Page 76 of Before She Disappeared

Inhale, exhale, tap. Shrug.

“Favorite subject?”

“She liked making the pumpkin.”

A commotion now. Noise from the front of the house. Roseline sits up suddenly, stubs out her cigarette. The first time she’s stopped smoking since I entered the room.

“Time’s up.”

“Wait—”

“You gotta go. Door’s behind you. You know the saying, don’t let it hit you on the ass on your way out.”

Apparently, I’m not allowed out the way I came in but must flee through the rear door. I want to argue, but suddenly Roseline is standing, her nicotine-stained fingertip an angry punctuation as she jabs it toward me.

“Out!” Her tone is suddenly commanding.

I hesitate. “Come with me. I’ll take you to a meeting. We’ll go together. I’ll hold your hand, you hold mine.”

“Go!”

“One step. Remember that year? Even now you miss it. Come with me. I’ll help you.”

“Now.”

“Mrs. Samdi—”

Her left hand snakes out, grabs my shoulder, and clenches it with a strength that is surprising. “You’re not safe.”

I don’t have words. The spit dries up in my mouth, while her clawlike fingers skewer me in place.

“Livia was not safe.”

“Mrs. Samdi, are you saying you’re grateful she’s gone? Is that why you never reported her having gone missing to the police? You hope she has run away. You think she’s safer that way?”

“This is no place for girls.”

“I can handle Johnson—”

“It’s not my son you should fear.”

The noise turns into a riot of pounding feet and streaming expletives. Heading straight at us.

I want to ask more questions. I want to understand. But Roseline is already shoving me toward the back door.

“If you find my Livia,” Mrs. Samdi hisses, wrenching open the door.

“Wait—”

“Do not bring her home to this.”

Then Roseline Samdi shoves me straight out. I stagger down the steps, arms pinwheeling for balance. I’ve just come to a stop, when I hear male voices, shouting behind me.

“Mom!”

“Stop her!”

“What the fuck, J.J.!”

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