the porch, the woman turned and looked at Louise again.
Mimi’s eyes were hard, yet haunted, almost desperate. “You’re going to help us?” she said in her rasping voice. “I’m counting on you. So’s she.”
Louise nodded silently and watched them go. She let the limping dog back in.
I’ll call the child welfare people
, she told herself.
I’ll call the sheriff. I’ll notify people
.
But she had done no such thing. Instead, she’d waited in apprehension for Mimi’s call. It came on a Sunday night.
“Be at the NiteHawk Diner at one A.M .” she’d told Louise. “Meet me in the ladies’ can.”
And Louise had done it. Mimi was dressed much as before, in dirty jeans and a T-shirt. This time she wore a faded denim jacket as well. But at least she’d cleaned up the little girl.
Peyton looked both exhausted and wide-eyed. “She’s tired,” Mimi said gruffly. “We had to walk here.”
They came on foot?
Louise thought. The woman and child must have walked over four miles through the country darkness.
Mimi handed Louise a sealed envelope. On the front was written “Peyton’s grandmother, Jessie Buddress, Endor, Arkansas 1-900-555-6631.”
“Her granny knows she’s coming,” Mimi told Louise. “I told her you’d probably make it tomorrow morning.”
“Did you get her address?” Louise asked nervously.
“I forgot,” Mimi said shortly. “Anyway, I’m going with you partway.”
“What?” Louise asked, liking this less and less. “You didn’t say anything about that before.”
“What difference does it make?” Mimi demanded. “You gotta drive anyhow.”
She reached into the pocket of her jeans and took out the wad of bills. She counted them into Louise’s hand. “That makes six hundred dollars,” she said. “Let’s go. I want you to go through Branson.”
Branson?
thought Louise.
The town with all the music shows? Why?
But she said nothing.
Once in the car, Mimi did not talk, and the child, in the backseat, seemed restless, frightened. Mimi smoked and stared out the window with the air of someone stunned by grief.
When they reached the outskirts of Branson, Missouri, Mimi wanted to stop at a liquor store, but they couldn’t find an open one.
“Screw it,” Mimi had said petulantly. “The hell with it. In a little while, I’ll tell you to stop. I’m getting out.”
“But—but—” Louise said.
“Just
do
it,” Mimi said so sharply that Louise clamped her mouth shut. Louise was tired and nervous and, in truth, frightened. She wanted this terrible adventure to be over.
A few miles later, Mimi told Louise to pull over at a motel that looked little better than a fleabag. In the parking lot in front of the seedy office, Mimi gave Louise a fierce stare.
“You take
good
care of this kid.”
Then Mimi got out of the car and opened the back door. She leaned inside and put her hands on the little girl’s shoulders. “Now you be good for Mrs. Brodnik,”she said. “And be good for your granny. She’ll take
fine
care of you, I promise. Mama’s got to stay here awhile. I’ll come for you when I can.”
Peyton eyed her warily, as if she did not trust her.
“I love you a bunch and I’m proud of you,” she said to Peyton. “I want you to know that. I love you a bunch.” She gave the child a resounding kiss on the cheek.
Then she stood up, looked Louise up and down. “Get her to my grandmother’s. Understand?”
“I understand,” Louise said, her heart beating too hard and too fast.
“Bye, kid,” Mimi said to Peyton. Then she turned sharply and walked away.
Peyton said nothing. She did not try to follow Mimi. She did not cry. She sucked her thumb and stared after her mother.
Louise, her heart beating hellishly, did not know what to say. She put the car in gear and headed once again toward Endor.
The child was uncommunicative to the point of unnerving Louise. She asked only one question. After twenty minutes, she tapped Louise on the shoulder and said,
Mimi’s eyes were hard, yet haunted, almost desperate. “You’re going to help us?” she said in her rasping voice. “I’m counting on you. So’s she.”
Louise nodded silently and watched them go. She let the limping dog back in.
I’ll call the child welfare people
, she told herself.
I’ll call the sheriff. I’ll notify people
.
But she had done no such thing. Instead, she’d waited in apprehension for Mimi’s call. It came on a Sunday night.
“Be at the NiteHawk Diner at one A.M .” she’d told Louise. “Meet me in the ladies’ can.”
And Louise had done it. Mimi was dressed much as before, in dirty jeans and a T-shirt. This time she wore a faded denim jacket as well. But at least she’d cleaned up the little girl.
Peyton looked both exhausted and wide-eyed. “She’s tired,” Mimi said gruffly. “We had to walk here.”
They came on foot?
Louise thought. The woman and child must have walked over four miles through the country darkness.
Mimi handed Louise a sealed envelope. On the front was written “Peyton’s grandmother, Jessie Buddress, Endor, Arkansas 1-900-555-6631.”
“Her granny knows she’s coming,” Mimi told Louise. “I told her you’d probably make it tomorrow morning.”
“Did you get her address?” Louise asked nervously.
“I forgot,” Mimi said shortly. “Anyway, I’m going with you partway.”
“What?” Louise asked, liking this less and less. “You didn’t say anything about that before.”
“What difference does it make?” Mimi demanded. “You gotta drive anyhow.”
She reached into the pocket of her jeans and took out the wad of bills. She counted them into Louise’s hand. “That makes six hundred dollars,” she said. “Let’s go. I want you to go through Branson.”
Branson?
thought Louise.
The town with all the music shows? Why?
But she said nothing.
Once in the car, Mimi did not talk, and the child, in the backseat, seemed restless, frightened. Mimi smoked and stared out the window with the air of someone stunned by grief.
When they reached the outskirts of Branson, Missouri, Mimi wanted to stop at a liquor store, but they couldn’t find an open one.
“Screw it,” Mimi had said petulantly. “The hell with it. In a little while, I’ll tell you to stop. I’m getting out.”
“But—but—” Louise said.
“Just
do
it,” Mimi said so sharply that Louise clamped her mouth shut. Louise was tired and nervous and, in truth, frightened. She wanted this terrible adventure to be over.
A few miles later, Mimi told Louise to pull over at a motel that looked little better than a fleabag. In the parking lot in front of the seedy office, Mimi gave Louise a fierce stare.
“You take
good
care of this kid.”
Then Mimi got out of the car and opened the back door. She leaned inside and put her hands on the little girl’s shoulders. “Now you be good for Mrs. Brodnik,”she said. “And be good for your granny. She’ll take
fine
care of you, I promise. Mama’s got to stay here awhile. I’ll come for you when I can.”
Peyton eyed her warily, as if she did not trust her.
“I love you a bunch and I’m proud of you,” she said to Peyton. “I want you to know that. I love you a bunch.” She gave the child a resounding kiss on the cheek.
Then she stood up, looked Louise up and down. “Get her to my grandmother’s. Understand?”
“I understand,” Louise said, her heart beating too hard and too fast.
“Bye, kid,” Mimi said to Peyton. Then she turned sharply and walked away.
Peyton said nothing. She did not try to follow Mimi. She did not cry. She sucked her thumb and stared after her mother.
Louise, her heart beating hellishly, did not know what to say. She put the car in gear and headed once again toward Endor.
The child was uncommunicative to the point of unnerving Louise. She asked only one question. After twenty minutes, she tapped Louise on the shoulder and said,
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