The Timer Game. Susan Smith Arnout

They were dressed in matching pink nighties, caramel-colored hair tangled in wild manes, dark long lashes against pink cheeks. On the vanity lay the drawing, smudged and crinkled with violent splotches of color. It appeared to be a giant smiling orange head floating over a pink and orange lake. Katie had dictated a short message to go along with it.

      Dear Dusty: How are you? I am fine. This is Cinderella who is riding in a big pumpkin. She is inside. That is why nobody can see her. Mommy says you came to our house and broke your arm. You need to write me back right away so I can pass kindergarten. Sincerely, Katie Descanso.

      Impulsively, Grace ripped a piece of paper out of a wide-lined notebook she found in Katie’s bookshelf and added a quick note of her own:

      Dear Annie: We missed hearing from you at Christmas. Hope you’re okay. I know this is a lot, but could you prod Dusty to answer this right away? Katie’s had this pen pal assignment looming over her for weeks. Of course. Love you, thanks. G.

      ‘We get to play the Timer Game tomorrow, right?’ Katie’s voice was blurred with sleep.

      She’d forgotten about the Timer Game. ‘Right.’

      ‘Good.’ Katie shifted and licked her lip, eyes closed. ‘You’re wrong about one thing, Mommy.’

      ‘Only one?’ Grace sealed the letters in an envelope and dropped it on the dresser. She opened the drawers.

      ‘He’s not dead.’

      ‘Who?’ She pulled together shorts and a top and underwear. There was a long silence, and Grace thought Katie had dropped off to sleep.

      ‘Daddy,’ Katie muttered. Her lips went slack. She breathed in through her nose.

      A prick of unease darted through her. She put down the clothes. ‘Honey. Katie.’ Grace touched her shoulder gently. ‘What are you talking about, sweetie? With Daddy.’

      ‘He visits me sometimes.’ Katie shifted under the covers, punching the pillow down, trying to find a comfortable spot.

      ‘Visits you?’ Grace shifted her weight. She adjusted the quilt. They’d bought it on sale at Penney’s, small pink squares of pink and white rosebuds.

      ‘Uh-huh. I’ll wake up. He’ll be there, at the end of my bed. He talks to me, too.’

      ‘What does he say?’

      ‘Stuff. Just private stuff. He’s coming back for me.’ She yawned hugely. ‘Night, Mommy.’

      ‘Night, sweetie.’

      ‘Wait till I sleep?’ Katie’s voice was faint.

      ‘Sure.’

      The room faced out over Scott Street. In the dark, the soccer and T-ball trophies on Katie’s bookshelf were indistinct soldiers. The half-opened window was a small black square hanging over the eaves slanting down to the front porch. The dotted Swiss curtains moved gently, caught in an invisible breeze.

      Grace stroked her daughter’s hair. ‘Katie? You do know he doesn’t do that, right? Sweetie, you do know that?’

      Katie’s mouth opened into a slack O. One small foot hung out of the pink quilt. Grace cradled it in her hands. It was warm and delicate as a shell.

      She kissed the arch, tucked it back in, and gently eased the window shut.

      Across the street, a shadow moved. Grace tensed. It was a dog, nosing in the trash. Screens. She had to spring for screens.

      Helix was dreaming on the braided rug when she entered her bedroom at the end of the hallway, his fake leg spasming the air. From her bedroom sliding glass window, the harbor spread out before her, glittering with boats tethered in black water. She pulled the sheer curtains and locked her bedroom door. She could feel her heart banging dully in her chest as she went to her closet and found it.

      It was a small hard box made of enamel and she kept it on the top shelf under her sweaters. She was breathing through her mouth now and Helix cracked an eye open to look at her blearily before settling back into sleep. She lay down on the bed and put the box on her chest and felt its small cold heaviness, and her finger slid into the crack of the box and she sighed deeply and opened it.

      The phone rang.

      Helix jerked out of sleep and growled once deep in his throat. ‘It’s okay, boy, it’s okay.’

      She stared at the machine, wondering if this was going to be another night where she was plagued with hang-ups. She heard Jeanne’s voice leaving a message, and she put the box aside and rolled over and picked up. ‘Hey.’

      ‘My God, I can’t believe what you’ve been through.’

      ‘Did you call earlier?’ Grace sat up. Helix stretched and got up, taking a few steps and flopping down next to her ankles, his ear cocked, watching her.

      ‘What? No, why?’

      ‘I keep getting hang-ups. Never mind.’

      Her eyes strayed to a group of photos on the wall and found the one of a beaming nun holding the hand of a shy Guatemalan kid who looked to be about ten. She frowned and reached down to scratch Helix behind his ears. He made a small sound of pleasure and his tail thumped the wooden floor.

      ‘Are you watching the news?’

      ‘What channel?’

      ‘All the channels, kiddo.’ Jeanne’s whiskey-ravaged voice dropped into a phlegmy rattle and Grace could hear her sucking on a lozenge. ‘They’re withholding your name for the time being, there’s that at least. Some wild man in a Hawaiian shirt’s pushing you out the squad car and screaming at you to duck.’

      Grace felt drained. ‘Sid. My boss. I’ve told you about him.’

      ‘Oh, so that’s Sid. I always pictured somebody taller.’

      Grace tried to smile.

      ‘Who was taking care of Katie?’

      ‘You mean while it happened? Lottie.’

      Jeanne groaned. ‘God. Oil on the fire. You need to take a meeting? I could stay with Katie.’

      ‘I’m okay, Jeanne.’ An edge had crept into her voice.

      Jeanne was silent, except for the sound of crunching. ‘I could come anyway.’

      Grace shifted the phone and sank back, stretching out on the quilt. A pain jolted her midriff, and she massaged her side.

      ‘Grace?’

      Tears welled and leaked down her face, wetting the quilt and pooling near her ears.

      ‘Honey?’

      ‘I’m here.’ Her voice was desolate, lost.

      ‘Talk to me, honey.’

      Grace curled into a ball and rocked. ‘I can’t. I don’t.’ Her voice was low, fighting it.

      ‘Start anyplace. Start with what happened.’

      Grace squeezed her eyes shut. ‘Can’t. Too soon.’

      ‘Then start with how it feels.’

      Her belly was on fire, her head throbbed, her shoulder felt wrenched from the socket, and everything safe in the world was gone. She was in Guatemala again, and the world was on fire. It happened fast, when it came, with a force that never failed to derail her. It was close now and she was running hard ahead of it, trying to break free.

      ‘Oh, God. Pain. In my gut. Lost. Nobody here. Afraid. Like my body’s been torn apart. I’m free-falling, Jeanne.’

      ‘Honey, stay with me.’

      Her lips were numb now and she felt a pounding behind her eyes; all the bad horses had been unleashed. A flicker of fire darted across her vision, the screen behind her eyes blinding, and she heard the crackling noise that