69 ~ Annie is Okay-2

When I reached my next destination a few minutes later after giving my phone to Mrs. Jones, convincing her that I didn’t want it and that if she wanted to go to the police about it, she would need it, and pressed tissues into her palm as she listened intently to the phone message, her eyes beginning to appear glassy as she started to talk about Evan, her breaths coming out as shaky gasps as she listened, the first thing I saw beyond the iron gate that extended along their yard and ended on either side of their crescent shaped, paved driveway was an orange cat laying on the grass, rolling around lazily in the sunlight that casted on the blades, and as I pulled into the driveway, its ears perked and twisted, before rolling around to see my little Smart Car approaching. It yawned and then slinked off of the grass, eventually springing into a run to jump up the trunk of a tree, clinging to the bark with its claws for a brief moment, and then I glanced away and toward the porch where I saw the one person I was looking for, sprawled out on a porch swing with a book in her hands, her sunglasses perched up in her hair, and she was mouthing the words she was reading as she spoke. Reese was sitting beside her mother, scrolling down the screen of her phone and she looked up just as my car pulled into the driveway. She recognized it and waved at me, her manicure flashing, and I felt a pang of guilt for what I was about to do. It’s for the best, I told myself, repeating this mantra as I got out of my car, slammed the door, and walked up the porch. It’s for the best. “Mrs. Moore?” I inquired just as Reese was about to say something, to greet me maybe, and she began to put down her phone, the screen blackening from her text messaging bubbles, and I saw the frown bury into her brow as she heard me nervously address her mother instead of her. It’s for the best. Mrs. Moore looked up from her book, pressing her thumb down on the page to save her place, and she smiled at me, but I could see that she was just as perplexed as Reese was. I took in a deep breath as I looked at her, generally avoiding eye contact with Reese as I took in her mother’s appearance. She had Reese’s bright blue eyes and smile. “Your daughter is bulimic.” It’s for the best, it’s for the best, it’s for the best. Even though I couldn’t bring my eyes to even give her a fleeting glimpse, I could still see that her face was beginning to grow ashen and that her pink lips were parting in stunned silence, her black and elongated eyelashes flashing as she blinked at me, and I held my breath as I observed her mother’s reaction. She frowned, as if she couldn’t understand what I was saying, and she brushed back a lock of her brunette hair as she turned to look at her daughter, her eyebrows pressing close to her narrowed eyes. “What?” she said, the word accompanied with a weak and strained laugh as her eyes darted between me and Reese, and I could see in her eyes that she was waiting for Reese to laugh, roll her eyes, and say that it wasn’t true, ask her mom to grill her a steak or something, but Reese just looked at me, incredulously, and I could hear the gasping of her breath as she realized what I had done, what I had said, and who I had said it to, and she shot up from the porch swing so fast that it rocked backward and hit the back of the wall beside the front door, and I noticed that her fingers were shaking at her sides. “Mandy,” she murmured, almost pleadingly, to me. I swallowed as I looked at her desperate face, her blue eyes swirling with fear and panic, and I saw as the natural leader in her began to fade away, sliding from her skin and dropping to the floorboards of the porch swing and revealing the scared interior of a little girl, watching as her skeletons in the closet began to push the doors open and spill into the light. “I’m sorry,” I told her, my voice choked as I murmured these words that she probably found meaningless as I walked away from her, clenching my fingers into fist as I closed my eyes, stepping down the stairs leading to the porch, and felt the blades of grass brush against my ankles. It’s for the best. I could hear Reese calling out after me, screaming my name, and I could tell that she was trying to refrain from shouting how could I do this and I could hear her mother asking Reese what I was talking about, if it were true, but Reese never answered. She just kept shouting my name, and I remembered that night when I laid on the floor of that living room after slamming my fist into Evan Dillinger’s cheekbone and my strength began to dissipate from my grasp, and she was shouting my name then too. “Mandy! Mandy! Mandy!”