Ryan might have devoured those doughnuts and the cake, but I think reality sank in for him that day. He hated sharing a bedroom with me, but what choice did he have? You were the girl and you got your privacy. I remember you had a look of pure delight when you saw your new bedroom for the first time.
Mom had spent a week getting it just right for you. She painted the walls a light shade of lavender, and in the center of the ceiling, she hung a mobile of winged horses circling a bright orange sun. In a corner of the room, where my Batman cave had been, she put a small desk, a perfect spot for doing arts and crafts. She found a colorful rug at a consignment store, along with a perfectly sized bookshelf that I helped her paint a deep shade of purple. She filled the bookshelf with some of our favorite reads and some of hers, including one she loved as a girl, The Country Bunny and the Little Gold Shoes.
As she walked you around the house, she showed you all the rooms and various things, pictures on the walls and such, telling you who was who. She made it clear that Mom didn’t think of herself as a foster parent, but as your new mother, though the courts would have to make that official—and first, Dad would have to get on board.
The social worker we’d partnered with was there that day, same with your original foster parents, and there were friends, family, and neighbors, all there to welcome you to your new home. It had to have been a bit overwhelming, and nobody was surprised to see you behave like you had in the park that day—a reserved child, shy and demure, incapable of much eye contact.
But things changed when we were finally alone, when all the visitors had gone, leaving Dad to bemoan how much extra food there was, patting his belly as if anticipating its growth. We finally had a chance to play—you, Ryan, and me. I suggested hide-and-seek and your face lit up. I didn’t know you loved that game, but you jumped at the opportunity to be the one to hide, and I volunteered to be the first seeker.
I went to the kitchen because nobody was allowed to hide in there and started my count.
One … two … three … four …
Ryan wasn’t too hard to find. For whatever reason, he thought I’d never think to look between the couch and the wall. It was the fourth place I checked, and I found him curled up in a tight little ball. Then together we set out looking for you. We searched every room. Checked under every bed, every closet, every part of our house, from the basement to the attic, and we couldn’t find you anywhere. It was as if you’d gone.
Eventually I started to get nervous. Where could you be? Mom heard me calling your name, and the look on her face when I told her we couldn’t find you was like Shelley Duvall’s Wendy Torrance character confronting the horrors of the Overlook Hotel for the first time. Mom went to the front door, certain you’d gone outside. First day with us, and she’d lost you, or so she thought. Maybe you’d run into the street, or worse, maybe you’d been taken—that’s what had to be going through her mind. It for sure was going through mine.
We started calling your name, all three of us, because Dad had gone to the restaurant to help with closing.
“Penny! Penny, come out! Game over!” I remember shouting while we were outside, screaming your name to the winds, praying you had concealed yourself in a bush in a neighbor’s yard.
And then I heard you giggling from inside the house. Mom rushed to you and wrapped you in such a tight hug I thought she’d break a rib.
“Where were you?” I asked, and your smile grew ten times the size.
“I’ll show you,” you said proudly, and you marched us down to your room. You got on your knees and lifted up the bedskirt to your bed.
“I looked under the bed,” I told you.
“I wasn’t under,” you said to us. “I was in.”
You reached under the bed and pointed up. In the dark my eyes needed a moment to adjust, but I soon saw it. You had pushed the wood slats to your box spring apart and crawled up into that tiny dark space, where you must have laid yourself flat on the other slats. We had checked under the bed, but we never checked in it.
Mom was shocked. We all were. She got down on her knees to look, and asked you how you came up with such a clever hiding place.
You said in a voice that carried pride, and I’ll never forget: “I didn’t make it up here. I made it up in my other home, because I needed to have a good place to hide when it got really scary … a place where nobody, no matter how hard they looked, could find me.”
CHAPTER 14
GRACE RETURNED FROM EDGEWATER hours later than she’d planned, arriving at the restaurant in time to help Ryan with the dinner rush. She had much on her mind, much to discuss, but right now, it was all about making pies.