Across the street, Mrs. Herze pulls into her driveway too. Mr. Herze’s big blue car is already parked there. He must have been one of the husbands who came home early. Arie’s been thinking only about the bad thing that might have happened to Izzy, but because Aunt Julia walks with long, quick steps and her makeup is smeared and because the husbands are home early and because every house is closed up tight, something else bad is happening right here on Alder Avenue.
Like Aunt Julia did, Mrs. Herze doesn’t bother to park her car properly and she runs over a patch of her snapdragons with one tire. They’re all dying anyway because she hoses them down several times during the day in case someone peed on them. Mrs. Herze throws open her door and waves across the street at Aunt Julia.
“Julia, stop,” Mrs. Herze calls out, waving something in the air.
Aunt Julia pauses but doesn’t look back. “Leave me be, Malina.”
“Please stop,” Mrs. Herze shouts again. Making her way down her driveway, she teeters on tall heels and a white handbag swings from her wrist. “Please, hear me out.”
Aunt Julia doesn’t wait for Mrs. Herze but continues toward Arie. Once close enough to see Arie has been crying, Aunt Julia draws her into a hug and says, “What’s wrong, sugar?” Aunt Julia smells like ripe bananas and brown-sugar frosting.
Mrs. Herze continues to wobble across the street on her narrow heels, all the while waving something in the air and begging Aunt Julia to listen and understand.
Saying nothing more to Mrs. Herze, Aunt Julia stoops before Arie and holds her by both shoulders. “Why are you crying? What’s all this fuss?” Aunt Julia smiles and talks with a hushed voice. Her speech becomes sluggish and she punches the beginning of each word. Uncle Bill says tough times, happy times, any sort of times can draw out Aunt Julia’s Southern drawl.
“Julia, I saved your clipping.” Mrs. Herze stumbles to a stop behind Aunt Julia. Clumps of her short black hair stick to her forehead where she has sweated, except she would call it perspiration, and her red lipstick bleeds into the thin lines that cut into her top lip. “Look here, I brought it back to you.”
Aunt Julia takes a deep breath. A silver safety pin meant to keep a gap in her blouse closed has popped open. Its sharp end points at Arie. Aunt Julia brushes her fingers across Arie’s brow.
“Now, tell me,” Aunt Julia says, “what’s all the fuss?” Then she turns to Mrs. Richardson. “Did she hear about Elizabeth?”
Mrs. Herze stomps one white shoe, grabs Aunt Julia’s shoulder, and gives a yank. Aunt Julia, still squatted in front of Arie, falls backward and lands on her hind end. Mrs. Richardson lunges but can’t stop Aunt Julia from toppling over.
“What on earth has gotten into you, Malina?” Mrs. Richardson says, her large belly making it difficult for her to stretch out a helping hand to Aunt Julia.
“I only meant to help, Julia,” Mrs. Herze says, gazing down on Aunt Julia and ignoring Mrs. Richardson’s question. A gray streak cuts through the part in Mrs. Herze’s black hair. “You’re being entirely unreasonable.”
“Malina.”
The loud, deep voice silences everyone. There, across the street, standing near the back of his car, his hand resting on the peak of one of its tall blue fins, is Mr. Herze.
“What on earth are you doing there?” he shouts. “Leave those people be.”
Mrs. Herze crosses her arms over her chest, tips forward at the waist so she is hovering over Aunt Julia, and drops her voice to a whisper. “Please, listen to me,” she says. Her eyes are stretched wide open and her thin, black brows ride higher than they normally do. Tiny stray hairs pepper her lids. Grandma would say Mrs. Herze needs to reacquaint herself with a pair of tweezers. “Please. Send those girls back to your mother.”
“Good Lord, Malina,” Aunt Julia says, snatching the sheet of paper from Mrs. Herze. “What kind of crazy has gotten its claws in you? Is this about those flowers of yours? Is that what has you in such a state?” Aunt Julia brushes away Mrs. Herze and reaches for Mrs. Richardson’s hand and the tissue she has pulled from her pocketbook. Once standing, Aunt Julia dabs at the stains under her eyes and says, “I suppose you’d better listen to your husband and leave us be.”
Aunt Julia continues to pat her face and chest until Mrs. Herze has backed into the middle of the street. Then Aunt Julia drops her eyes to Arie and lets them drift right, left, and right again.
“Where’s Izzy?” she says, the wadded-up tissue dangling from her fingers. The words crawl out of her mouth.
Mrs. Herze stops backing away. Behind her, Mr. Herze stands in the driveway.
“Where is your sister?”
CHAPTER TWENTY
Malina lingers in the middle of the street until a car forces her to move. She gives a kindly wave to the driver and steps onto the curb outside her house. Mr. Herze stands near his sedan. He rubs the top of the car’s fin as if it were Malina’s thigh. Her cheeks burn. Certainly, they’ve turned red. Across the street, Julia kneels before the twin and stares up at her. Grace stands at the girl’s side, one hand resting on her shoulder.
“Arie, you promised me you two would stay inside,” Julia says. “You crossed your heart and promised me.” One of Julia’s nylons is torn and a hole has opened up in her skirt’s side seam.
The girl shakes her head. “No,” she says.
Malina braves the street again and presses her ear toward the threesome.
“What do you mean, no? You stood right there in that entry and gave me your word. You gave me your word, Arie. You said you’d watch over your sister.”
The girl shakes her head. Malina takes another step.
“I didn’t make that promise,” the girl says. “It was Izzy. She was pretending to be me.”
They talk some more, the girl pointing toward the Filmore Apartments, Grace patting the girl’s shoulder and shaking her head, Julia looking up and down Alder Avenue. How long has she been gone? When did you last see her? Where would she go? Did you know she was going? Did you know she had gone?
“You said you saw one of the girls today,” Julia shouts when she notices Malina standing nearby. “Was it Izzy? Did she say where she was going?”
Malina shakes her head and can’t stop herself from glancing back at Mr. Herze.
Grace wraps an arm around the girl and walks her up Julia’s driveway. “I’ll get her inside,” she says. “And then I’ll check with the neighbors.”
“I’ll get my keys,” Mr. Herze calls out. “She won’t be far. I’ll drive around a few blocks.”
The screen door slams once when Mr. Herze goes inside and again when he returns. Another car comes along to force Malina and Julia from the street. It’s Grace Richardson’s husband. He pulls over, climbs out of his car, and jumps back in after Julia tells him of the missing child.
“Move this car,” Mr. Herze shouts at Malina. “I can’t very well get out with you blocking me in.”
Malina fumbles with the clasp on her purse and digs one hand inside, searching for her keys.
“How about you, Warren?” Julia says, after James Richardson has driven away. “Did you happen to see one of the girls while you were out today? It would have been Izzy.”
Walking out of Julia’s house, Grace’s skin is white except for the red glow that creeps up her neck. She has taken the other twin inside and now that twin sits in the front window, her face pressed to the glass, and looks as if she’s watching Mr. Herze.
Standing at the side of his car, his keys in hand, Mr. Herze stares across the street at Julia but doesn’t answer.
“Warren,” Julia says again. “Did you see her?”
He looks down at his keys, jostles them, pulls open the car door.
“Warren?”