“But I want you here for real, “ she says, pouting. “Not in my heart, but for real.”
“I’m here, baby.” I take her hand. “See?”
“I’m never leaving, Carey. Even when I’m older than old.”
“I bet I know one of your favorite parts about being here,” I say, teasing her. “No more beans.”
“Uh-uh,” she says, correcting me with a grin. “Human beans.”
I could eat her up.
“Did you finish your homework?”
The campfire goes out, and she shakes her head no, scrambling from the bed and motioning to Shorty. The dog lowers himself slowly to the ground and proceeds to stretch, rump poking the air, front paws splayed, back leg centered beneath him. It looks like one of Melissa’s yoga positions.
“Could you close the door, please?”
They disappear with a click and it’s just me again. Backwoods, clumsy, square-peg me. Circus Bear Carey, and I reckon that’s not the worst folks could call me.
Jenessa would be fine. If they didn’t want me anymore, she’d be fine. That’s the main thing.
Ness would always be okay, if she had Melissa. Melissa would raise her as if she were her own—she already is. Even Delaney loves Nessa. We all know it, no matter how hard she tries to hide it.
Another knock, and I wonder what Jenessa forgot.
“Come in.”
Only it’s Melissa, bearing a tray of butterscotch cake and a glass of chocolate milk. She sets it down on the night table, smiling at me.
“It’s strange to have daughters who do their homework without being scolded into it,” she says.
We stare at each other, the word daughters hanging in the air, dainty and unexpected, like the first snowflake of winter.
I look her in the eye, woods-brave. “Thank you, ma’am.”
“For the cake? It’s no bother.”
“Not just the cake.” Monkey arms sprout from my shoulders, but it’s important. “ She’s happy here.”
Her eyes smile at me, warming me, like the eyes of a mother from a book. Just when I think she’s about to cry, she blinks back the tears and gives a little laugh.
“I really care about your sister. About both of you, for that matter.”
She looks away, taking a moment, then finds my eyes again.
“I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.” She pauses, straightening the edge of my quilt so it hangs straight. “Can I assume your back looks something like Nessa’s?”
I look away, in answer. I know she hears it.
“You must’ve been pretty brave, fending for yourselves in the woods.”
I wish something fierce it were true. Wish I felt it.
“Your dad asked if you’d help him outside,” she says softly. “You can have your cake afterward.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
I slip from the bed, feeling self-conscious as I search for my socks. She pauses in the doorway, watching me.
“Are you, Carey?” she asks.
“Am I what, ma’am?” I find my snow boots half under the bed, hidden behind the dust ruffle.
“Happy here. Perhaps just a little?”
I busy myself by pulling on boots. Ryan makes my heart soar like a kite. This here makes my heart feel gnawed on, like one of Shorty’s bones. But it’s not her fault. It’s not her fault she won’t want me once she knows about the white-star night.
“You’ve been very kind to us. I could never repay you.”
“But . . .” she says sadly, waiting.
“It’s not—it’s just—it’s just that I—”
She crosses the room in two strides and enfolds me in her arms. I hear sobs, muffled by her thick sweater, before I realize that it’s me crying. That’s me. When she kisses my hair, I close my eyes, making a memory, one I can take with me wherever I go.
“We knew it would be harder for you, sweetie. Especially for you. And that’s okay.”
But it’s not.
She sinks to the bed, pulling me with her. We sit together, not talking. I want to be the girl in the mirror glass, the lucky girl who has it easy, the girl who forgets all about the woods and the horrible things she’s done. I want to be like Delaney and go to sleepovers and listen to the cool music and dance around my room in my new jeans. But I don’t know how to be that girl.
“The day before your dad went to get you two, we spent three hours with Mrs. Haskell, asking all sorts of questions. How could we make you girls feel at home. How could we help you fit in. Things like that.”
She smoothes my hair from my face and caresses my cheek with the back of her hand.
“Mrs. Haskell gave us ideas as to what to do, what not to do, how it might go, what problems to expect. But in the end, even if we did everything right, she said it all came down to time.”
“Time?” I sniffle.
“Time. Time to get used to things, time to forge new bonds, new associations. There’s no rushing time. She said it wouldn’t always be easy, and that you girls might be homesick or angry or confused. She said that no matter what happened, the best we could do was just love you as you are.”