Girl, 11 Read online

  The passenger door swung open, letting in a gust of frigid, dry air tinged with the smell of snow. Natalie jumped in and slammed the door, letting out a dramatic “Brr!”

  Cranking up the heat, Elle asked, “How were piano lessons, kiddo?”

  “Good.” Natalie buckled her seat belt and tugged her scarf away from her neck. Even in the dim late-afternoon light, her usually pale face was ruddy from the slap of winter air. “I mean, I’m still just doing scales all the time. I don’t think Ms. Turner knows how to teach more than that.”

  Elle chuckled as she pulled back onto the road. “You’ve only been taking lessons for four months.”

  “Yeah, I know, but it’s boring. I can do it in my sleep.”

  “Be patient. Scales are the foundation. You have to learn to do the basic stuff well before you can tackle a whole composition.” Elle smiled at how quickly she could snap into mom mode, teaching life wisdom and doing piano lesson pickup like Natalie was her own kid.

  “I guess she did teach me the happy birthday song today, too.”

  “Oh, really? How come?”

  Natalie laughed. “Aunt Elle, you know why.”

  At a stoplight, Elle looked at her and gave an exaggerated shrug. “What do you mean?”

  The girl giggled and rolled her eyes. “Because it’s my birthday, nerd.”

  “Nerd!” Elle put her hand to her chest, as if mortally wounded. “You only ever call Martín that.”

  “That’s ’cause he’s usually the only one being a nerd.”

  “All right, all right, no more games. Happy birthday, sweetheart.” She couldn’t quite believe that Natalie was ten. So close to the age of the youngest victim in the TCK case, which had been absorbing every minute of her life since she started doing interviews for the latest season of Justice Delayed six months ago. She could barely close her eyes without seeing the faces of those girls, the ones that lined the wall in her recording studio. Natalie was the closest thing Elle had to a daughter—imagining her in the place of TCK’s youngest victim caused a surge of rage that made Elle dizzy. If it wasn’t for Natalie, Elle probably wouldn’t have started the podcast. If she hadn’t known what it was like to love a child enough to kill, she might never have started hunting the monsters who hurt them.

  Elle leaned across the console and gave Natalie a loud kiss on the forehead just as the light turned green. “Did you do anything fun for your birthday?”

  “I got sung to in class, and they let me bring in cookies for everyone,” Natalie said, fiddling with one of her dark blond braids. “And I came in third in freestyle.”

  “You couldn’t pay me to put on a bathing suit in this weather.”

  “If we stopped swimming when it got cold, we’d only swim three months out of the year,” Natalie said as they pulled up to Elle’s house. “Besides, it’s, like, eighty degrees in there.”

  “I’ll stick to lakes in the summer, but I’m proud of you for doing so well,” Elle said. The wind bit into her skin as she got out of the car and checked to make sure Natalie was walking carefully on their slick driveway. She made a mental note to ask Martín to put more salt down later.

  “Yum!” Natalie said as soon as they walked through the front door. Elle’s mouth watered in agreement, taking in the warm, spicy fragrance. They followed their noses to the kitchen, where Martín was wearing his favorite floral apron and twisting a salt grinder over a pot simmering on the stove. He was making his take on spaghetti and meatballs: the meat a blend of beef and minced chorizo, with a dash of chili pepper in the sauce. It was Natalie’s favorite.

  “Hey, birthday girl!” Martín dropped the spoon into the pot and reached his arms out to catch Natalie, who ran into them and squealed when he lifted her up into his signature bear hug. They spun around once, and he set her down on the counter, pulling the spoon out of the pot and blowing on it before he offered it to her. “For your inspection, señorita?”

  Natalie gave it a taste, and her eyes lit up. “I believe that’s your best work, señor.”

  When Martín set her back on her feet, he pointed at the silverware drawer. “I know it’s your birthday, but would you mind setting the table? Your mom should be here soon.” As soon as the girl gathered the cutlery and left, Martín turned to Elle with a smile. His wavy black hair stuck out in a few random angles; he was always running his hands through it when it wasn’t covered by his surgical cap at work. Still stirring the pot, he leaned away from the stove and gave her a warm kiss.

  “Smells delicious.” Elle turned to pour herself a glass of red wine.

  “Thanks. How are you, mi vida?” Martín asked.

  Elle remembered the first time he called her that in front of Natalie after she started Spanish classes last year. Elle hadn’t learned any until high school, and Martín spoke fluent English by the time they met, but she’d dug out her old college Spanish textbook the day after their first date anyway. She didn’t want to miss out on conversations when she met his family in Monterrey, and with Minnesota’s high population of Mexican and Central American immigrants, it had come in handy on the job too. But the fancy prep school Natalie attended let kids start from third grade, so she knew what it meant when he called Elle mi vida.

  “Why do you call her your life?” Natalie had asked. “Is it because you can’t live without her?”

  Elle had expected him to tell her it was a common term of endearment where he was from in Mexico, particularly between men and their wives, but instead he looked at Elle while he answered: “No, it’s because when I met Elle, she reminded me I spend too much time around death. She helps me remember to enjoy my life.”

  He was being extra romantic that day, and Martín gave most men a run for their money in the romance department.

  “Elle?” His voice brought her back to the present.

  “I’m fine,” she said, knowing that her forced smile wouldn’t fool him. “I can’t believe Natalie is ten. Seems like just yesterday she was that skinny four-year-old knocking on my door out of the blue.” Elle blinked away tears and took a drink of wine.

  Martín set the spoon down and pulled her into his arms. “This investigation is getting to you, isn’t it?” he asked, rubbing circles on her back.

  Elle tensed. “I’m fine,” she said again.

  He pulled away, meeting her gaze. “I know you are.” He looked like he wanted to say something else, but instead, he just nodded and turned back to the stove.

  The doorbell rang as Natalie returned to the kitchen for plates. “I’ve got it,” Elle said.

  “Geez, it’s cold,” Sash said, shivering as Elle shut the door behind her. Sash stamped her boots on the entryway rug and slipped them off, careful to avoid the melting slush on the carpet with her stockinged feet.

  “My dad used to call this tongue-gluing weather,” Elle said, surprised by the sudden recollection. She hadn’t thought about her dad in ages. “You know, because of all the dumb kids who used to dare each other to lick something metal in the winter and then got their tongues stuck.”

  Sash’s big bangle earrings caught the light when she laughed, her head tilted back. After unwinding her scarf, she pulled the purple knit cap off her head and set them both on the bench by the door. She’d shaved her hair off again sometime in the last couple days, leaving only a short fuzz that highlighted her elfin features. It was an odd look for a corporate lawyer and often led people to underestimate her, which made it all the more delicious when she decimated them in court.

  “That’s great. I’m using that one.”

  Elle led the way to the dining room, past the hallway mirror that reminded her she hadn’t showered or done anything with her hair today. She’d been locked away in her studio right up until she had to go pick up Natalie.

  “Any new leads on TCK?” Sash whispered.

  Elle paused. Aside from investigation, she didn’t get out of the house much, and most of the family members and witnesses she’d interviewed never said his name. It was unsettling to
hear someone say the initials that had been running through her head for months, like a fading echo becoming loud again.

  “Nothing new,” she said, glancing back at her friend. “It’s a little early yet.”

  Sash smiled. “A couple of the associates were talking about the case in my meeting today. This is going to be your biggest season yet, for sure.”

  Nodding, Elle tried to keep her expression neutral. She had felt pressure to solve the cold cases she investigated in earlier seasons on the podcast, but nothing compared to this. It had only been a few weeks since she launched episode one, but she already knew this case was going to be different. Her inbox was full of comments, theories, and criticism—not just from listeners in the Midwest, but Australia, Indonesia, England, the Netherlands. It felt like the whole world was watching her.

  But she could do this. All the cases she’d worked before, the troubled children in CPS and the previous four seasons of the podcast, they had been the foundation—the scales she practiced as she built toward something more complex. TCK was her magnum opus.

  “You look pale.” Sash took her arm gently, stopping her before they could enter the dining room. “Shit, I’m sorry, Elle. You’re probably already nervous enough without me telling you how big this case is.”

  “No, it’s okay. I mean, I’ve always known it was going to put a huge spotlight on the podcast. I just didn’t anticipate how much.” Elle met her best friend’s gaze as she pressed her fingernails into her own palm. “My producer and I are seeing lots of chatter online, ideas floated on our social media, but nothing concrete yet. I know it’s only been a few weeks, but I feel like I’m failing them.”

  “The girls on the wall,” Sash said. Besides Martín, Sash was the only one Elle ever allowed into her studio upstairs. “You’re not failing them, Elle. You’re honoring them. You’re telling their stories and trying to get justice. You’re too hard on yourself.”

  Before Elle could respond, the door to the dining room swung open and Natalie peeked her head out. “You guys going to come in or what? I’m starving.”

  Sash smiled at Elle, gave her arm one more squeeze, and then they followed Natalie into the room where Martín was dishing up.

  * * *

  “How’s your birthday been, sweet?” Sash asked, giving her daughter a hug.

  “Good. Thanks for leaving work early,” Natalie said.

  “Of course! You think I’d miss this?” If Elle didn’t know Sash better, she might have missed the shadow that crossed her best friend’s face. It was a sore subject between her and Natalie, how late Sash worked some nights. But she always made it to the events that counted, and now that Elle worked from home full-time, she was able to help fill in the gaps. Swim meets, piano lesson pickups, even the occasional field trip chaperone gig. At this point, she was somewhere between a very involved aunt and a glorified babysitter, although Sash insisted she was more like a second parent Natalie had adopted herself. Either way, she loved it.

  Pulling out the chair next to Natalie, Sash lifted her hands like an MC announcing the next act. “Ladies, gentleman, and gender-ambivalent: ten years ago today, a remarkable event happened.” The sleeves of her draped blouse swept the top of the table, narrowly avoiding the spaghetti sauce. “My daughter, the one and only Natalie Hunter, came into this world the size of a Chipotle burrito and squawking like a crow.”

  Natalie giggled and covered her face with her hands.

  “I know things weren’t always easy, the first few years of your life, when we moved around so much. But I’m glad we’re here now, and I’m glad you get to celebrate turning ten with your family.” Sash looked in Elle’s direction, but it was hard to see her expression through the sudden blur of tears. It still got her whenever Sash referred to Elle as family. Besides Martín and her in-laws, Sash and Natalie were the only family Elle had.

  Natalie leaned forward, looking at the plate of cooling food in front of her. “C’mon, Mom, I’m hungry.”

  They all laughed, and Sash raised her glass. “All right, all right. Sue a mom for giving a speech on her daughter’s tenth birthday. To Natalie!”

  “To Natalie,” Martín and Elle echoed, raising their wineglasses. They clinked with Natalie’s glass of cola and then they all dug in.

  “How was your day, Sash?” Elle asked as she twirled pasta onto her fork.

  Sash took a sip of wine. “Not bad. This merger I’ve been working on is soul-destroying, though. The CEOs both insist on pretending everything’s rosy at their board meetings, but I can’t even get them to sit at the same table to negotiate anymore. One guy said something about the other guy’s golf swing, and suddenly a multimillion dollar deal is on the line. And they say women are emotional.”

  Martín snorted around a mouthful of pasta.

  “How about you, Martín? How’s life with the stiffs?” Sash asked. She pronounced his name correctly, Mar-teen, rather than the anglicized way their lazier acquaintances tried to get away with.

  He held up his fork with a speared cherry tomato. “Oh, you know, pretty busy. This time of year I can’t clear the bodies fast enough.”

  “Martín!” Elle said.

  He held up his hands, palms out in the classic I’m-innocent stance. “Sorry! It’s not like they don’t know what I do.”

  “Yeah, Elle, it’s not like I don’t know what he does.” Natalie took a sip of her water and grinned. “I want to be a medical examiner someday.”

  Elle shook her head and cut her eyes at her best friend. Sash confided in her a few weeks ago that Natalie had developed an innocent crush on Martín, although by that time it had been obvious. She’d abruptly stopped calling Martín “tío” about a month ago, insisted on using his first name, and clung to every word he had to say. Sash blamed it on puberty. It had been a few years since Elle did her master’s in child psychology, but developmentally speaking, a ten-year-old girl falling in love with the only close adult man in her life was pretty standard stuff.

  Even though he must have known they were watching in amusement, Martín ignored Sash and Elle and made eager conversation with Natalie about how to pursue a career in forensic pathology.

  “I think you’d make a great medical examiner,” he said. “You’re going to have to improve your knife skills, though. I’m still scarred from the last time you helped me chop peppers for fajitas.” He held up his thumb, showing her the small pink crescent that marred his medium-brown skin.

  She shoved him on the arm, her face turning red. “That was two years ago, and I apologized like a thousand times. You’re such a baby.”

  Martín cradled his hand to his chest, his mouth dropping open in fake offense. “Cómo te atreves. But I suppose you’re right. In my line of work, no one risks bleeding to death if your blade misses the mark now and then. I’m sure you’ll be fine.”

  Elle laughed, but there was a layer of sadness underneath as she watched her husband interact with Natalie. It was hard not to wonder what kind of father Martín would have been. Sash and Elle met during the time that Elle and Martín were trying hardest to get pregnant, when they had moved into the new house across the street to make space for what they were sure would be at least a couple children. All the dewy, fertile girls Elle went to high school with seemed to get pregnant just by thinking about it, so it was a relief when Sash was so transparent about her own experience with IVF. She’d never been interested in sex or romance, but she always wanted to be a parent, so she had gone the test tubes and injections route. When Elle told her about her own fertility treatments, they commiserated about the anxious nightmare of trying to get pregnant through science (although Sash liked to joke that the idea of getting pregnant the other way was much more anxiety-inducing for her).

  After years of trying, though, Elle couldn’t keep putting her body through the stress and hormones anymore. She and Martín finally agreed they weren’t meant to be parents, but by that time, they were so close to Natalie that it eased the ache of that decision—at least a l
ittle.

  “You know you’re going to have to do a lot of science to be a medical examiner, right, sweet?” Sash said. “And you might need to get over your fear of needles.”

  Natalie lifted her chin. “I can do that.”

  Elle took a bite of food to hide her smile. Natalie was the kind of kid who was always getting excited about something new. Six months ago, she was into animal rights—she found a video on YouTube and swore off eating meat for the rest of her life. Not a day went by that she wasn’t talking about cages or cattle prods. And then one day, Elle went over to her house and she was eating a hamburger and ranting about climate change. Most of the time, she moved on after a few months or so, but one of the things she’d stuck with was religion. Natalie’s school friend gave her a Bible a couple years ago, and since then the girls had been going to church together almost every Sunday. To Sash’s credit, she never tried to convince Natalie to stay home, even though she had no interest in religion herself.

  Elle loved the girl’s passion. She knew better than anyone: the thing that pisses you off the most in life can make a pretty good career. Natalie was still too young to settle on one thing yet, but she would. Elle had been only a year older than Natalie when her life was set on fire, blazing an unmistakable path in front of her.

  That thought reminded her of the faces on her studio wall upstairs, all those young futures that had been snuffed out, and suddenly Elle sat back in her chair, blinking hard against the images branded on her mind. Taking a sip of wine, she glanced around the table. Sash and Natalie didn’t seem to have noticed, but Martín was watching her, one eyebrow raised in a silent question. She nodded once and picked up her fork again.

  When they finished eating, Sash stood and started to pick up the empty plates.

  “Oh, Sash, you don’t have to do that.” Martín got up too, trying to take the dishes from her.