“They are not saying what it means,” Mr. Symanski says. “They say it may be meaning nothing. They say only that she isn’t being found yet.”
A spatula scrapes the bottom of the skillet. Mother is dishing up the eggs. Forks clatter on the table. Chairs scoot across the tile. Grace leans on the banister, bracing herself. She knows Elizabeth is gone, even if the others don’t. Elizabeth didn’t wander off. He took her, that man, and she won’t ever come home.
“If it was being the river,” Mr. Symanski says and at this, his voice breaks. He starts again. “If she is being lost in the river, they may never be finding her.”
“What more did they tell you?” It’s James’s voice.
“They are having little hope. If she made her way that far, the people who are living there, the people who might have been seeing something, will not be caring to offer help. They are asking me where she would go. That is the only place she knew. The only place Ewa would take her.”
Water runs in the sink and the fresh scent of dish soap spills out of the kitchen into the living room, where Grace stands. Moving about as she sets the salt and pepper on the table, opens and closes the refrigerator, drops dirty dishes in the soapy water, Mother catches a glimpse of Grace.
“Come in here,” she says, leaning into the living room and waving Grace toward her. She jabs a single finger at Grace and then at the kitchen. She did the same when Grace was a child.
Grace wears nothing on her feet, so no one hears her until she clears her throat. With a shallow bow, she greets Mr. Symanski. Both men lift out of their chairs.
“Sit,” she says. “Please, sit. What can I get you, Charles?”
Mr. Symanski waves away the offer and Mother points at a chair so Grace will know to take a seat.
Glancing over her shoulder, Grace says, “I’m so very sorry. From in there, I overheard.”
James stands, pours Grace a cup of coffee, adds one sugar and a splash of cream. “You feeling better?” With one finger, he raises her chin. “What’s this?”
Grace touches the small cut on her upper lip. The swollen spot is smooth and tender. She lays her other hand over James’s, squeezes it. Just as the relief of feeling her baby move made Grace cry, the warmth of James’s hand lifts her tears to the surface. She blinks them away.
“We bumped heads,” Mother says, sliding between Grace and James to place folded linens on the table. She finger-presses the fold in each as she positions it. “Last night. When I was pulling muffins from the oven. My fault really. You know how clumsy I can be.”
“Got you good,” James says.
“Please don’t fuss. Charles, are you getting plenty to eat? Mother, do you have seconds for him?”
“Your fever gone?” James says, brushing aside Grace’s hair and placing one hand on her forehead. “Feel cool. That’s good. But you look tired. Are you tired?”
The ache in her neck and shoulders makes Grace want to slouch forward and rest her arms on the table. She stretches and straightens her back so no one will notice. The baby stretches too. She’s settling in, getting comfortable. Grace draws her fingers across James’s cheek. It’s rough because he didn’t take the time to shave. Mother places a plate of eggs before Grace. James slides the salt and pepper toward her.
“It’s the heat,” Grace says, not knowing how long since James last spoke. “It wears me down.” She lifts one of the napkins Mother set out on the table, gives it a shake, and lets it float across James’s knee. Next, she drapes one across her own knee.
Turning his attention to Mr. Symanski, James lights a cigarette and rests both elbows on the table. What can he and Grace do? Does the rest of the family know yet? James would be happy to make a few calls before he leaves for the church. Mr. Symanski says there is no other family. There is no one. Mother leans in and whispers in Grace’s ear while the men talk.
“Start eating.”
Grace lifts her fork, twists it from side to side, studying it.
“I brought some things,” Mr. Symanski says. “You ladies are gathering clothes, yes?”
“For the thrift store,” Grace says.
“We put them in the garage.” James tilts his head back and blows out a stream of smoke. “Five or six bags, wouldn’t you say, Charles?”
“There is being six.”
“That’s fine,” Grace says. “I’ll see to them. Thank you. Thank you so much.”
Mr. Symanski exhales as if he feels lighter now. They must be Ewa’s things, clothes that have hung in the closet as painful reminders.
“The police will be coming soon,” Mr. Symanski says. “About the shoe.”
Grace drops her fork. It topples off the edge of the plate and comes to rest on the table.
Mother frowns and returns it to the plate’s rim. “They found a shoe,” she says to Grace. “Near the river.” Mother is letting Grace know it wasn’t her shoe they found. It was another.
“Didn’t intend to trouble you with it until you were feeling well,” James says.
“A shoe?” Grace says.
“We thought you might remember. It’s white with a soft rubber sole. Is that the type Elizabeth was wearing?”
“I am knowing I should remember,” Mr. Symanski says. “A father should be knowing, but I don’t know white shoes or black shoes or any other shoes. The police show me, but I am not knowing.”
“I’m not certain,” Grace says. “I would have to think about it.”
James rubs his cigarette into a small glass dish. “It’s not to concern yourself with now. The police will come. They’ll show you what they found.”
“What if my Elizabeth is being gone?” Mr. Symanski says, and chokes again. “Is that meaning she isn’t alone, isn’t frightened? Is that better?”
“Yes,” Grace says, blurting it out before she can stop herself. She can’t tolerate the thought of Elizabeth living in the aftermath of what those men, that man, surely did to her. “I mean, yes,” she says again. “Elizabeth knows she’s not alone, never alone.”
The skin under Mr. Symanski’s eyes hangs in deep crescent-shaped folds. He stares at Grace as if hoping she’ll say more.
Picking up her fork, Grace spears a small bit of her scrambled egg. “Elizabeth liked white sneakers. Wore them often,” she says, staring at the prongs of her fork. While the men came for Grace in her own home, they must have taken Elizabeth to the river and dumped her there. “As I remember, it troubled her when they got scuffed or dirty. Ewa would buy a new pair to make Elizabeth happy.” She smiles and touches Mr. Symanski’s hand. The loose skin is cold and dry. “Ewa would fuss as if those white sneakers were a bother, but she didn’t really mind them. Elizabeth has many pairs, doesn’t she?”
“You are thinking it was my Elizabeth’s shoe?”
Grace places the cold eggs into her mouth. They lie on her tongue. She swallows so she won’t gag.
“Yes,” Grace says. “I think, perhaps, it was her shoe.”
CHAPTER NINE
Julia and Bill pull into the church parking lot later than most. Bill shifts the car into park, turns off the ignition, and crosses his arms on the steering wheel. He leans forward, resting his head on his hands, and exhales loudly. Julia and the twins have barely seen him in the past few days. His cheeks look to have thinned out, though it hardly seems possible it’s happened in such a short time, and dark circles hang under his eyes.