The Entirely Fabricated Story of Lizzie Nickerson

Chapter 27

One Saturday, as the rays of the morning sun cut through her window, Lizzie lowered her book and from her third-floor perch, watched a rental van park at the curb. Two guys and a woman wearing a jean jacket and matching ballcap got out of the truck and climbed the steps to the porch of the apartment building.

Lizzie shuffled down the hallway and into the kitchen where she found her Aunt Sonya peeling apples at the sink.

"Do you want to help me bake an apple pie?" Sonya asked.

"People are coming into the building," Lizzie replied, her anxiety nearing full throttle.

"What people?"

"People I don't know!" She crossed the kitchen and opened the front door.

"Where are you going?"

Lizzie ambled out into the hallway and peered down the staircase. The woman and the two guys started up the stairs.

"Lizzie," said Sonya. "Get back in here. You're still in your pajamas."

The words hit her ears but didn't light up any receptors in Lizzie's brain. She watched the trio reach the second-floor landing and then she heard keys.

"They're going into Mister Gibbs' apartment!" she said and chugged down the stairs in her bare feet.

"Lizzie!" Sonya called.

Lizzie saw them through the open door milling about Frederick Gibbs' living room.

A dark-haired boy about Lizzie's age noticed her standing in the hall watching them. "Hey, Mom," he said and pointed to Lizzie.

His older brother, a college-age young man grinned. "Wow. You got hot chicks following you wherever you go."

"Shut up!"

The woman in the denim ballcap and jacket came to the door. "Can I help you?"

Lizzie diverted her eyes, looking past the guys into the apartment.

"Oh, wait," the woman said. "You're Lizzie, right?"

Lizzie nodded then looked down at her bare feet.

"My dad told me about you," the woman said. "He said you were a good friend."

The dots began connecting. Frederick Gibbs was this lady's father. Who else would possibly tell a complete stranger that Lizzie was a good friend? That's the only thing that made sense. But if this lady was his daughter, then she wasn't a complete stranger.

"You have your dad's smile," said Lizzie without a smile of her own.

"Oh. Really?" the lady said, a little taken aback.

"He smiled a lot," Lizzie said, her eyes on the woman's mouth.

"I'm so glad to hear that."

The two boys crept closer to the conversation, standing in the entryway of the apartment.

"We came up from Atlanta," the woman said. "I'm Nikki." She glanced up when she heard Sonya rumbling down the stairs.

Lizzie!" Sonya said. "For goodness sake. Put some clothes on. And do something with your hair, my God."

The boys chuckled.

"I'm sorry if she's bothering you," Sonya said.

"I was just telling your daughter that my dad talked about her a lot. My dad, Frederick Gibbs."

"I'm so sorry about your father," said Sonya. "He was a very nice man. A good neighbor."

"She's my aunt," said Lizzie. Not my mother."

"Her guardian," said Sonya. "I'm pleased to meet you." She extended her hand. "I'm Sonya Finch."

"Nikki Patterson. I brought the boys up to help me clean out the apartment. Looks like there's a lot to go through."

"Well, if there's anything we can do to help," said Sonya. "I live right up there. Don't hesitate to knock if you need anything."

"Is it hard to drive that truck?" Lizzie asked.

"Not really," said the older boy. "I'm not saying I'm good at it. But I did all right."

"Are you Scooter?" Lizzie said.

The boy laughed. "No, he's Scooter."

The younger boy blushed. "My Grandad used to call me Scooter. My name is Scott."

"He told me stories about Scooter. Not you," she said to the older boy.

"Well, ouch," he said.

"Lizzie." Sonya interrupted." Let's go back upstairs and get dressed. Come on. These people are busy. They don't have time to stand around and chat all day."

Lizzie peered past the boys into the apartment.

"Lizzie! Let's go," said Sonya growing impatient.

"You like airplanes," she said as she ascended the stairs.

"I did when I was a little kid," said Scott.

"And parachutes. You like parachutes."

"It was nice meeting you," said Nikki.

"Yes, very nice," said Sonya goading her niece up to the third floor.

Once they returned to the apartment, Sonya went to the sink to wash her hands before returning to peeling apples.

"Lizzie, you can't go out of the apartment in your pajamas, barefoot, and with your hair looking like... like that. You're not a little kid anymore."

"Oh, geez. Who cares about my hair?"

"It's embarrassing. You look like a wild woman."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Like you were raised out in the jungle by wolves."

"Wolves don't live in the jungle. That doesn't even make sense."

"Well, like you lived in a cave with a pack of wolves."

"Actually, that would be pretty awesome. I don't overuse that word like the kids at school but it truly would be awesome!"

"Just like in the movies," said Sonya.

"I don't watch movies. You know that. They make me dizzy."

"Forget I said it."

"Modern-day dogs evolved from wolves, you know. Gray wolves, I think. They're the same species, Canis lupus. If you checked their DNA, you'd find that wolves and dogs are a 99 percent match. That's about the same DNA percentage as chimpanzees and humans."

"You're missing the point, Lizzie. Looking like you're uncivilized isn't a good thing. Civilized people live in societies and follow social norms. They bathe, they brush their teeth, they comb their hair, they wear shoes."

"Now you sound like the man. Momma said the man wants us all to be conformists, not individuals."

Sonya was tempted to say something like "And how did that work out for your momma?" But she bit her tongue and focused on peeling apples.

"Brush your hair, Lizzie. And put on some clothes."