didn’t take the bag,” I say.
It’s just an idea, I’m thinking to myself. We’re going to need all the clothes we have in there so I don’t imagine she’ll go for it. Plus we only have fourteen dollars and thirty-eight cents to our names, so buying new stuff is out of the question, even if we went to the White Elephant. Which we won’t. Believe me.
“We can’t just not have clothes,” she says. And she’s right.
“But it’s holding us up,” I say in what Momma would call my devil’s-argument voice. I think that’s what she calls it. Oh, Lord, I’m already starting to forget the things Momma says.
“I know it,” she says, and from the tilt of her head I can tell she’s looking at it to decide what we can do.
“I got it! What if we take out the clothes we think we’ll really need
93
E l,l ZAB ET H F I, OC K
and we put them on over the clothes we’re wearing and then we
won’t have to carry anything,” I say.
“Yeah!” she says.
So that’s how come we end up wearing all these layers that’re making me sweat and making Emma look fat.
Best decision we ever made, though, let me tell you. It feels great not to have to carry anything but the Jif and my stamp book and I know no one really goes in that barn all that much so they won’t find the big bag we left behind. At least not for days. By then we’ll be long gone.
I sure wish I had thought to bring along a ponytail holder, though, because my long hair is really bothering me. It’s hot against the back of my neck so I am trying to think about what I can use to hold it back.
Jackpot. Up ahead I see the long arms of a weeping willow and I know I can use one of the thinnest limbs that play the ground like it’s a piano.
“Just a sec,” I say to Emma, and I bend a branch back and forth to break it since it’s still alive and won’t snap off easily for me. But it’s good that it won’t because then I bend it around my hair in back and sure enough there’s my ponytail. I feel cooler already.
“Are you scared?” Emma asks me. And before I can even answer her I feel her little hand sneak inside mine.
“No,” I lie to her. I give her hand a tiny squeeze to let her know it’s okay to let me be the brave one for a change. But I don’t feel very brave. At least not right now in the dark miles away from the Nest. Oh, Lord, what’re we going to do?
While I wait for a sign from God telling us what to do next, we walk. And walk. And walk.
Emma has long since let my hand go and she’s trailing behind me
94
ME & EMMA
so I know she’s real tired. About three times as far as I can throw a rock is the Godsey farm and I know that’s where we’ll hide out. Once, when we were much younger, Momma took us with her when she went to see Mrs. Godsey about something that made her spitting mad and we played outside while the two of them talked inside. We couldn’t tell what they were saying to each other but the way Momma warned us about bothering them I figure it was top-secret money business. That stuff’s really boring, anyway, so I didn’t care a whit about finding out. I was happy because Emma discovered a hole under their front porch that was just big enough for us to squeeze through. I hope no one got around to fixing that hole since that’s our ticket to safety once the sun comes up. We could even sleep a little if the coast is clear.
“Hey, Era,” I say. “Momma still hates the Godseys, right?”
“I don’t know,” she says back. “I think so.”
“Perfect,” I say. Momma won’t want to come over here to the God-sey farm to look for us so I figure we’ve got all day to plan out where to go later.
We’re not that far from the front of the house and that’s good news since it feels like the sun’s about to wake up. Also, I bet the God-sey boys are working the fields today and my guess is they’ll be up soon. The Godsey boys have black and sticky hands half the year from all the tobacco they prime.
It’s just an idea, I’m thinking to myself. We’re going to need all the clothes we have in there so I don’t imagine she’ll go for it. Plus we only have fourteen dollars and thirty-eight cents to our names, so buying new stuff is out of the question, even if we went to the White Elephant. Which we won’t. Believe me.
“We can’t just not have clothes,” she says. And she’s right.
“But it’s holding us up,” I say in what Momma would call my devil’s-argument voice. I think that’s what she calls it. Oh, Lord, I’m already starting to forget the things Momma says.
“I know it,” she says, and from the tilt of her head I can tell she’s looking at it to decide what we can do.
“I got it! What if we take out the clothes we think we’ll really need
93
E l,l ZAB ET H F I, OC K
and we put them on over the clothes we’re wearing and then we
won’t have to carry anything,” I say.
“Yeah!” she says.
So that’s how come we end up wearing all these layers that’re making me sweat and making Emma look fat.
Best decision we ever made, though, let me tell you. It feels great not to have to carry anything but the Jif and my stamp book and I know no one really goes in that barn all that much so they won’t find the big bag we left behind. At least not for days. By then we’ll be long gone.
I sure wish I had thought to bring along a ponytail holder, though, because my long hair is really bothering me. It’s hot against the back of my neck so I am trying to think about what I can use to hold it back.
Jackpot. Up ahead I see the long arms of a weeping willow and I know I can use one of the thinnest limbs that play the ground like it’s a piano.
“Just a sec,” I say to Emma, and I bend a branch back and forth to break it since it’s still alive and won’t snap off easily for me. But it’s good that it won’t because then I bend it around my hair in back and sure enough there’s my ponytail. I feel cooler already.
“Are you scared?” Emma asks me. And before I can even answer her I feel her little hand sneak inside mine.
“No,” I lie to her. I give her hand a tiny squeeze to let her know it’s okay to let me be the brave one for a change. But I don’t feel very brave. At least not right now in the dark miles away from the Nest. Oh, Lord, what’re we going to do?
While I wait for a sign from God telling us what to do next, we walk. And walk. And walk.
Emma has long since let my hand go and she’s trailing behind me
94
ME & EMMA
so I know she’s real tired. About three times as far as I can throw a rock is the Godsey farm and I know that’s where we’ll hide out. Once, when we were much younger, Momma took us with her when she went to see Mrs. Godsey about something that made her spitting mad and we played outside while the two of them talked inside. We couldn’t tell what they were saying to each other but the way Momma warned us about bothering them I figure it was top-secret money business. That stuff’s really boring, anyway, so I didn’t care a whit about finding out. I was happy because Emma discovered a hole under their front porch that was just big enough for us to squeeze through. I hope no one got around to fixing that hole since that’s our ticket to safety once the sun comes up. We could even sleep a little if the coast is clear.
“Hey, Era,” I say. “Momma still hates the Godseys, right?”
“I don’t know,” she says back. “I think so.”
“Perfect,” I say. Momma won’t want to come over here to the God-sey farm to look for us so I figure we’ve got all day to plan out where to go later.
We’re not that far from the front of the house and that’s good news since it feels like the sun’s about to wake up. Also, I bet the God-sey boys are working the fields today and my guess is they’ll be up soon. The Godsey boys have black and sticky hands half the year from all the tobacco they prime.
Similar Books
The Billionaires Hired Baby Mother: When the wife and surrogate are two different people
BWWM Club, Tyra Small
