Hunger

her mind off Sam.
    “Sorry,” she said to Little Pete, who was as indifferent to her apology as to everything else.
    Someone knocked at the bedroom door, and she jumped.
    The door swung in; it wasn’t closed.
    “It’s me, John.”
    Astrid climbed to her feet, relieved it was just John. Disappointed it was just John.
    “John, what is it?” They wouldn’t send John with bad news. Would they?
    “I can’t find Mary.”
    A flood of relief, instantly replaced by more worry. “She’s not at the day care?”
    He shook his head. His red curls went everywhere, a counterpoint to his serious expression. “She was supposed to come in hours ago. She’s almost never late. I couldn’t leave to lookfor her because we’re shorthanded and we have so many kids sick. I came as soon as I could. I looked in her room. I didn’t find her there.”
    Astrid glanced at Little Pete. He had stalled with his hand on a yellow ball, and seemingly no interest in doing anything with it.
    “Let me look,” Astrid said.
    They entered Mary’s room. It was as neat and organized as ever. But the bed was unmade.
    “She always makes her bed,” Astrid said.
    “Yeah,” John agreed.
    “What’s that sound?” There was a steady hum. Coming from the bathroom. The fan. Astrid tried to open the bathroom door, but it was blocked. She leaned into it and pushed it open enough to see inside.
    Mary was on the floor, unconscious. She was wearing a robe that exposed her calves.
    “Oh, my God,” Astrid cried. “Mary!”
    “Help me push,” Astrid said. Together they forced the door open enough to let them slip inside. Astrid immediately noticed the smell of vomit.
    “She must be sick,” John said.
    The toilet water was slightly discolored. There was a thin trail of vomit running from Mary’s mouth.
    “She’s breathing,” Astrid said quickly. “She’s alive.”
    “I didn’t even know she was sick.”
    Then Astrid saw the little zipper bag, a little Clinique cosmetics bag lying with its contents half spilled onto the bathroom tile.
    She picked it up. She dumped the contents out on the floor. A mostly empty bottle of ipecac. And several different types of laxatives.
    “John, close your eyes for a minute.”
    “Why?”
    “Because I’m going to open Mary’s robe.” She pulled the knot on the robe’s tie and, feeling vaguely squeamish, opened the robe.
    Mary was wearing only panties. Pink. Strange, Astrid thought, that she even noticed. Because the thing most noticeable about Mary was her ribs. They could be easily counted. Her stomach was hollow.
    “Oh, poor Mary.” Astrid breathed, and closed the robe again.
    John opened his eyes. They were wet with tears. “What’s wrong with her?”
    Astrid leaned over to reach Mary’s face. She gently pushed her lips back to see her teeth. She tugged at a lock of Mary’s hair. Strands came loose.
    “She’s starving,” Astrid said.
    “She’s getting as much food as the rest of us,” John protested.
    “She’s not eating. Or when she does eat, she vomits it back up. That’s what the ipecac is for.”
    “Why would she do that?” John wailed.
    “It’s a sickness, John. Anorexia. Bulimia. Both, I guess.”
    “We have to get her some food.”
    “Yes.” Astrid didn’t explain that just getting Mary food might not be enough. She’d read about eating disorders.Sometimes, if kids didn’t get treatment, they died.
    “Nestor, Nestor, Nestor, Nestor.” It was Little Pete, chanting at the top of his lungs. “Nestor, Nestor, Nestor, Nestor.”
    A wave of hopelessness swept through her. Astrid closed her eyes, not wanting to let it get the better of her. She did not need this. Did not need Mary passed out, maybe near death. She already had the autistic brother, and the depressed boyfriend in the middle of some battle. “God forgive me for that,” she chastised herself. “Come on, John, we have to get Mary to Dahra.”
    “Dahra just has a medical book. She’s not an expert.”
    “I know. Look, I don’t know how to take care of someone with anorexia. At least Dahra’s been reading about medicine.”
    “We have to get her some of that deer meat,” John said. “We have to feed her.”
    “What deer meat?”
    “Zil has a deer,” John said. “He’s going to share it this evening. At dinnertime.”
    Despite everything, Astrid’s stomach rumbled. The idea of meat was more compelling than anything else. But even hunger couldn’t quiet the warning bells in her head. “Zil?