Molly hurried back to the site of the confrontation with Officer Brown, cursing her own stupidity for leaving her bag behind, and spotted her pack tangled in a bush where she had tossed it earlier. She fumbled with the thorny, tentacle-like branches, breaking loose a few that dropped to the center of the spiny mess, and freed her bag. A sparkle in the tangles of the broken limbs caught her eye as she hoisted the pack over her shoulder. Molly reached for the shiny gold chain that glimmered before her. She gently untangled the treasure, ignoring the burning sensation in her palm. As she released the necklace from the last twig, the pain became unbearable. She grabbed her wrist with her other hand and cursed, dropping the necklace to the ground. The T on her palm burned, red and angry, bulging from her skin. The pain brought her to her knees. She shrugged her pack from her shoulder and thrust her left hand into the bag, feeling frantically for the bottle of water she carried. She moaned in pain as she wildly withdrew the bottle and brought it to her mouth—twisting off the top with her teeth—and poured the water directly on the burning T. The water warmed in her palm. “Shit!” she screamed and shook the water to the ground. She grabbed her pack and backed away, anxiously eyeing the necklace, not wanting to leave it behind. The further away she got from the necklace, the less severe her pain, until it subsided completely.
Molly sank to the ground, breathing heavily. She was determined to get the necklace, sure that there was a connection to Tracey. She steeled herself for a battle with an unknown entity. You can do this, she told herself. She walked back toward the necklace, her neck muscles tight, her body alert to every feeling, every sound around her. The burning did not return. She neared the necklace and reached for a fallen branch with twigs at the end, like frail little fingers. Extending the branch, she hooked the golden thread for one hopeful second, then the necklace dropped to the ground—even further away. Molly blew the breath she had been holding and tried again—to no avail. Frustrated, she crouched down on her heels, “Come on, you bastard, come on!” she said through clenched teeth. Maneuvering the branch with her left hand was far more difficult than she had expected. The branch hovered above the necklace. She lowered it slowly, easing the longest twig under the chain, and pushed it forward, then quickly edged it up. The necklace hung precariously off the tip of the wavering twig. Molly raised the branch toward the sky, resting the edge on her belly for balance. The gold glistened in the sun, the darkness of the trees creating a perfectly serene backdrop for the tiny heart charm that hung from the end of the necklace, stuck, unable to drop past the hook of the chain. Molly smiled. Warmth spread through her body. As sure as the burning had scarred her palm, she knew the necklace belonged to Tracey. Excitement rushed through her. She turned slowly to her left and took baby steps on her toes to a clearing about fifteen feet away. She lowered the end of the twig and let the necklace slip into the cushion of the leaves. She was unable to slow the smile that sneaked across her cheeks. She scanned the woods again, unable to believe her luck—or was it something else? She scooped the necklace up in her hand. Instantly, the T on her palm went cold. She closed her hand around the necklace, wallowing in the cool, healing feeling. She closed her eyes and whispered, “I know, Tracey.” Molly slid the necklace into the front pocket of her jeans.
Seventeen
Tracey stood in the dimly-lit room, shivering and sick to her stomach from the smell of urine on her clothes. She was relieved when Mummy came back through the rough-and-ready doorway with a bucket of soapy water and two fresh towels. Tracey wondered where clean towels could have been hidden in the small, filthy room but was thankful and quick to please. She reminded herself that a bucket of soapy water was not so bad. It was much better than the bad spot. Just the thought of the bad spot brought tears to Tracey’s eyes. She turned her back to Mummy and promised herself that she was not going to cry—this was just a different kind of home. She felt Mummy’s fingers on her shoulder and reflexively froze.
Mummy turned her around and pointed to a pile on the floor, “I brought you more clothes today. Did you see them?”
Tears of relief formed in Tracey’s eyes. She loved new clothes! She walked over to them, careful to keep her legs apart. Her panties were soaked, so cold that they stung when they touched her thighs.
“Go ahead, honey. You can pick them up,” she said kindly. “They’re yours. Look at them. I think you’ll like them.”
Tracey bent over at the waist, trying to keep the wet cloth away from her skin. She picked up the dark green, long-sleeved, cotton turtleneck shirt. It smelled clean, flowery, and fresh. Tracey placed it gingerly next to the pile of clothes and picked up a bright yellow sweater with pink heart-shaped buttons. “Oh, Mummy!” she smiled. “I love this!”
Mummy smiled. “I hoped you would,” she said, sincerely. “I like to buy you things, when I can.”
Tracey noticed a stain on the sweater but didn’t say anything. She didn’t want to make Mummy feel bad—and it was a pretty sweater—and it was new to her. She laid the sweater on the turtleneck and picked up a pair of white socks with pink ruffles at the top. “I’ve always wanted ruffly socks!” she squealed. She looked from the socks to the jeans that lay on the ground. Pink and green flowers decorated the jeans. Tracey was beside herself, forgetting about the discomfort of her urine-soaked clothes, forgetting the fear of the night before, and forgetting that Mummy had stolen her from her own mother. She reached eagerly for the brown furry boots that rested next to the pile of clothes. White pom-poms hung from the laces. She didn’t care that they had scuffs and a little tear by the heel. Tracey was beside herself. She had seen boots like these in magazines. Her heart beat with excitement as she scooped up all of the clothes and the boots and held them against her. The itchy, cold fabric of her dress was lost in her joy. “Oh, Mummy!” she said. “I love them!” She did love them. Like any little girl, she loved presents. She flew into Mummy’s arms, momentarily forgetting what had led her to her crude new home.
Mummy wrapped her arms around Tracey and kissed her cheek. “Tracey,” she gently moved Tracey’s hair from her eyes, “I want you to be happy.”
Tracey looked down, embarrassed. “Thank you, Mummy. Thank you for the clothes and for getting me out of the bad spot.” When she said those words, there was a sharp pain in her stomach. “I’ll be good from now on. I promise.”
Mummy pulled her back into her arms and drew Tracey onto her lap, unconcerned by Tracey’s soiled clothes. She bounced her knee up and down. Tracey laughed, becoming more at ease with every fun bounce. After a minute or two, Mummy set Tracey down next to the bucket of water and stood.