Song after song, Arie rolled the small knob on the record player, making the music louder and louder so Izzy would dance and spin and stop thinking about Elizabeth and their lost cat. Izzy had been sulking ever since Uncle Bill made them cross their hearts and swear to stay inside and not go searching. But listening to records, no matter how loudly, did not make Izzy forget and they did not make her happy, and what Arie feared all day finally happened after Uncle Bill checked in for the last time. He said he and Aunt Julia would be back home in an hour or so and that Izzy and Arie should behave until then. Even before Uncle Bill was out the door, Arie knew Izzy had a plan.
“Who’ll ever know?” Izzy says. “It’s dark now. No one’ll see us and we’ll be back long before Uncle Bill and Aunt Julia come home. We’ll look for Elizabeth, but we might find Patches, too. Happens all the time. Animals follow their people all the way across the country, so why not to the other side of Woodward? Street’s so quiet, we just might find them both.”
Arie agrees only when Izzy threatens to go with or without her. Together, they slip on their sneakers in case they have to do some running and decide to leave the house through the kitchen door. Less noticeable than the front. Arie goes first and Izzy follows, letting the screen slap shut. Arie scolds her with a shake of her head, but before she can follow up with a reminder to be quiet, Izzy yanks her down the stairs. They run across the backyard, brightly lit because Aunt Julia made sure both the front and back porch lights were switched on and that both bulbs were fresh. She didn’t want one burning out when they were most needed. They run until they reach the shadows thrown by Uncle Bill’s garage, Izzy dragging Arie all the way, and once there, they flatten themselves against the rough siding. Both breathe deeply. Their chests pound up and down, not so much from the long run, because it wasn’t so long, but because sneaking outside and running into the dark and listening for any sound at all on the empty street and hearing not one thing are all scary enough to make every breath hard to find.
“I’m not going on the street,” Arie whispers, one hand pressed to her chest to slow her heart. “Someone’s sure to see us out there.”
The garage scratches their bare shoulders and arms. They should have thought to put on long sleeves. The air is always cooler when the sun sets, so they should have known. Arie shivers, partly because of the cold but mostly because of the dark.
“Then I’ll search the street by myself.” Izzy talks a little too loudly, as if trying to fool herself and Arie into believing there is nothing to fear. “You check the alley,” she says, and begins to slide her feet, one after the other, toward the far end of the garage. “Nobody’ll see you back there. Be sure you kick all the bushes. We’ll meet here in fifteen minutes.”
Arie waves at Izzy to come back. She wants to ask what will happen if she kicks a bush and accidentally kicks Elizabeth or their cat or something else entirely. But before Arie can ask, Izzy has disappeared around the side of Aunt Julia’s house. Another question Arie should have asked is how are they to know when fifteen minutes is up. Neither of them wears a watch, so how are they to know? One thing she is certain of-she won’t be kicking anything. She’ll walk to the end of the next block and back again. That’s not so far, and when she returns long before Izzy, Arie will lie and say she only just got back too.
Stepping into the alley, Arie immediately drifts toward the middle. Even though the edges are more brightly lit, something or someone could hide along the edges. The center feels safer, like whatever might be hiding would have to jump out at her, giving her time to run for home. She continues walking, letting her eyes roll from left to right and, every few yards, checks behind her. It used to be, on a night like this, Arie would watch the dark sky for hours, hoping for a glimpse of that Russian rocket. She imagined it would look like a bolt of lightning, shooting from one end of the sky to the other. She stopped watching and stopped hoping the dog inside was alive when her teacher said the ship had fallen back to Earth. She forgets sometimes, on a night like tonight when the sky is especially dark, and still looks up, hoping to see that bright light.
When she reaches the Obermires’ house, she stops walking. They don’t have a garage, and Arie can see between the houses all the way to the street. No sign of Izzy. She takes a few more steps, keeping her eyes on the space between the houses as long as she can. She’s going to watch the street until she can’t see it anymore and then she’s going to run as fast as she can all the way to the end of the next block. It doesn’t matter how tired she gets or how much her feet burn or her lungs ache. She won’t stop running until she’s standing back at Uncle Bill’s garage. Buckling up her fists, she dips her head, takes three long strides, and stops.
He must have stepped out of the shadows hanging over the Richardsons’ garage and into the center of the alley because Arie would have seen him if he’d been there all along. He’s only a house and a half away. She would have seen him. She backs up a few feet and stops again when he lifts a hand. He holds it out like a stop sign and leans as if he’s talking to someone inside the garage. He straightens. He’s a solid shadow with arms and legs. He waves a hand like he’s swatting away a bug. He means for her to slip over to the side of the alley. He means for her to hide. He leans again, straightens again, and this time, touches a finger to his lips to silence her.
Grandma would call this prairie grass. No one must mow back here. Mrs. Schofield died and Mr. Schofield doesn’t care about the overgrown grass. Arie parts the tall stalks and pushes her way through, wishing again she’d changed into slacks and long sleeves. She slides down the side of the garage and squats there. Her breath is too loud. It rushes down into her lungs and back up again. She cups one hand over her mouth and wraps the other around her knees. The garage digs into the knobs of her backbone.
The man who was a shadow stands at the Richardsons’ garage. Mrs. Richardson is Aunt Julia’s best friend. Her blond hair is almost white and always smooth no matter what the weather is like, and in a few months, she’s going to have a baby. Izzy and Arie both agree: if they could look like someone, anyone, they would look like Mrs. Richardson. The man leans into the garage again, tilts his head in Arie’s direction, and when he straightens, two more men walk out. One of them is the same size as the man who waved Arie away, and the third is taller-taller even than Uncle Bill.
When the men have taken a few steps in Arie’s direction, she tucks her head and hides her eyes. Air races through her body, much too loudly, so loudly they’ll hear her. Count to twenty. Count to twenty and they’ll be gone. But the counting makes her dizzy. She holds her breath. Gravel crunches and tiny rocks bounce across the hard dirt path as they’re kicked about. The footsteps stop. Arie lifts her eyes. The group stands a few feet beyond her hiding place. One of them, the largest, stoops and picks up something from the ground near his feet. The other two walk on down the alley while the largest rears back and throws. Glass shatters and the three men take off running.
Izzy will be back soon. After fifteen minutes, she’ll come back and she’ll press herself against Uncle Bill’s garage where they started out, where she’ll be hidden from the men. Arie tries to count again, but her hot breath and the garage digging into her back and the stalks poking and scratching her arms make her want to cry and she can’t count when she’s crying. Somewhere close by, a door opens and heavy boots hit a wooden porch. Arie cups both hands over her mouth.
At the far end of the alley, where it meets up with Woodward, the men run around the corner. They’re gone. Arie unfolds her legs, rubs her hands over the scratches on her arms, and lifts one foot and then the next up and over the tall grass. Inside the Richardsons’ garage, something bangs about, not loudly, but quietly, as if someone is trying not to bang about at all. There is a thin, soft groan. Someone standing. Arie backs away from Mrs. Richardson’s garage, swings around, and runs for home.