Sarah Sparrow - A Guide for Murdered Children

The sentry appeared again and took her arm.

Willow watched them go out.

4.

When he dropped Lydia off, he asked if she would be all right staying by herself. She said she would and kissed his cheek. He thought it best to just come out with it, considering the elegiac mood Annie had set, and all that he knew. “Lydia, I have the feeling”—he didn’t, really, but wasn’t sure how to start—“this is the last time I’ll see you.”

“That isn’t true,” she said. “If I’d had a ‘perfect’ moment of balance , you’d probably be right. But things got messed up. I happen to know exactly when I’m leaving and it isn’t tonight. I’ll stay long enough to go to Daniel’s funeral; I really did come to love him in the same way Maya loves Troy. Besides, Troy will be there too—hints of him. Because he and Daniel spent so much important time together. So I’ll see you Sunday, ’kay?”

“Okay,” he said somberly.

She kissed his cheek again.

“Try not to be so blue,” she said.

He made love to Dixie that night, saturated in love and death, good and evil, balance and anarchy. She cried when she came, the first time that happened. She was never more beautiful.

They lay in bed and smoked.

“How’s Lydia doing?” she asked.

“Seems to be doing okay. Had a bit of a rough day.”

“I think you all did. I’m surprised you went to your AA meeting.”

“It was either that or drink.”

“Willow… I know she was traumatized—but what was up with that little strip show she did?”

“I don’t know,” he said with a shrug and a smile.

“I mean, did you guys have some kind of deal going on?”

He laughed. “Why do you even say that?”

“I don’t know. She just looked so… comfortable. Like it was something she’d done before.”

“She’s just a little Aspergers-y. Kind of a strange affect. If you didn’t notice.”

“Yeah,” said Dixie. “I kinda saw that.”

“Cold case cops are weird, what can I say?”

It was her turn to laugh. “ Be weird—but not too weird. ’Cause if some other chick comes out of the shower in her birthday suit, you’ll see how weird I can be.”

An hour later, they were asleep in each other’s arms.

He awoke gasping for air and looked at the clock: 1:20 A.M.

He was parched. He went to the fridge and slugged down half a gallon of orange juice. He wandered to the living room and saw the backpack by the door. Inside was a package wrapped in brown paper and a card with his name that said “Keep Coming Back!” (It was signed “Annie,” the i dotted with a heart.) He opened the stack of Guide s . None had the names of children written on them; if all went well, he would soon meet their owners on the train.

He stared at the mural and was seized by a dizzying panic. He ran to the bedroom for his phone. He realized he had left it in his coat and ran back to the living room. It was slung across a chair and he fished it from the pocket. He dialed Pace, praying she’d pick up—

—certain that his grandson was dead.

O God, God, God. Larkin is my Eskimo …

He kept getting sent to voice mail and resolved to jump in the car and drive straight to Marlette if she didn’t answer in the next sixty seconds. At this hour, he could make it in forty-five minutes. He was already gathering his things, thinking about what he would say in the note he’d leave for Dixie—he didn’t want to put her through yet another crisis—when Pace called back. She’d been drifting off to sleep, her iPhone on mute, when the light of the incoming call awakened her.

He blurted out, “ Is everything okay? ” She was confused and then frightened by her father’s tone. She stiffened and sat up, jarring Geoff to wakefulness. “Is Larkin okay?”

“He’s fine, Daddy, we’re fine… everyone’s fine . What’s going on?”

“ Go check on Larkin .”

“Hold on.”

She sprinted to her son’s room with an urgency informed by her father’s history. She still remembered his night terrors when she was a little girl, and the legendary story of his premonition of her great-grandmother’s death had long been enshrined in Wylde family lore. She touched the sleeping boy’s cheek and watched his tiny chest heave with life. Pace tucked the blanket around him and kissed the crown of his head.

“He’s totally fine. He’s right here, sleeping.”

“ Great. That’s great.”

“Daddy, what’s going on?”

“I’m sorry, babe,” he said. “I had a nightmare. Sorry, honey—I’m sorry I woke the house. I didn’t mean to scare you.” He told her that the bad dream was one of general family safety, deciding it would be cruel to make Larkin the focus. It might put thoughts in her head. “I guess today’s events had something to do with it. Guess I blew a fuse.”

“I heard ,” she said as she sat at the dining room table. Geoff wandered in and sat too. “You’ve been all over the news! I’ve been trying to reach you! I talked to Mom and she said you were okay, but why don’t you pick up when I call?”

“It’s just been so crazy—and I knew you and Adelaide would talk. I had to turn my friggin’ phone off. I was getting calls from the media nonstop. Guess my cell phone number got WikiLeaked.”

“But you’re okay? Mom said you got hurt.”

“Just a scratch. I’m totally fine.”

“Daddy, are you sure ?”

“Absolutely. I’ll tell you all about it when I see you. Sorry again to have woke everybody up. My apologies to Geoff.”

“Daddy, it’s okay , I’m glad you called. And always call, if you have a ‘feeling’—or even if you don’t.”

“Haven’t had one of those in a while.”

“Well, don’t worry . Everyone’s fine.”

“Thank you, sweetheart. Say hi to Geoff and let’s plan something soon. And give Larkin a kiss.”

“I will. I love you.”

“I love you too. Now y’all go back to sleep.”

1.

It was a week of funerals, wakes and remembrance.

Annie gave Willow’s name to the funeral home as next of kin. He was startled when the mortuary called. There was something bracing about the non-etherealness of it, grounding him amid the general “woo-woo,” as Owen liked to say. At the same time, he became uneasy, the finality of her death nagging him to reconsider the events of the last few months. Had it all been a dream? The Porter was right: he still hadn’t taken a First Step, in this world or the next. And he had his resentments—why did Annie say what she did about praying his Eskimo wouldn’t be a child? The remark seemed almost sadistic. He could see himself making late-night phone calls to Pace until his dying day.

When he came to the viewing room, the sentry was standing over the coffin. Willow lingered respectfully in the doorway and was about to step away when Bumble walked over. They shook hands. He said he’d cleaned out Annie’s room at the SRO and donated her things to the downtown Mission, as she had asked.

Bumble handed him an envelope.

“Will I be your sentry, sir? Annie said that I probably would but it’d be impolite not to ask.”

He was taken aback. “I’m—I’m just not sure yet if I’ll be returning.”

“She said you might say that too!” he said convivially.

He retreated to the door and stood dutifully on watch.

Willow went to the casket. She was beautiful—smiling that Mona Lisa smile that was so her. She wore the same stunning greenish-blue jewelry and brocaded dress he saw her in when they had their first encounter on the train. It wasn’t until later that he realized how much she looked like his grandmother. The errant thought came that Nana had been a Porter. But if that were true, Annie would have known. She probably would have mentioned it.