knees, the shoulders on the big coat sloping halfway down her arms. It was someone else’s coat, someone much bigger than her. She’d probably stolen it anyway. And it didn’t fit, just like nothing fitted for her.
Angel’s eyes were vivid. She moved away from me, climbed on the straw bales, and sat at the top. She could see what was coming.
“Tell me the truth about Lunar,” I said. “Tell me why I can’t tell anyone else you’re here.”
She picked at some loose cement between the bricks, not looking at me, studying each bit as if it was important. Stalling. Thinking of another lie?
“If I tell you,” she said, “then you have to do what I say.”
“Like what?” I snapped.
“Forget it.”
“Is it something else bad? Stealing or something like that?”
“I said forget it.” Her voice was quiet and heavy.
And I don’t know why, but I said, “Okay! Just tell me!”
Angel tied a piece of straw in knots. And I waited.
“What do you want me to do?” I said.
“Nothing,” she said. “I just wanted to see if you would.”
“I said I would!” I snapped. “And I will.”
And I was startled because I meant it and I didn’t care about all her lying and games and what was hurting.
Angel slid off the bales and walked right up to me, just like she had before. Her shoulders leaned in until her nose almost touched mine. She burned me with her eyes.
“They’re . . . all I’ve got.”
“Who? Belle and Lunar? What do you mean they’re all you’ve got? What about your family and the people you’re visiting?”
She stayed frozen, breathing loudly through her nose, her eyes blazing, my question hanging in the air like ice. I knew I couldn’t give up. If she saw me back down at all, I’d never find out.
Car tires tumbled over the gravel in the lane, rumbled into the yard. The engine stopped. Two doors opened, closed.
“Mrs. Hemsworth?” a voice called. “It’s the police.”
I saw the fear in Angel’s eyes as she stared at me, and I knew they had come for her.
“Why are they here?” I whispered.
She tried to listen to what was going on out in the yard, to the distant voices.
“I ran away.” Her tiny voice was empty and cold. “They put me in a foster home, and I ran away.”
I could hardly breathe. No matter what I had already thought, I wasn’t expecting that. I put my hand over my mouth so I didn’t cry out.
“If you tell anyone, they’ll find me and take me back. I don’t want to go back, not yet.”
Angel was still looking at me, pleading. We both turned toward the foal. The glass in his eyes was dark, almost black. Angel wasn’t asking me to lie for her again. Now she was asking me to look after Lunar.
My heart ached. I nodded. She turned her back, and I could hear the tears in her voice.
“Ask your aunt to bring Rita’s geese back.”
Then she ran. Out of the stable door, through the yard. Heavy thuds stamped after her. A woman shouted, “That’s her! Angel Weston, stop! Come back!”
I looked through the crack in the door, saw Angel running up the lane, springing over a gate as a policeman and policewoman chased after her. Leaving Rita on the porch, her face buried in her hands. Leaving me holding Lunar, who was trying to stumble after Angel.
Thirty-Three
R ita and I lay side by side against the pillows on her bed. Angel was a runaway. She had no family, no mother who looked after her. I knew what it was like to have my dad leave and not come back, but what was it like to be taken away from your family? It seemed a hundred times worse. A million.
I missed my mom just then more than anything in the world.
“They’ll take her back, won’t they?” I said.
Rita squeezed my hand.
“I should have known why she’d come here.” Her voice stirred the emptiness in the room. “That poor child.”
Nobody had called Angel that—a poor child. It was only because now we both knew why she had been hiding that everything started to fall into place. No
Angel’s eyes were vivid. She moved away from me, climbed on the straw bales, and sat at the top. She could see what was coming.
“Tell me the truth about Lunar,” I said. “Tell me why I can’t tell anyone else you’re here.”
She picked at some loose cement between the bricks, not looking at me, studying each bit as if it was important. Stalling. Thinking of another lie?
“If I tell you,” she said, “then you have to do what I say.”
“Like what?” I snapped.
“Forget it.”
“Is it something else bad? Stealing or something like that?”
“I said forget it.” Her voice was quiet and heavy.
And I don’t know why, but I said, “Okay! Just tell me!”
Angel tied a piece of straw in knots. And I waited.
“What do you want me to do?” I said.
“Nothing,” she said. “I just wanted to see if you would.”
“I said I would!” I snapped. “And I will.”
And I was startled because I meant it and I didn’t care about all her lying and games and what was hurting.
Angel slid off the bales and walked right up to me, just like she had before. Her shoulders leaned in until her nose almost touched mine. She burned me with her eyes.
“They’re . . . all I’ve got.”
“Who? Belle and Lunar? What do you mean they’re all you’ve got? What about your family and the people you’re visiting?”
She stayed frozen, breathing loudly through her nose, her eyes blazing, my question hanging in the air like ice. I knew I couldn’t give up. If she saw me back down at all, I’d never find out.
Car tires tumbled over the gravel in the lane, rumbled into the yard. The engine stopped. Two doors opened, closed.
“Mrs. Hemsworth?” a voice called. “It’s the police.”
I saw the fear in Angel’s eyes as she stared at me, and I knew they had come for her.
“Why are they here?” I whispered.
She tried to listen to what was going on out in the yard, to the distant voices.
“I ran away.” Her tiny voice was empty and cold. “They put me in a foster home, and I ran away.”
I could hardly breathe. No matter what I had already thought, I wasn’t expecting that. I put my hand over my mouth so I didn’t cry out.
“If you tell anyone, they’ll find me and take me back. I don’t want to go back, not yet.”
Angel was still looking at me, pleading. We both turned toward the foal. The glass in his eyes was dark, almost black. Angel wasn’t asking me to lie for her again. Now she was asking me to look after Lunar.
My heart ached. I nodded. She turned her back, and I could hear the tears in her voice.
“Ask your aunt to bring Rita’s geese back.”
Then she ran. Out of the stable door, through the yard. Heavy thuds stamped after her. A woman shouted, “That’s her! Angel Weston, stop! Come back!”
I looked through the crack in the door, saw Angel running up the lane, springing over a gate as a policeman and policewoman chased after her. Leaving Rita on the porch, her face buried in her hands. Leaving me holding Lunar, who was trying to stumble after Angel.
Thirty-Three
R ita and I lay side by side against the pillows on her bed. Angel was a runaway. She had no family, no mother who looked after her. I knew what it was like to have my dad leave and not come back, but what was it like to be taken away from your family? It seemed a hundred times worse. A million.
I missed my mom just then more than anything in the world.
“They’ll take her back, won’t they?” I said.
Rita squeezed my hand.
“I should have known why she’d come here.” Her voice stirred the emptiness in the room. “That poor child.”
Nobody had called Angel that—a poor child. It was only because now we both knew why she had been hiding that everything started to fall into place. No
Similar Books
