The Missing Girl by Norma Fox Mazer
Authors: Norma Fox Mazer
Tags: United States, Fiction, General, Family & Relationships, People & Places, Family, Juvenile Fiction, Family Life, New York (State), Siblings, Mysteries & Detective Stories, Abuse, Sisters, Kidnapping, Child Abuse, Law & Crime
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head. “Tomorrow morning won’t be good. I have to go, uh, somewhere.” She didn’t want to say school , didn’t want him to think of her that way, as a schoolgirl. She stirred the pancake mix furiously. Stupid of her.
“Where’d you get that toaster, Poppy?” Nathan bent over Huddle’s shoulder. Within the first hour of arriving, Nathan had taken up Autumn and Fancy’s names for their parents as if he were one of the kids. Beauty glanced at him. He was almost the same age as her mother.
“That toaster is a little beauty,” he said admiringly, and gave Beauty a quick look.
139
“It’s the old-fashioned kind,” Beauty said, flushing.
“That’s right,” he said, “two slots for bread and no other functions.”
“Got it in a thrift shop,” Beauty’s father said without looking up. His tools were scattered all over the table—
the screwdrivers, a utility knife, a roll of colored tape, and a loop of copper wire. “Three bucks,” he said, “and it works like a charm. I just have to replace the cord. Then I can sell it for seven, eight dollars.”
Nathan nodded. “Nice, very nice. You’re a thinking man. It’s great to have your own business, isn’t it? I’m still working for someone else.”
“Something’s burning,” her mother yelled from the back shed, where she was hanging laundry on the clothes rack. “Beauty. What’s burning?”
“Nothing, Mom. It’s all right.” She turned the fire down under the pancake grill. In fact, the pancake in the middle of the grill was singed around the edges. Nathan reached around Beauty and took one off the stack. “Wait. I’m going to warm them,” she said.
“I know that, cousin, darlin’,” he said, “but I’m so hungry, I could take a bite out of you.”
She blushed again, but said, briskly, as if she couldn’t 140
feel the heat of him behind her, “Get yourself a slice of bread.”
“Will do,” he said, and moved away.
She grabbed her stirring hand by the wrist to keep it from shaking and stirred the remainder of the pancake batter long past the moment when she could have stopped.
141
RUNNING AWAY TO FLORIDA
LYING ON YOUR bed, you’re reading a comic book, waiting for the pancakes to be ready, and trying as hard as you can to ignore Stevie, who’s on her bunk bed above you, being really noisy, making all kinds of grunts and groans and weird sounds, bouncing around from one side of the bed to the other. You could get out your bike and take a ride, but you’re chillin’ , like Stevie says when she’s in a good mood, which is definitely not today, because she’s so freaked about going away tomorrow morning.
You totally understand. You’re not in a good mood, either, sort of for the same reason. Last night the loud 142
voices downstairs, where your parents were arguing and talking and going on about Stevie and money and jobs and other stuff like that, kept you awake for hours . When you couldn’t stand it anymore, you went downstairs and stood in the kitchen doorway, where they could see you, and said, “Hey.” But no one even noticed you were there.
“Hey,” you said again, and they still didn’t notice you, so you went back to bed, but you didn’t fall asleep right away, and that’s why you’re a little cranky right now.
Stevie is kicking her legs so hard on the mattress, you think she’s going to kick right through it and land on top of you. “Hey,” you say. You don’t say it in a mean, mad way, like you said last night to the grown-ups, you say it just nice, but she doesn’t answer. So you say it again, louder.
“Hey, Stevie?” You know she heard you, because she kicks even harder, but she still doesn’t answer. Kicking is so ridiculous! She’s fourteen years old, she shouldn’t be kicking like a baby. Still, you’d be mad, too, if Mommy and Poppy were lending you to someone. You don’t think they ever would do that, because you’re the youngest and, like your sisters are always saying,
“Where’d you get that toaster, Poppy?” Nathan bent over Huddle’s shoulder. Within the first hour of arriving, Nathan had taken up Autumn and Fancy’s names for their parents as if he were one of the kids. Beauty glanced at him. He was almost the same age as her mother.
“That toaster is a little beauty,” he said admiringly, and gave Beauty a quick look.
139
“It’s the old-fashioned kind,” Beauty said, flushing.
“That’s right,” he said, “two slots for bread and no other functions.”
“Got it in a thrift shop,” Beauty’s father said without looking up. His tools were scattered all over the table—
the screwdrivers, a utility knife, a roll of colored tape, and a loop of copper wire. “Three bucks,” he said, “and it works like a charm. I just have to replace the cord. Then I can sell it for seven, eight dollars.”
Nathan nodded. “Nice, very nice. You’re a thinking man. It’s great to have your own business, isn’t it? I’m still working for someone else.”
“Something’s burning,” her mother yelled from the back shed, where she was hanging laundry on the clothes rack. “Beauty. What’s burning?”
“Nothing, Mom. It’s all right.” She turned the fire down under the pancake grill. In fact, the pancake in the middle of the grill was singed around the edges. Nathan reached around Beauty and took one off the stack. “Wait. I’m going to warm them,” she said.
“I know that, cousin, darlin’,” he said, “but I’m so hungry, I could take a bite out of you.”
She blushed again, but said, briskly, as if she couldn’t 140
feel the heat of him behind her, “Get yourself a slice of bread.”
“Will do,” he said, and moved away.
She grabbed her stirring hand by the wrist to keep it from shaking and stirred the remainder of the pancake batter long past the moment when she could have stopped.
141
RUNNING AWAY TO FLORIDA
LYING ON YOUR bed, you’re reading a comic book, waiting for the pancakes to be ready, and trying as hard as you can to ignore Stevie, who’s on her bunk bed above you, being really noisy, making all kinds of grunts and groans and weird sounds, bouncing around from one side of the bed to the other. You could get out your bike and take a ride, but you’re chillin’ , like Stevie says when she’s in a good mood, which is definitely not today, because she’s so freaked about going away tomorrow morning.
You totally understand. You’re not in a good mood, either, sort of for the same reason. Last night the loud 142
voices downstairs, where your parents were arguing and talking and going on about Stevie and money and jobs and other stuff like that, kept you awake for hours . When you couldn’t stand it anymore, you went downstairs and stood in the kitchen doorway, where they could see you, and said, “Hey.” But no one even noticed you were there.
“Hey,” you said again, and they still didn’t notice you, so you went back to bed, but you didn’t fall asleep right away, and that’s why you’re a little cranky right now.
Stevie is kicking her legs so hard on the mattress, you think she’s going to kick right through it and land on top of you. “Hey,” you say. You don’t say it in a mean, mad way, like you said last night to the grown-ups, you say it just nice, but she doesn’t answer. So you say it again, louder.
“Hey, Stevie?” You know she heard you, because she kicks even harder, but she still doesn’t answer. Kicking is so ridiculous! She’s fourteen years old, she shouldn’t be kicking like a baby. Still, you’d be mad, too, if Mommy and Poppy were lending you to someone. You don’t think they ever would do that, because you’re the youngest and, like your sisters are always saying,
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