Page 4 of Strange Love

Bob cajoles Pamela playfully to wring every last ounce of drama out of the moment as she struggles to make her final guess. She can’t afford to make a lousy guess here. I may be staying home from school sick today, but my brain is still working well enough to do basic subtraction.

Her last guess is nine. The tile is turned over with a sharp ding to reveal the answer is two. She lost. Pamela cries as the sound of defeat—WOMP, WOMP, WOMP-WOMP, WOOOMMMP—fills the studio. With drooping shoulders, she slinks offstage as Bob smiles from ear to ear. My mom mutters another “I-told-you-so” from the couch.

“She was never going to win that car,” my mom says, her voice heavy with resignation. She takes a moment to place the back of her hand on my forehead, checking my temperature. “Cool as a cucumber,” she says, expressing relief and amusement.

“Want to watch Scooby Doo?“ she asks, and I nod eagerly. Whenever I stay home sick, we have the same routine. Price is Right, Scooby Doo, and then General Hospital. My mother is obsessed with her soap opera and never misses it if she can avoid it.

My Cocoa Puffs are slowly turning my milk a velvety shade of brown as I stir my spoon around my bowl. My little sister, Natalie, sits beside me, taking vicious stabs at her toast with a fork. Ever since she turned six, she’s declared that only white food is acceptable. My parents keep scolding her, but it’s been two weeks, and her decision is unwavering. Apparently, the dollop of strawberry jam I put on her white toast makes it inedible.

Dad rushes into the kitchen, like he does every morning before work, searching through the stack of mail on the counter for his keys.

“Ivy, have you seen them?” he asks, expecting me to answer with a mouthful of sugary cereal.

“Nope!” I mumble after swallowing it down.

“Irene!” Dad yells for my mom, who shuffles into the room shortly after, rubbing her eyes, half awake yet thoroughly annoyed.

“Have you checked your coat pocket?” she suggests.

He frantically pats his pockets, searching for the keys, and breathes a sigh of relief when he finds them. He hugs Mom, closing his eyes and resting his chin on her head. “What would I do without you?” he asks.

“You’d be late for work every day!” she jokes with a wink before kissing his lips. Dad then moves to me and brushes my hair back from my face as I glance up at him with a subtle smile.

“How are you feeling, Pumpkin?” he asks softly.

“Better,” I reply, nodding my head assuredly. “My throat isn’t too sore anymore.”

“That’s good,” he says and moves to Natalie. She’s barely touched her toast other than to massacre it with the tines of her fork. “At least, drink your milk,” he says with a slight edge in his voice. She glances down at the white whole milk with its pasty fat ring around the top and nods happily, agreeing it suits her current diet. Dad rolls his eyes and pecks her on the nose, which earns him a giggle before he hurries out the door.

“Let’s go, girls,” Mom commands as she zips our lunches into our backpacks. I have a Scooby Doo lunchbox, and Natalie has a Holly Hobbie one. My thermos is my favorite part. Mom sometimes fills it with warm soup, and I hope she’s done that today. I squint through the window at the fresh snow that appeared overnight.

I lace up my boots and zip my jacket as high as it will go, tucking in my chin so only a sliver of my face is exposed. As we step outside, the sharp, cold air stings my lungs with every breath. The snow crunches under our feet like broken glass as we walk down the driveway.

“Hurry up, Nat,” I urge her as she dawdles behind me, admiring icicles hanging from tree branches. “We’re going to miss the bus.”

I reach for her mittened hand, and we continue toward the bus stop, but not before she rolls her eyes at me and says, “No, duh!” I’m going to need some extra patience today.

We’ve reached the end of the street and are about to turn onto the main road when we hear the sound of a big car behind us. The engine’s noise grows louder, and I glance over my shoulder to see a white van barrelling down the street. I tug Natalie closer to me, pushing her toward the snowbank on our right. She babbles excitedly about Schoolhouse Rock! as I try to listen for the van’s approach.

It pulls up next to us with a screech of brakes, blocking our path. My heart pounds in my chest as two people, a man and a woman, spring out of the back doors. They don’t say anything - just rush us. I push Natalie away from them with all my strength, but they’re too quick. One grabs at her arms while the other attempts to take her legs.

Natalie screams and thrashes against me as I fight back with everything I have. I grab the woman’s leg and throw her off balance so she drops my sister’s lower body. Natalie continues to thrash around wildly and somehow gets free of the man who had her arms, her slippery jacket making it impossible for him to maintain a good grip.

“Go under the van!” I yell at Natalie. She does as I say and crawls on her hands and knees to the side of the van, slides her small body underneath, and pops out the other side. I can see her legs holding her in place, so I scream again. “RUN, NATALIE! RUN AS FAST AS YOU CAN!”

“Dammit! She got away,” the woman says, wrapping her arms around me.

“Let’s just take this one,” the man says as I scream as loudly as possible. He cuts me off with a hand over my mouth. They heave me into the van, and the door slams shut as the van skids off.

“IVY!” I can hear my sister scream as I curl up into a ball in the back of the van. They have me, so there’s no use fighting, but at least they didn’t get my sister.

Chapter 3

“Young and Innocent"

Ivy - Age 12, 1982

Icurl my body into the smallest ball possible, trying to escape the cold, corrugated metal that digs into my shoulder and hip each time we take a turn or hit a bump. There are no seats back here, only some rope, tools, and old food wrappers. It smells like sweat and dirty feet. My stomach churns as the people who took me argue in the front of the van. It takes every ounce of willpower I have not to vomit cocoa puffs all over myself as we jostle back and forth on the icy road.