Stony River Read online

  “I don’t need a diploma to be an actress.”

  “How you gonna pay for a room and eats in New York?”

  “I got money. Been saving for years.”

  Dearie raised her eyebrows at that. “I grew up across the river in Jersey City. New York’s big and expensive. It can swallow a piggy bank fast. You ain’t old enough to get an honest job. You should call your ma. I’d turn into one big puddle if I lost Buddy.”

  “She don’t have a phone.”

  Dearie got up and poured more coffee. “Tell you what. Take the train into the city and look around as many days as you need. Come back here to sleep every night till you find something. The deal’s off, though, if the cops start snooping.”

  A chance to see Buddy more. “Why you being so nice to me?”

  “Why wouldn’t I be? You can stay as long as there’s no hankypanky. That’s my rule.”

  “Does Buddy bring girls home a lot?”

  Dearie cackled again. “You’re the first”—it sounded like foist— “but I just think it’s a good rule. If you stay, I could use some help with the lace coitans. It takes two people and Buddy’s been too busy. They’re filthy from the winders being open all summer.”

  Tereza didn’t know what coitans were, but she said “I don’t mind.” Copping a safe place to sleep until she landed an acting job didn’t make her lazy or chicken.

  Dearie gave Tereza what she called the fifty-cent tour of the main floor: parlor, dining room, bathroom and her bedroom. Pipsqueak glass frogs sat on shelves, tables and windowsills everywhere. They were holding footballs and baseball bats; fishing, dancing, smoking cigars; squatting on lily pads and tree logs; playing drums, banjos, guitars. Dearie said that Alfie had given her the entire collection. “All it took was me saying he was my frog prince.”

  That afternoon, between school and work, Buddy hauled down wooden frames from the attic room opposite his bedroom and set them on chairs on the back porch. They looked like torture racks with hundreds of little spikes all around. Tereza stood on a stepladder and removed the lace curtains from the parlor windows. She washed and rinsed them in the pink bathtub while Dearie sat on the toilet lid telling her how. Together they stretched the wet curtains so they could dry on the frames, Tereza pulling the bottoms, Dearie the tops, until each outside loop of the lace fit over a spike. You would’ve thought the World Series was at stake the way Dearie kept at Tereza to do it right, not miss a loop. Tereza felt an unfamiliar flush of pride when Dearie said she couldn’t have done it without her.

  That night, when Dearie and Buddy were both at work, Tereza palmed one of the frogs and stuffed it in a box in the basement, under a pile of Fuller Brush receipts. She wondered how many she could pinch before Dearie hated her too and kicked her out.

  Elizabeth Daily Journal, Saturday edition

  Balloons Search for Missing Stony River Teen

  BY JUNE MACOMBER

  STONY RIVER, NOVEMBER 12. For this reporter, there was something stirring about a sky of white balloons as far as the eye could see in the softening sun. Like white words shimmering on blue pages: “Tereza Dobra, please come home. Call Fulton 8-6898.”

  Yesterday, at school day’s end, the 655 students of Millard Fillmore Elementary School on Jackson Boulevard released over a thousand balloons into the skyabove the school’s front lawn, each balloon bearing a tag at the end of a string with the plea to thirteen-year-old Tereza Dobra who hasn’t been seen or heard from since the evening of October 28th. Miss Dobra’s eight-year-old brother, Allen, gave the signal for the balloon release. The students were silent as the balloons left their mittened hands but cheered as the wind spirited them away.

  According to Police Chief Lawrence Durmer, the Stony River Police are aware Miss Dobra is missing and are monitoring the situation. Foul play is not suspected. The teen was reported to have run away after an altercation with her stepfather.

  The balloon release was the inspiration of Miss Linda Wise, a twelve-year-old Millard Fillmore student. “I read about all the people searching for the missing boy in Long Island,” she said, “and felt bad for Tereza. Everybody’s acting like she’s just away on vacation or something. I hope with all my heart a balloon fi nds her and she calls me.”

  The school’s principal, Mrs. Anita Warren, donated the balloons. “I was enormously moved by Linda’s devotion to her friend,” Mrs. Warren said. “At Millard Fillmore, we encourage our students to look after each other.”

  The sixty-two seventh graders, classmates of Miss Dobra and Miss Wise, hand-printed the tags and blew up the balloons, under the supervision of seventh-grade math and science teacher Mr. Henry Boynton, who said, “We all miss Tereza and pray for her safe return.”

  THE PAPER, folded to the story, was on Linda’s chair when she came down to breakfast. A photo she’d taken of Tereza on the log leered at her. Across the table, her parents sat side by side, looking like they’d sucked lemons. They said nothing until she’d read the article and glanced up, her eyes stinging.

  “That was a caring, Christian act,” Daddy said, lifting a forkful of trembling egg. He swallowed, set his fork down, reached over and squeezed her hand. “Jesus would be proud of you.” He cleared his throat. “Heck, I’m proud of you. I’m only sorry you didn’t feel you could confide in us.”

  “We’ve had two calls already,” Mother said. “One man said we raised a good daughter.” A fleeting smile. “I thanked him. The other, a boy, wanted to speak with you. He said he’d call back.”

  Daddy cleared his throat again. “Now, as much as we applaud what you did for Tereza, we can’t condone telegraphing our phone number to the world. Did you ask your mother if she minded taking calls from strangers while you’re in school?”

  Linda shook her head. She was ashamed for another reason. The article made her look too good. The real reason she wanted to find Tereza was to ask if she’d ever gotten in Daddy’s car.

  “All acts have consequences, even those committed with good intentions,” Daddy said. “We expect you to stay by the phone this weekend. When you’re in school, we’ll leave it off the hook until we can get the number changed.”

  Linda swallowed hard. If they changed the number, Tereza wouldn’t get through. “I’ll stay home and answer the phone.”

  Daddy gave her a smile full of pity and shook his head.

  Mother spent the rest of the day in her room with a headache. Linda sat on a cushion on the kitchen floor under the wall phone. Before noon, she had answered twelve calls, most from members of the church, a few from people simply curious to find out who would answer, one from a giggly young voice that asked, “Got any soup?”

  Richie called, too. She half-expected him to taunt her for running away on Halloween, but he said, “That was a cool thing to do, the balloons. You’re okay, you know.”

  She didn’t feel okay.

  At noon, Daddy told her Mrs. Dobra was at the door. “I asked her in but she wants to speak with you outside.”

  Linda glanced at the phone.

  “It’s okay. I’ll take over for a while.” He squeezed her shoulder. “Put your coat on.”

  Like a falling iris in her purple coat, Mrs. Dobra was leaning against the telephone pole near the curb, smoking a cigarette. Linda closed the front door and descended the few steps to the sidewalk.

  Mrs. Dobra straightened. “You seen the article in the newspaper?”

  Linda nodded.

  “Rolf showed me it when I stopped in the store for cigs this morning. Allen didn’t say nothing about the balloons, but I see now why he slept better last night.” She took a drag. “Jimmy’s upset.” She laughed. “What else is new? He says the paper makes him look bad.” She finished her cigarette, snuffed it on the sidewalk and put the stub in her pocket. “Can’t stay but I wanted to come over and give you a hug. That okay with you?”

  Linda didn’t feel deserving of a hug, but she wanted one more than anything. She leaned into the woman’s soft chest, wound her arms around the sm
all frame and closed her eyes. The crisp air embraced Mrs. Dobra’s musky-smelling warmth.

  Tereza’s mother pulled away first. “Gotta go,” she said, holding Linda out at arm’s length. “Just wanted you to know I’m glad you was Tereza’s friend, even if only for a little while.”

  Linda watched her walk away, thinking how, from the back, it could have been Tereza. She went in the house for a spare balloon tag, took it to Tony’s and asked him to tack it to his office wall.

  “THIS FRUSTRATES the heck out of me,” Bill said, handing the newspaper to Doris. He was still in his robe, his legs stretched under the length of the kitchen table. “The girl’s mother told me she didn’t have a photograph. How’d the newspaper get one?”

  Doris had been up for hours. She’d given Mickey his six and nine AM feedings and put him back in his crib. Fogged up the kitchen windows cooking Carolyn a bowl of Wheatena. She’d plunked the three-year-old in front of the TV for the Farmer Gray cartoon show and made waffles for Bill. Warmed the syrup the way he liked, hoping they could have a pleasant breakfast together and dispel the tension that had been hanging around them for two weeks like a bad smell. But he sounded weary and discouraged.

  She took the paper and quickly scanned the article. “This the runaway you think broke into Miranda’s house? She’s a scrawny thing.”

  She saw his face shut down at Miranda’s name, imagined him thinking, Don’t start again.

  “James Haggerty’s house, you mean. It was in his name.” Bill had searched for legal documents before he boarded up the place. He’d found the deed to the property and the girl’s birth certificate. Not the boy’s.

  “It’ll be hers when she’s eighteen,” Doris said. “I checked the inheritance laws.”

  “Did you, now? Well, if she doesn’t pay the taxes before then the county will take it over. Or hoodlums will. I wouldn’t be surprised if somebody torches it.” He tapped the paper with his knife. “This girl, this Tereza, worries me more. Frank and I have been tailing the parents. The principal’s watching, too, to see if the boy comes to school with any signs of abuse. But I don’t think they did her in. Durmer should’ve told me about the balloons. He knows it’s my case. I’ll get a copy of this photo and show it around town.”

  Doris picked up the paper again. Poor Miranda had never had a friend who would miss her. “This Linda has a point,” she said. “Why no search party, like the one for the Long Island boy?”

  Bill looked up at her with a tired frown that almost broke her heart. He worked so hard and here she was suggesting he hadn’t done enough. “Different situation. According to her mother, Tereza Dobra has run away before. No reason to think she didn’t this time. No reason to drag the river or stomp through tall grass.”

  “What if it were Carolyn?”

  “Well, it isn’t.”

  As if on cue, Carolyn, in quilted robe and Princess Summerfall Winterspring slippers, padded in and climbed up onto Bill’s lap. “Kiss-kiss, Daddy?”

  That brought a smile and an easing of Bill’s shoulders. Doris had been afraid he’d lose interest in Carolyn once he had a son, but not a chance. She was the one he called for when he walked in the door. He loved that she could put a sentence together and pedal a tricycle; that she was full of wonder, something he said he’d lost along the way. He was a good man. Doris knew he could find room in his heart for Cian and Miranda if he took the time to get to know them.

  She’d come home in a state after learning Cian had gone to a foster family and there was nothing Miranda could do about it. “What did you expect?” Bill had said. “You worked at Children’s Aid, you know how legal guardianships work.” Yes, and she knew how perverts and other abusers sometimes made it through foster and adoptive parent screening. She’d expected him to understand why she was upset. She’d wanted to adopt those kids the day he rescued them, but he’d have none of it. He said they were damaged and, while he wasn’t unsympathetic, he wouldn’t expose Carolyn and Mickey to the effects of who knew what had gone on in that house.

  Carolyn leaned into Bill’s plate and said, “Smells like more.”

  Bill laughed and stabbed a piece of waffle on his fork for her.

  “You want your own waffle?” Doris asked her.

  “And appleboss.”

  Doris spooned batter into the waffle iron and bent over it, savoring the sweet smell that steamed out when she first closed the lid. Keeping her voice casual, she said, “I spoke to the mother superior about putting the Haggerty house up for sale.”

  “You saw her again?”

  “Yeah, on Thursday.” Doris’s mom had watched the kids. “She’s willing to petition the court for permission. If we can sell it, St. Bernadette’s gets cash for Miranda and Cian’s support until Miranda is eighteen. The balance will be put in trust for her until then.” She took a jar of applesauce out of the fridge. “Mother Alfreda says if their room and board are covered, she’ll make sure they aren’t fostered out or adopted.” She opened the jar and stuck a spoon in it. Specifically, Mother Alfreda had agreed to not farm the kids out to strangers; she’d consider the Nolans if Doris were able to persuade Bill.

  “What do you mean, if we can sell it? The orphanage should hire an agent.”

  “Oh sure, they will. I meant somebody’s got to clean out the place, decide what to save for Miranda.” Somebody who would stand in for this forgotten child, she thought, and not callously discard everything she’d grown up with. “You said she’d wanted to take her books and records, didn’t you?” The red light went out on the iron. “Carolyn, your waffle’s ready.”

  Bill swung Carolyn off his lap and into her booster chair. “You’re in your element with those orphans, aren’t you?”

  Doris considered a sharp comeback, but she didn’t want to spoil the morning. She spooned applesauce onto the waffle and set it in front of Carolyn, took a calming breath and said, “The only orphan is Miranda. Cian has a mother. I promised her I wouldn’t let strangers adopt him.”

  Bill started to cut Carolyn’s waffle, but she pushed his hand away. “Me do it!”

  “Who else but strangers could adopt him?” Bill said. “The girl’s too young to be a mother and her boy is obviously backward. He’s better off with people who can deal with that.”

  “Who says she can’t? I don’t know what I’d do if someone took my children from me.”

  “There’s something not right about that girl. How could there not be?”

  “She’s bright as can be. She’s read the entire Daily Missal—over a thousand pages—and memorized the prayers. Gone from fifth to sixth grade in only two months since she started school.”

  “So she says.” “So says Mother Alfreda, too. She’s a good Catholic girl already, Bill.”

  “We’ve talked about this enough. I’m on call tonight. I’d like to relax today.”

  Doris felt her chest catch. “Sorry,” she said. She came up behind him, leaned over and kissed his head where the hair was starting to thin. “I’m being pushy again like Mom, aren’t I?”

  He turned and caught her hands; kissed them. “Maybe we can hang onto the books and music for her. She was pretty torn up about leaving them behind. I might even have promised to get them to her. But we don’t have room to store everything in that house. She probably wouldn’t want it, anyway. You haven’t been there yet. The furniture’s nothing to write home about.”

  Doris sent up a silent prayer of thanks to the Blessed Virgin.

  SIX DAYS LATER. “Check the terlet after each girly’s done,” Dearie told Tereza as she pushed opened the ladies’ john door. “Some’s too drunk or lazy to flush.”

  Dearie was breaking Tereza in at Herman’s Place, a swanky Newark restaurant where she’d been a washroom attendant from the time Buddy entered first grade. She’d dragged him with her the nights Alfie was on the road. Had raised him since he was three, after the war took her son and her floozy of a daughter-in-law ran off with another man. She told Tereza the whole story one afternoon,
trying to explain why Buddy sometimes disappeared behind his own eyes.

  “Herman’s is pricey,” Dearie said, “but lucky for us, people have more money than sense. It’s always packed. On weekends they line up down the street. Herman don’t take reservations.”

  Holy shit but Linda would’ve flipped over the john! The swinging door opened to a red-carpeted, velvety red–papered room with a long white couch, two plush white armchairs and two small dark wood tables with glass ashtrays as big as bowls. A mirrored wall at the far end made the room feel like an echo. The crappers were behind another door, out of sight.

  Dearie set her shopping bag on the floor next to a white ottoman by one of the tables. “We’ll take turns taking a load off here. Your dogs’ll be barking by closing, seeing as you ain’t wearing sensible shoes like mine.” Fat-heeled white leather lace-ups swallowed Dearie’s feet clear to the ankle knobs. Tereza sank down into an armchair.

  They’d taken two buses to get there, eating meatloaf sandwiches on the way, saving thermoses of tomato soup for later. They wouldn’t get away until two in the morning. Most nights the restaurant closed at ten, but on Fridays and Saturdays Herman brought musicians in and rolled back the carpet to make a dance floor. Herman would drive them both home tonight, as he did Dearie every Friday and Saturday, because the buses weren’t dependable or safe after midnight. Buddy came for Dearie the other nights, but “Charles Atlas don’t like him staying up past midnight.”

  “He worships the guy, don’t he?” Tereza said. “I seen his lesson book. Lot of pictures of a beefy guy in leopard-skin skivvies.”

  Dearie snorted. “That’s him. Buddy saw the ad in a comic book. Imagine spending a week’s pay so a fella in a Tarzan suit can tell you to wash your privates in ice water.”

  Tereza threw her head back and laughed. “Go on.”

  “Honest injun. And Tarzan tells him to exercise naked and keep his winder open all the time. He’s gonna catch his death up there.”

  Buddy kept his converted attic room locked. Tereza had tried the door a couple times when she was alone in the house. How could he think freezing his balls off would make him manlier? Either Atlas was a con man or guys were stupid. I was a ninety-seven-pound weakling sounded like something she might’ve come up with herself.