carried?” I asked again.
Lillian straightened up a bit and patted at her hair. “I don’t know if I should sit here in this heat.”
Parts of Lillian’s story were still a mystery to me. Once she was an orphan eating her mother’s sausage, and later, as Nettie Johnson said, a teacher. Was she a teacher when she took the children to sleep down at the lake? And what did Viktor have to do with it, besides the fact that the Berglunds gave Sparrow Road to charity?
When Gray’s old van pulled into the driveway, I rubbed my thumb along the silver hope charm Gray gave me for a gift. It was a tiny flame with hope written in the center and Raine engraved across the back. Ever since the barbecue, it hung around my neck on a fragile silver chain. And hope was what I had.
When Gray climbed down from his van, my heart beat harder than it had the night we met. My dad . I kept those secret words inside myself. I knew it was too soon to even say them.
“It’s him,” I said to Lillian. I was glad I had her company. Today, Gray was dressed for Sunday service at Good Shepherd. He wore a crisp white dress shirt and jeans. A thin black tie.
Gray rested his boot against the bottom step. He pushed his bangs back from his face, rubbed his hand under his nose. A week had passed since we first met, and I could tell he was just as nervous to see me again too. Timid grown-ups were always a surprise. I imagined most folks grew up to be as confident as Grandpa Mac and Mama. “Your mama packed a picnic?”
“Uh-huh.” It wasn’t any easier to talk, or stand, or think the second time I saw him.
“That’s sweet.” He dropped his hands into his pockets. “Good book?”
“It’s Lillian’s,” I said. “Her poetry. She wrote it.”
“That so?” He smiled at Lillian. “I’d like to give that book a read.” Maybe Gray could tell me what it meant to carry a question so far into the future. He seemed to understand lost things.
“We can take it on the picnic.” I wished Josie had agreed to join us on the picnic. If she were here she’d do all the talking, but Josie said I’d do just fine by myself.
“May I help you?” Eleanor opened up the screen door and glared at Gray. In her stern black skirt and blouse Eleanor looked like the boss of Sparrow Road. “This is private property.”
“Sure.” Gray kept one boot on the step, but I could see his shoulders shrink. “I’m here to visit Raine.”
“Raine?” Eleanor looked at me. Then she glanced across the yard toward Viktor’s office. “Where’s your mother, Raine?”
“She’s at our cottage.”
She narrowed her beady eyes at Gray. “And how do you know Raine?” Eleanor jutted out her pointy chin.
Gray looked at me. “Well, I just do,” he said. “I just know Raine.”
“She’s waiting for her father,” Lillian said to Eleanor. “He has the means to feed her.”
“Oh, stop with all that nonsense,” Eleanor snapped at Lillian. “Raine, go get your mother now. And ask her to bring Viktor.”
“No need for this,” Gray said. “You’re scaring Raine.” Then he gave Eleanor a smile. “Heck, you’re scaring me.”
“Get your mother,” Eleanor repeated. I jumped off the porch and ran. I didn’t want Eleanor to do anything to Gray. I didn’t want her to make Gray leave. There was the picnic, and Lillian’s book of poetry I wanted Gray to read, and the most important mystery I hoped to solve today, the one Mama said Gray would have to tell me. Where did he disappear to all these years?
31
Mama came. She came racing up there barefoot still in her pajama shorts and T-shirt. She didn’t say Gray was my father, but she said that he was safe. A friend of Viktor’s who had permission to visit Sparrow Road.
“This man knows Raine?” Eleanor sneered.
“He does.” Mama set her hand down on my head. “And you may go inside now, Eleanor. I’ll take care of Raine.”
“Well, someone should,” Eleanor huffed. “This place! I came to write,
Lillian straightened up a bit and patted at her hair. “I don’t know if I should sit here in this heat.”
Parts of Lillian’s story were still a mystery to me. Once she was an orphan eating her mother’s sausage, and later, as Nettie Johnson said, a teacher. Was she a teacher when she took the children to sleep down at the lake? And what did Viktor have to do with it, besides the fact that the Berglunds gave Sparrow Road to charity?
When Gray’s old van pulled into the driveway, I rubbed my thumb along the silver hope charm Gray gave me for a gift. It was a tiny flame with hope written in the center and Raine engraved across the back. Ever since the barbecue, it hung around my neck on a fragile silver chain. And hope was what I had.
When Gray climbed down from his van, my heart beat harder than it had the night we met. My dad . I kept those secret words inside myself. I knew it was too soon to even say them.
“It’s him,” I said to Lillian. I was glad I had her company. Today, Gray was dressed for Sunday service at Good Shepherd. He wore a crisp white dress shirt and jeans. A thin black tie.
Gray rested his boot against the bottom step. He pushed his bangs back from his face, rubbed his hand under his nose. A week had passed since we first met, and I could tell he was just as nervous to see me again too. Timid grown-ups were always a surprise. I imagined most folks grew up to be as confident as Grandpa Mac and Mama. “Your mama packed a picnic?”
“Uh-huh.” It wasn’t any easier to talk, or stand, or think the second time I saw him.
“That’s sweet.” He dropped his hands into his pockets. “Good book?”
“It’s Lillian’s,” I said. “Her poetry. She wrote it.”
“That so?” He smiled at Lillian. “I’d like to give that book a read.” Maybe Gray could tell me what it meant to carry a question so far into the future. He seemed to understand lost things.
“We can take it on the picnic.” I wished Josie had agreed to join us on the picnic. If she were here she’d do all the talking, but Josie said I’d do just fine by myself.
“May I help you?” Eleanor opened up the screen door and glared at Gray. In her stern black skirt and blouse Eleanor looked like the boss of Sparrow Road. “This is private property.”
“Sure.” Gray kept one boot on the step, but I could see his shoulders shrink. “I’m here to visit Raine.”
“Raine?” Eleanor looked at me. Then she glanced across the yard toward Viktor’s office. “Where’s your mother, Raine?”
“She’s at our cottage.”
She narrowed her beady eyes at Gray. “And how do you know Raine?” Eleanor jutted out her pointy chin.
Gray looked at me. “Well, I just do,” he said. “I just know Raine.”
“She’s waiting for her father,” Lillian said to Eleanor. “He has the means to feed her.”
“Oh, stop with all that nonsense,” Eleanor snapped at Lillian. “Raine, go get your mother now. And ask her to bring Viktor.”
“No need for this,” Gray said. “You’re scaring Raine.” Then he gave Eleanor a smile. “Heck, you’re scaring me.”
“Get your mother,” Eleanor repeated. I jumped off the porch and ran. I didn’t want Eleanor to do anything to Gray. I didn’t want her to make Gray leave. There was the picnic, and Lillian’s book of poetry I wanted Gray to read, and the most important mystery I hoped to solve today, the one Mama said Gray would have to tell me. Where did he disappear to all these years?
31
Mama came. She came racing up there barefoot still in her pajama shorts and T-shirt. She didn’t say Gray was my father, but she said that he was safe. A friend of Viktor’s who had permission to visit Sparrow Road.
“This man knows Raine?” Eleanor sneered.
“He does.” Mama set her hand down on my head. “And you may go inside now, Eleanor. I’ll take care of Raine.”
“Well, someone should,” Eleanor huffed. “This place! I came to write,
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