I’ll have to give you short notice.”
“How soon?” Louise asked apprehensively. “And how short a notice?”
“A couple days. Maybe sooner. I’ll call you. You’ll have to meet me somewhere and take her. What this guy doesn’t know won’t hurt him—right?”
Wrong
, thought Louise.
This is all strange. This woman and her child are strange. The Wheaton place is strange
. But she thought, yearningly, poignantly, of the money Mimi had flashed so easily.
“Maybe,” Louise said. “I’m not so sure.”
“Look at her,” Mimi cajoled, putting her arm around the child again. “She’s an easy kid to take care of. Quiet. She’s a little picky about her food is all.”
The child frowned and stared even harder at the floor.
“I don’t know,” Louise said and thought of new glasses and seeing clearly again. “How far would I have to take her?”
“Down to Arkansas. Endor. It’s only seven or eight hours,” said Mimi.
Louise took a deep breath, thought hard. She could not drive seven or eight hours at a stretch. She would have to stop halfway, coming and going. That would entail a motel, which would cost even more money …
“I don’t know,” Louise repeated.
Mimi’s toughness seemed to wither away, and naked pleading came into her eyes. “Please,” she said. “You’ve got to help me. Things are getting out of control.”
She lifted up Peyton’s dark bangs, and Louise was shocked to see a purple bruise on the child’s forehead.
“Please,” Mimi said again. She lifted Peyton’s arm and showed more bruise marks, like bluish fingerprints, above and behind the elbow. “I’ve got to figure out what to do. Please. For the love of God.”
Louise’s heart contracted in repulsion and fear. “You have money,” she said. “You can run away.”
“It’s not that easy,” Mimi said earnestly, her thin face suddenly seeming not only too thin, but vulnerable, as well. “I’ve got to have some time.”
Against her better judgment, Louise had agreed, not knowing if pity or greed was the stronger of her motives.
Mimi pressed the first hundred dollars into Louise’s hand. “This is our secret, right?” she said.
Louise nodded numbly, not sure the secret should be kept.
“Whatever you do, don’t call me at the Wheaton place,” Mimi warned her. “I’ll get in touch with you, not the other way around.”
A dozen worries danced a sickly dance through Louise’s mind. “But what if I have the child, and—and there’s an emergency?” she asked. “What do I do?”
Mimi brushed away the question. “Call my grandma. I’ll give you her number. I don’t have her address. You’ll have to call when you get to town. I’ll give you some papers to take her. Her name is Jessie Buddress. Don’t tell her anything. Just give her my kid, all right? I’ll—be along for her when I can.”
“When you can?” Louise asked. “What do you mean?”
“Just that,” Mimi assured her. “I’ll be along when I can.” She gave Peyton another squeeze. “See this nice lady? In a little while she’s gonna take you to your granny. But it’s a secret, see? You can’t tell it. Or else.”
The child looked frightened.
I want no part of this
, Louise wanted to say. But she said nothing.
“Your granny’s gonna love you to pieces,” Mimi told the child.
Peyton nodded listlessly.
“We gotta go,” Mimi said, rising. “He doesn’t like me to be gone too long.”
“Let me give you some apples,” Louise said on a sudden impulse to do something kind for the child. “They’re not much, only windfalls, but you could make a pie.”
Mimi did not look grateful or even interested, but Louise hurried into her kitchen and took up one of the small bags of bruised apples from her counter.
“There’s a copy of my favorite pie recipe in there,” Louise said. “Apple butter, too. And a Bible verse.”
Mimi accepted the bag almost reluctantly, then took Peyton by the hand and led her outside. On
“How soon?” Louise asked apprehensively. “And how short a notice?”
“A couple days. Maybe sooner. I’ll call you. You’ll have to meet me somewhere and take her. What this guy doesn’t know won’t hurt him—right?”
Wrong
, thought Louise.
This is all strange. This woman and her child are strange. The Wheaton place is strange
. But she thought, yearningly, poignantly, of the money Mimi had flashed so easily.
“Maybe,” Louise said. “I’m not so sure.”
“Look at her,” Mimi cajoled, putting her arm around the child again. “She’s an easy kid to take care of. Quiet. She’s a little picky about her food is all.”
The child frowned and stared even harder at the floor.
“I don’t know,” Louise said and thought of new glasses and seeing clearly again. “How far would I have to take her?”
“Down to Arkansas. Endor. It’s only seven or eight hours,” said Mimi.
Louise took a deep breath, thought hard. She could not drive seven or eight hours at a stretch. She would have to stop halfway, coming and going. That would entail a motel, which would cost even more money …
“I don’t know,” Louise repeated.
Mimi’s toughness seemed to wither away, and naked pleading came into her eyes. “Please,” she said. “You’ve got to help me. Things are getting out of control.”
She lifted up Peyton’s dark bangs, and Louise was shocked to see a purple bruise on the child’s forehead.
“Please,” Mimi said again. She lifted Peyton’s arm and showed more bruise marks, like bluish fingerprints, above and behind the elbow. “I’ve got to figure out what to do. Please. For the love of God.”
Louise’s heart contracted in repulsion and fear. “You have money,” she said. “You can run away.”
“It’s not that easy,” Mimi said earnestly, her thin face suddenly seeming not only too thin, but vulnerable, as well. “I’ve got to have some time.”
Against her better judgment, Louise had agreed, not knowing if pity or greed was the stronger of her motives.
Mimi pressed the first hundred dollars into Louise’s hand. “This is our secret, right?” she said.
Louise nodded numbly, not sure the secret should be kept.
“Whatever you do, don’t call me at the Wheaton place,” Mimi warned her. “I’ll get in touch with you, not the other way around.”
A dozen worries danced a sickly dance through Louise’s mind. “But what if I have the child, and—and there’s an emergency?” she asked. “What do I do?”
Mimi brushed away the question. “Call my grandma. I’ll give you her number. I don’t have her address. You’ll have to call when you get to town. I’ll give you some papers to take her. Her name is Jessie Buddress. Don’t tell her anything. Just give her my kid, all right? I’ll—be along for her when I can.”
“When you can?” Louise asked. “What do you mean?”
“Just that,” Mimi assured her. “I’ll be along when I can.” She gave Peyton another squeeze. “See this nice lady? In a little while she’s gonna take you to your granny. But it’s a secret, see? You can’t tell it. Or else.”
The child looked frightened.
I want no part of this
, Louise wanted to say. But she said nothing.
“Your granny’s gonna love you to pieces,” Mimi told the child.
Peyton nodded listlessly.
“We gotta go,” Mimi said, rising. “He doesn’t like me to be gone too long.”
“Let me give you some apples,” Louise said on a sudden impulse to do something kind for the child. “They’re not much, only windfalls, but you could make a pie.”
Mimi did not look grateful or even interested, but Louise hurried into her kitchen and took up one of the small bags of bruised apples from her counter.
“There’s a copy of my favorite pie recipe in there,” Louise said. “Apple butter, too. And a Bible verse.”
Mimi accepted the bag almost reluctantly, then took Peyton by the hand and led her outside. On
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