The poles tower over the asphalt like chilly metal trees, haunting the area with pale yellow circles of light.
Ness is still asleep, thumb in mouth, T-shirt pushed up, exposing her belly button. I think of what Mrs. Haskell said, noticing for the first time the washboard rows of little-girl ribs. But we’ve always been skinny, as best I can remember. Mama is slim. So is the man.
I want to ask what we’re doing here, as it’s obvious the building is closed. I want to ask what’s next, what happens next, but I swallow my questions in a lump and tend to Jenessa.
“Baby, we’re here.”
I push on her shoulder, but she’s out cold. Gently, I reach around her and sit her up, her head lolling against the seat. She grumbles. Her eyelids flutter.
“Nessa, wake up. We’re here. You have to wake up.”
Mrs. Haskell and the man exit the car, leaving me to it, and I’m glad. Nessa isn’t used to strangers. Better she sticks to what she knows. Her eyes open reluctantly, and her thumb falls out as she blinks at me, surely trying to remember where she is and what we’re doing in a car, of all places. I use my happy voice.
“Remember Mrs. Haskell came and got us? She drove us to where she works. That’s why we’ve stopped.” I lift her by the armpits back onto the seat. “Here, let me tie your shoes.”
Ness yawns. I wait for the teary protest shouted from her eyes, because big girls tie their own shoes, but I don’t get one. She sits silently as I plunk each small foot down on my thigh and tie the dirty white shoelaces, not too loose, not too tight, just like she likes them.
“Take my hand, okay?”
I slide out of the Lexus, tugging her with me. She inches across the seat, our arms taut. The cool air hits her skin, and she hesitates.
“It’s okay, Ness. It’s gonna be okay. You got me. I’m right here.” I squeeze her hand in a show of solidarity. “C’mon.”
I take her coat from the seat and stuff her arms in. Then I turn to Mrs. Haskell.
“She’s just a little girl. She needs sleep—it’s been a long day.”
“I agree, Carey. Your father is bringing his truck around, and there’s a motel right down the road. You girls will stay with me, and your father will be in the room next door. We’ll finish up the paperwork tonight and appear before the judge in the morning.” Jenessa grips my hand something fierce. I must look skeptical, because Mrs. Haskell sighs, her forehead creasing.
“I think after all you’ve been through, this is a better idea than taking you girls to the group home for the night. It’s another half hour away, it’s late, and you need your sleep.”
It could be worse, I reassure myself. Could be left alone with more strangers. Or with him.
I squat down to eye level and take hold of both of Nessa’s hands.
“She’s right. This way, we can get you some food and tuck you into bed before midnight.”
Unconvinced, Ness pulls her hands from mine and folds her arms, her lower lip jutting out.
She wants to go home. She wants the woods. She thinks I’m in charge. But I’m not, not anymore.
“Ness, please?” I use her word. “I’m exhaustified, too. It’s been a long day. I think it’s a good idea.”
She stares back at me, her dark eyes fringed in thick lashes, and I can almost see the cogs and wheels working behind them. To my relief, she finally nods. I get to my feet. Immediately, she takes my hand again.
I turn to Mrs. Haskell, ignoring the man where he leans against a pale blue truck, curlicues of cigarette smoke weaving around him.
“We’ll go. But we ride with you.”
“Fine,” Mrs. Haskell says, motioning us back into the car. She turns to the man. “We’ll follow behind you.”
His gaze rests on me for a moment before he flicks his cigarette in a glowing arc. He walks over to where it lands and grinds it out with the toe of his boot.
“If you did that in the woods, you’d burn the whole place down,” I say.
He shoots me a sheepish grin and picks it up, depositing the butt in a nearby trash receptacle.
“That better?” he asks, like it matters what I think.
I ignore him, leading Jenessa back to her seat in the car.
As if anything could be better.
Buckled in, I feel so small, as small as Jenessa, and just as helpless. The world is endless without the trees to fence it in, the sky huge enough to swallow us whole and spit out our bones dry as kindling.
Already, I want to go back, go backward. The keening rises like the song of a cicada, then two, then hundreds, until the whole world vibrates in a chorus of longing.
All we’d needed was more canned goods. More blankets. More buckshot.
We were doing right fine on our own.
3