Cody McFadyen - The Face of Death

She's telling us what happened to her. That is a microcosm, a way of understanding the story of all those who've been ruined and harmed by The Stranger's actions. If we understand her pain, her story says, then we understand the Russian girl, Cathy Jones, the Nicholsons.

If we cry for her, then we cry for them. And we remember. I turn the page and continue reading.

Sarah's Story

Part Four

43

Some people are just good. Do you know what I mean? Maybe they don't have special or exciting jobs. Maybe they're not the most beautiful or the most handsome, but they're just, well, good. Desiree and Ned were like that.

They were good.

"STOP IT, PUMPKIN," SARAH SCOLDED.

The dog was trying to stick his head in between her lap and the table, hoping to catch falling crumbs or (hallelujah!) actual pieces of food. Sarah shoved the dog's monstrous noggin away.

"I don't think he's going to listen. That dog loves cake, don't ask me why," Ned said. "Come on, Pumpkin."

The pit bull left with great reluctance, stealing glances back at the cake on the table as he was ordered into the backyard. Ned returned and resumed punching candles through the frosting. Sarah had come to love Ned, just as Desiree had promised. He was a tall, lanky man, a little on the quiet side, but with eyes full of smiles. He always wore the same clothes: button-up flannel shirt, blue jeans, hiking boots. He kept his hair a little longer than was in vogue, he was inclined to meander, and had a slight scruffiness that was endearing; it spoke of a vague absentmindedness when it came to caring for his own appearance. Sarah had seen him get angry, both at her and at Desiree, but she had never felt endangered. She knew that Ned would cut off his own hands before he would ever hit either of them.

"Nine candles, gee-whiz," he said, rueful. "Better start checking for gray hairs."

Sarah smiled. "You're such a dork, Ned."

"So I've heard."

The last candle was placed just as Desiree came through the front door. Sarah noticed that she was flushed, excited. She's really happy about something.

Desiree was carrying a wrapped present, a large rectangular something, and she bustled into the kitchen, leaning the present up against the wall.

"Is that it?" Ned asked, nodding toward the present. Desiree smiled and glowed. "Yep. I wasn't sure I was going to be able to get it. I can't wait until you see it, Sarah."

Sarah was mystified, in that good, birthday kind of way.

"Cake's all ready?" Desiree asked.

"I just put the last candle on."

"Well, let me wash my face and cool down and we'll have a birthday!"

Sarah smiled, nodded, watched Desiree hurry off, towing Ned behind her. She closed her eyes. It had been a good year. Ned and Desiree were great. They adored her from the start, and after a month or two of this as a constant, Sarah tossed away the last of her distrust and adored them back. Ned was away a lot, as Desiree had first told her, but he made up for it when he was home, always kind, always attentive. Desiree herself was .. . well . . . in Sarah's secret place, in the most guarded part of her heart, Sarah realized that she was beginning to love her foster-mother.

She opened her eyes, looked at the cake, at the presents on the table and the one against the wall.

I could be happy here. Am happy here.

Not everything was perfect. Sarah still had nightmares every now and then. She'd wake up some mornings weighed down with a sadness that had come out of nowhere. And although she liked her school, she'd rebuffed offers of friendship, not by refusing them outright, but by simply never following up on them. She wasn't ready for that, not yet.

Witch Watson had shown up a lot at first, but only once in the last nine months, which suited Sarah just fine. Cathy Jones had stopped by a few times, and seemed to be truly gratified that Sarah was doing well. Sarah had long ago accepted a place in Desiree's arms when comfort was needed. The one thing she still hadn't shared was her story about The Stranger. She didn't think Desiree would believe her. Sometimes, she wasn't sure she believed it herself. Maybe Cathy had been right. Maybe she had been confused.

She shook these thoughts from her head. Today was her birthday, and she planned to enjoy it.

Ned and Desiree came back.

"Ready for candles?" Desiree asked Sarah.

Sarah grinned. "Yeah!"

Ned had a lighter, and he lit each candle. They sang a raucous, somewhat off-key "Happy Birthday."

"Make a wish, honey, and blow!" Desiree cried.

Sarah closed her eyes.

I wish . . . I could stay here for good.

She took a deep breath, opened her eyes, and blew out every flame. Ned and Desiree clapped.

"I always knew you were full of hot air," Ned joked.

"So, do you want to eat cake first, or open your presents?"

Sarah could tell that Desiree was bursting for her to open the mystery present.

"Presents first."

Desiree snatched the rectangle from its place against the wall and handed it to Sarah.

Sarah hefted it. It was big, but it was light. A painting, or maybe a photograph. She began to tear the paper away. When she saw the top edge of the frame, her heart jumped.

Could it . . . ?

She tore the rest of the paper off as fast as her hands would allow. She saw what it was, and stopped breathing. Her chest hurt. It was the painting her mother had done for her. The baby in the woods, the face in the clouds. Sarah looked up at Desiree, wordless.

"I could tell how much you loved that painting when you told me about it, honey. And you know what? It turns out that Cathy Jones packed away some of the stuff in your bedroom after they . . . well, after the police were done with things. Just some photos and toys and some other stuff. She kept it in storage for you so it wouldn't get lost. That is the one, right?"

Sarah nodded, still wordless. Her heart was thudding in her chest. Her eyes burned.

"Oh my God," she finally said. "Thank you so so so so much. I--"

She looked at Desiree, who smiled, at Ned, whose eyes softened. "I don't know what to say."

Desiree's hand touched Sarah's hair, moved a lock of it back behind the young girl's ear. "You're welcome, honey." Desiree was beaming. Ned coughed, and held out an envelope. "This is the other part of that present, Sarah. It's a . . . well, a kind of gift certificate."

Sarah wiped the tears from her cheeks and took the envelope. She still felt overwhelmed, a little bit giddy, and her hands trembled as she opened it. Inside was a simple white card that said Happy Birthday on the front. She flipped the card open and read the inside. Redeemable by Sarah , it said, for one adoption . Sarah's mouth fell open in shock. Her head snapped up and she saw that while Desiree and Ned were smiling, they looked nervous too. Almost scared.

"You don't have to, if you don't want to," Ned said, his voice soft.

"But if you do, Desiree and I would like to adopt you permanently."

What's happening to me? Why can't I talk?

She felt as if she was being rolled by an ocean wave. She was a boat hitting the top of a swell and then sliding back down the trough, only to be picked back up again.

What's wrong?

It came to her, a sudden clarity. This was the part of her that she'd kept buried, hidden, locked in a vault. A place filled with Nothings and Puppysheads. Frozen agony, thawed in an instant. It was crashing through her inner barriers and it was filled with thunder and thorns. She couldn't speak, but she managed to nod at them, and then she began to wail. It was a wordless, terrible sound. It caused Ned's eyes to shine and Desiree's arms to open. Sarah fled into them and wept three years of tears.