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Dahlia stared at her sister, who from her point of view had been treated as special from the moment she’d been found. “You are the girl who lived,” she said. “You couldn’t be any more special.”
Ruby huffed a breath and looked to the side, scrubbing at the bridge of her nose before looking back over at Dahlia. “I just... Look, I did... I grabbed some police records from the museum today. I don’t even know why. No, I do. It was what Heath said. It got me in a funky headspace and then Dana...”
“What police records?”
“I got a file that should have the police report from the night I was found.”
Interest prickled the back of Dahlia’s neck. “Can I see it?”
“Sure. I haven’t looked at it yet. I...dumped it off and went back out to shop.”
Ruby walked out of the room and into her bedroom, returning with a file, which she shoved in Dahlia’s hand before heading back to the car. She came back in with a giant bag filled with blankets and another with pillows spilling out the top. She grinned sheepishly. “I needed blankets too.”
“Uh-huh,” Dahlia said.
Ruby shoved those into the bedroom and shut the door, then came to stand by Dahlia.
Dahlia looked it over critically. Pear Blossom Police Department. December 23, 2000.
There was an exhaustive description of Ruby and her condition. And witness statements.
She paused when she got to her own. She had been four years old. It said simply: “There was a baby. She was crying. Distress likely caused by a combination of hunger and the cold.”
Dahlia felt an unexpected swell of emotion in her chest, and the memory felt so fresh. The sadness she’d felt then, the confusion. She’d been so young she’d always felt like she was missing pieces of what had happened, especially because her own feelings about it had been so different from the whole town’s.
Except Dana’s, apparently.
“Wow. I... I’ve never seen this,” Dahlia said.
She handed it to Ruby, who looked at it while squinting, as if she didn’t want to see it too clearly. Ruby didn’t frown. Instead she looked... Calm. Her expression glassy and smooth.
“I know this story,” Ruby said. “It’s just strange to read what you all said to the police.”
And for the first time Dahlia really considered that Ruby’s myth sold her sister short a bit. As if her survival had been so unquestionably meant to be, that she’d never truly been in peril. That she’d been magical, and therefore not... A fighter.
“You’re a story, Ruby. You always have been. Just making you into a miracle is kind of selling you short. You’re not a tragedy, because you survived.”
The corner of Ruby’s mouth twitched. “That makes me sound kind of tough.”
“I’ve been looking for stories,” Dahlia said slowly. “Stories about the town. It’s something I’ve been thinking about, mulling over. The people who live here love it here. They really do. And there are a lot of new people. People who don’t know what made this place. But this is... This is what I need to do. A series of articles rediscovering the town. The history, the arrival of pears into the economy, the building of these different businesses. The disappearance of Caitlin Groves. And you. I’d like to do a real profile on you. Gather new interviews and perspectives. I want to reinvigorate interest in the paper, and I think this could do it.”
“I...look, Dahlia, if you want to do history, I’m here for that. I can even make museum displays to coincide with the story. A history of businesses in town? There used to be a feature... They don’t do it anymore. It was in the paper. It was called No Longer on the Map. And it went over what used to be on Main Street, what isn’t there anymore. You could write about them and I could make mock storefronts and everything.”
Ruby was brightening and trying to move away from the serious stuff already. “Okay, that does sound great.” Dahlia gripped the edge of the police report. “But this...this is the substance of the town. I want to write about this. I want to write about you.”
“What is there to write about?” Ruby asked. “It’s been written.”
“We were never interviewed. We were kids. Me, Lydia and Marianne, I mean. And you haven’t been.”
“Dahlia...”
Dahlia stared back down at the police report and remembered. “I was four. And for some reason I remember very clearly that I’d just cut my hair to chin length, and it felt really grown-up. I’m having a hard time describing the feeling. I see things but I don’t... I’m not sure if I’m remembering or if I’m making things up, you know?” She squinted as if that would help her cast her mind back. “I’ve heard everyone else talk about it so much.”
Except... She hadn’t really. They talked about the event, but not the moment they’dfoundRuby. And those two things seemed very different.
It was like still pictures. There wasn’t sound. But she had a vision of the bridge. It was dark out, and Lydia was holding a flashlight. She wasprettysure Lydia was. And her sisters were both tall, which was funny because she was taller than both of them now.
She was walking in front of them trying to stay in the beam of light. And she could remember seeing it. A little bundle. Like a baby doll. And in her mind there was one clear image, of the light falling across that red, wrinkled face.
