Island of Lost Girls - Jennifer McMahon [8]
When at last she grew tired of the game and was too cold to go on, the rabbit appeared, took her hand in his white fluffy paw, and led her to a small clearing. There, on top of a large, flat rock was her orange basket, shimmering with green plastic grass, stuffed full of chocolate bunnies, eggs, and jelly beans. He nodded down at her, and just for a minute, before she picked up the basket, he led her in a celebratory dance, their own little joyful bunny hop, one furry arm around her waist, the other clutching her cold fingers in his thick paw. There were none of the high, Rockette-style kicks Lizzy was famous for, just a clumsy little slippery-soled shoe shuffle. They stomped a little circle in the snow, then he let her go and, with a wave, turned and hopped back down the hill.
Rhonda took her basket and raced through the woods to her house with its warm, familiar smells: coffee, cinnamon buns, bacon. The table was laid out for Easter brunch. Peter was already there, the contents of his own basket spilled out on the couch. Rhonda saw right away that hed gotten comics and a pocketknife. She had Silly Putty and lip gloss. Peter was picking black jelly beans out of the mixed bag and throwing them up in the air to catch them in his mouth. Hed seen a guy do this with peanuts in a western and had been working on it ever since.
Rhonda couldnt remember ever not having Easter brunch with Peter and Lizzy. Her dad and Peter and Lizzys dad, Daniel, had grown up together and been best friends forever. They were practically brothers, Rhonda heard her dad say once. And the Shales lived next doora quarter mile down Lake Street, a little closer if you cut through the woods.
Wheres Lizzy? asked Aggie, Lizzy and Peters mom. She wore a lime green dress that showed her knees, shoes with heels, lipstick, and rouge. Her short, spiky hair was dyed magenta and stuck up like shed just been struck by lightning. She had a highball glass in her hand even though it was only ten in the morning. Her hand trembled slightly, as if holding the glass took all her strength.
Still in the woods with the rabbit, Rhonda said.
Theyll both end up with frostbite, said Aggie.
Its notthat cold, Ma, Peter said, opening his new knife and running his finger across the blade.
Aggie fixed her eyes on Peter, drained what was left in her drink, and rattled the ice like dice in a cup. Rhonda could smell her perfume, which seemed both sweet and rottenlike a Venus flytrap, Rhonda imagined.
Coffees ready, said Rhondas father as he held out a cup to Aggie. His dark hair was cut short, and he had on a white button-down shirt and tie, which made his face and hands look tan even though it was April; Clem had the kind of complexion that left him bronze year round.
Aggie squinted at him, put down the glass, and took the steaming mug. Rhondas father sipped at his own coffee, keeping an eye on Aggie the way youd watch an unpredictable dog who might lunge and bite at the slightest provocation. He set down his coffee, reached into his shirt pocket for the unfiltered Camels, and lit one, using the three remaining fingers of his right hand as expertly as if the other two had been missing all his life.
When Rhonda was a little girl, she used to sit on his lap and ask him to tell the story of how he lost his fingers.
It only took a second, Clem would explain, Rhonda on his lap running her tiny fingers over the scarred nubs where his two missing digits had been.
Daniel and I were at the mill, working on a big order of beams with Dave Lancaster.
Rhonda would nod. She knew Dave. He was the boss at the mill. Hed once gotten into a wrestling match with a black bear, and if you werent careful, hed offer to show you the scars, which were on his butt.
I was guiding a piece of hemlock through the saw, Clem would continue. Daniel was behind me.