The Lost and the Found by Cat Clarke Read Free Book Online

around the fact that I am sitting in this ridiculously opulent hotel room, talking to my sister.
    “This is weird, isn’t it?” Sometimes it’s just best to get these things out in the open and acknowledge the awkwardness before someone else does.
    Laurel smiles. “It’s definitely weird.”
    We sit in silence for a moment or two. Laurel stares at the door, and I wonder if she’s trying to work out when Mom and Dad will be back. Maybe she’d have preferred it if they’d stayed. They seem to know the right things to say and do; clearly I do not.
    “I’m glad you’re back.” It’s a banal thing to say, but it’s important that I say it out loud. It’s important that she hears it. Laurel smiles again. Her teeth are perfect. “Your teeth are perfect.”
    “Um…thanks?” She’s looking at me as if that was a weird thing to say, probably because it
was
a weird thing to say.
    “Sorry…I was just…It’s just that I was thinking that you haven’t been to the dentist, and here’s me going every six months or something and having fillings and braces and…Okay, I’m going to stop talking now. Sorry.” What is
wrong
with me?
    Laurel doesn’t look at me like I’m crazy. She doesn’t look at me at all. “I brushed my teeth for five minutes, three times a day. Mouthwash and flossing, too. It was one of his rules.”
    Oh god. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to…”
    “It’s okay. I’m going to have to get used to talking about it, aren’t I? I only brushed my teeth for a couple of minutes last night. Same this morning. And I haven’t flossed.” Finally a ghost of a smile appears on her face, and I breathe again. “You don’t need to worry, you know. I can talk about it. About…him.”
    If the things that had happened to her had happened to me, I don’t think I’d ever talk about them again. “I can’t even begin to imagine what you’ve been through.” Yet more banality.
    “Good. You shouldn’t have to.” She goes to bite her nails and then stops herself, tucking her hands inside the sleeves of the hoodie. I wonder if that was another one of his rules. “Anyway, I want to hear about you. I’ve got some catching up to do, haven’t I? How about you tell me every single thing you’ve done in the last thirteen years?” She laughs at the alarmed look on my face. “I’m kidding! Sort of.”
    “Um…where do you want me to start?”
    “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to put you on the spot.” She stares off into space again, and I’m not sure where she’s gone, but I’m almost certain I should be glad that I can’t follow her there. “You know…no matter how bad things got, I was always glad he took me and not you. Whenever I was scared or couldn’t sleep, I thought about you.”
    I’ve read articles asking that question: why her and not me? Most people seem to think it came down to age or hair color. I was four years old with brown hair; Laurel was six years old with blond hair.
    I used to have recurring nightmares of a man standing over the two of us. The sun was always behind him, so his face was in shadow. He would lead Laurel away by the hand, and I would go back to playing in the sand. Sometimes I would run after them and ask for an ice cream, and the man would take my hand, and the three of us would walk down the road together.
    “Have you still got that night-light?”
    I have no idea what she’s talking about, and she can tell from the look on my face.
    “The penguin one? With the red hat and scarf? You had this weird name for it, but I can’t seem to…”
    All of a sudden, I can picture it, crystal clear. “Egg!” Laurel nods vigorously, eyes bright, and we both laugh at the miracle of a shared memory.
    How could I have forgotten about Egg? For years I couldn’t get to sleep without that penguin’s tummy glowing from the corner of the room. Egg was the only thing protecting me from the monster under the bed and the monster in the closet. And then he was the only