“Are you Claire?” she calls out.
“Yes?”
“I’m Audrey.” The girl has the same fresh-faced look as the pretty cheerleaders at Claire’s school, all pink glossy lips and wavy blond hair. She strides forward and sticks out a hand. Claire takes it, aware suddenly of the sweat on her palm. But Audrey doesn’t seem to mind. She just smiles more brightly and shoves the basket in Claire’s direction.
“I live down the road. Your grandmother told my mom that you were going to be staying with her this summer, and I thought, wouldn’t it be just grand if we became best friends? There’s hardly anyone my age around here. We only have one hundred kids at the high school.”
“Oh.” Claire feels like she’s under some kind of attack. She takes the basket gingerly on both sides. It’s full of cookies wrapped in plastic Baggies.
“I made them myself. I’m in the Future Homemakers of America.”
Claire is somehow both shocked and not surprised at all that such a club exists in Indianola.
Audrey smiles even wider. “What clubs are you in at your school?”
“Uh.” Claire looks down at the cookies again. “I’m not really in any clubs.” She hesitates for a moment. “I won second place in the science fair, though.”
“Oh, that’s great!”
Claire feels pathetic. Back in Houston she was proud of the fact that she didn’t join any clubs. It made her one of the cool kids; Josh didn’t join any clubs either. But it’s clearly different here, and when faced with the prospect of this long, empty summer, she isn’t willing to alienate Audrey with her non-joining ways.
“Anyway,” Audrey continues. “I have a car, so if you ever need me to drive you anywhere, feel free to call. I stuck my number in the basket.” She points. “It’s on the welcome card. Oh, and I know you’re probably busy with unpacking and everything, but I’d be so happy to give you a tour of Indianola if you’d like.” She beams with pride. “I was the official tour guide when Governor Richards visited last year, so I’ve got practice.”
“Oh, okay.”
They stare at each other. The Gulf breeze stirs Audrey’s hair around her bare shoulders.
“Is that your bike?” she asks.
Claire glances down at it. “Yeah, well, it was my mom’s. I need to find an air pump—”
“I have one at my house. You can borrow it.” Another bright grin. Claire feels both welcome and unnerved.
“Sure, that would be great.” Claire shifts her weight. The basket of cookies is heavy. She looks down the driveway at Grammy’s house, squat against the pale sky. The rest of the afternoon stretches out in front of her, and the idea of spending it inside that hot, stifling house is not remotely appealing.
“Hey,” Claire says, and turns back to Audrey, who smiles at her again. “About that tour. We could do it now, if you like. I’m really not busy and I’d like to get to know the town and everything, since I’ll have to take care of my grandma.”
Audrey claps her hands together and lets out a delighted squeal. “Oh, I was hoping you’d say that.”
Claire slides the cookie basket up her arm and pushes the bike back into the garage. Audrey stands on the driveway with her hands on her hips, watching her. Still unnerving.
“Let me just drop the cookies off,” Claire says.
“Oh, I’ll come with you!” Audrey says. “I’d love to say hello to Mrs. Sudek. She’s such a sweet old lady.”
Claire doesn’t say anything. Sweet isn’t the word she’d have used to describe her grandmother.
They go into the house. The room swims as Claire’s eyes readjust to the darkness. She sets the cookies on the kitchen table. Audrey walks down the hallway like she’s been here before.
“Mrs. Sudek!” she calls out. “It’s Audrey Duchesne!”
Grammy’s sitting in the living room chair, the TV blaring. She looks up at Audrey and blinks like she isn’t sure what she’s seeing. “Ah,” she says. “Hello.”
“Claire and I are going on a tour of the town.” Audrey loops her arm through Claire’s, startling her.
Grammy doesn’t smile. “Very well. Be back by five.” But she’s looking at Audrey as she speaks, her eyes narrow and appraising. Claire can see the resemblance to her own mother, who’s certainly turned that expression on Claire plenty of times. Especially in the last few years.
But Audrey either doesn’t notice or doesn’t care. She swings around, taking Claire with her, and leads her outside. Claire feels like she’s caught up in a tornado that’s whirling her away from Grammy’s house. Audrey leads her down to the driveway to a little blue two-door, the glass in the windows coated with a layer of salt. Claire crawls into the passenger seat. The car is very clean. No sand, no crumpled receipts. It looks brand-new.
“Indianola’s not very big.” Audrey cranks the engine and the air-conditioning roars on with it, already set at full blast. “So this won’t take too terribly long.”
Claire nods. All Claire knows of Indianola is this neighborhood and the Days Inn on the highway and the convenience store where her father always stops to buy gas. They only come out here every other year at Christmas. Eight visits total, and even those visits were in and out, Claire’s mother corralling them back to Houston as quickly as she could. The town itself, then, is a mystery, nothing more than a name on her grandmother’s address.
Audrey weaves through the neighborhood. The houses are spaced out, isolated, as if each wants to pretend the others don’t exist. They pass by a sprawling whitewashed suburban-style mansion and Audrey says, “That’s my house. You can come by whenever you like.”
Claire nods, although something niggles at the back of her thoughts. She swears she’s never seen that house before—
The thought vanishes, replaced by a memory of a walk after Christmas dinner two years ago, Claire and her mom strolling past a house twice the size of all the others on the street.
Claire rubs her forehead.
A few minutes later, they’re on the main road leading into town. No one’s out; Claire doesn’t blame them, not in this heat. They pass by a seafood shack and a shop selling cheap swimsuits and sunglasses.
“That road leads down to the public beach,” Audrey says, pointing. “It’s nice enough.” They drive along, past a strip mall and the grocery store, which is smaller than Claire expected. There’s a gas station, Alvarez Quick-Mart, the same name as the one on the highway where her father stops for fuel. They pass another one a few moments later, with the same orange-and-white sign. This one is next door to an exterminator. A big sad-looking cockroach lights up, its neon washed out by the sunlight. Alvarez Bros. Exterminators, the sign says, then below it, in smaller letters: All manner of vermin, no exceptions.
“Is this the same Alvarez who owns the gas stations?” Claire asks.
Audrey glances at her. “Oh yeah, they own half the stuff in town.” She turns down another side street. “They even opened up a video store last year, so we finally have a proper one. I used to have to rent videos from the grocery store. Does Mrs. Sudek own a VCR?”