances. Suffice it to say, it’s not a time anyone wants to rehash.” Ruth got up and put her teacup in the sink.
Junie followed. “Who came under scrutiny?”
Ruth turned to her, letting out a loud sigh. “Junie, I love you, but I’m exhausted. I have to go to bed.”
Guilt chased frustration around Junie’s body, tightening like a robe around her middle. Another of her mother’s pragmatic traits—dismissing her daughter in a gentle, loving way, putting an end to an uncomfortable discussion, and leaving Junie wanting more.
Chapter Eight
Junie woke up at four thirty, too restless to fall back to sleep. She spent the night tossing and turning. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw Ellen’s frightened face or heard her father’s voice. Her chest tightened, as if a thick blanket of doom were lying over her. She closed her eyes against a wave of sadness and pushed herself from the bed. Brian slept beside her. Junie pulled on her sweatpants and headed for the kitchen, thinking of Ellen.
She pulled cake flour, sugar, and three pans from the cabinet above her mother’s refrigerator. She’d learned long ago to keep her mother’s shelves stocked with must-have baking items. She’d taken one too many midnight trips to Walmart to grab the necessary supplies to satisfy her sudden urge to bake. At least they carried Wilton products, which made it easier than hunting down supplies. She always packed a few not-so-readily available items, and the rest she kept on hand.
Junie measured the sugar and water, watching it rise to a boil, waiting for the dark amber color to appear. She heated up the whipping cream before removing the boiling sugar mixture from the stove. She never imagined that her father’s death would smell so sweet. In fact, she had never imagined her
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