Noodle comes skipping out of the house wearing her purple and pink fairy costume—wings and everything. I pull my cap down low and try to hide my grin. I know I should probably tell her to go in and change, but this is the nicest outfit Noodle can think of for herself. Why spoil it?
“You look perfect,” I say, as I hop out and let her in the truck.
“Thanks.” She slides over to the passenger seat, carefully placing her wand next to her.
As we drive down Route 17, across the county line, Noodle finally asks where we’re headed. I get the feeling she doesn’t even care as long as we’re together. That’s how it’s always been between us.
“I’m taking you to Murpheyville.”
“To the auto parts store?” She pulls the map out of the glove box. She doesn’t even seem slightly disappointed at the prospect.
“Nope. I’m taking you to All Saints.”
“The place with the big steeple? Wow. What for?”
“Well…,” I say as I dig the letter out of my pocket and hand it to her. “You, Miss Natalie Anne Tate, have been accepted as a student.”
She smooths the paper on her lap, fiddling with the edges. “Did I do something wrong?”
“No, nothing like that. It’s a school for smart kids. Like you.”
She swallows hard. “You’re not leaving me there, are you?”
“Of course not.” I reach over and give her arm a squeeze. “I’ll take you every day and pick you up.”
She studies the map. I can tell by the way her eyes light up that she’s doing math in her head. “But that’s forty-six miles each way.”
“It’ll give me time to think. You’ll be doing me a big favor. It’s not all good looks, you know. I’ve got a lot going on up here.” I tap the bill of my cap.
She giggles. “Like thinking about Ali Miller?”
I can’t believe it was just last night that Ali was lying here in my truck, right where Noodle’s sitting. On pure instinct, I reach for the stereo, forgetting that I ripped it out a couple of days ago.
“What happened here?” She touches the wires.
“Broke.” I squint into the sun.
“You know, Ali’ll be at the Preservation Society tonight, the Harvest Festival.”
“Yeah, I know.”
“You should dance with her.”
“You think?”
She nods her head emphatically.
“And who are you going to dance with?”
“Maybe Mom.” She shrugs her shoulders. “Jess, if she’ll let me.”
“Don’t pay any attention to Jess. She’s going through a phase. Best if we let her alone.”
“She’s just sad ’cause Dad died.”
I feel a tiny stab in my heart. Maybe Noodle’s right. I should probably cut Jess some slack. She may look grown up, but she’s still just a kid. I need to remember that.
Noodle rolls down the window, carving her hand through the air like it’s a paper airplane, and smiles over at me. All it takes is something simple like this to make her happy. I hope she can stay like this forever.
“Do you want me to sing for you?”
“Sure.” I chuckle.
Noodle starts singing a tune I recognize. It’s this weird counting song she made up when she was little. I can’t believe she still remembers that.
With the sun in her hair, her fairy wings flapping in the wind, and that toothless grin, I feel something I haven’t felt in over a year. Hope.
As I pull off the highway into Murpheyville, the church comes into view. It’s all dark-gray stonework surrounded by a grove of old oaks and pines. I’ve never really looked at it before, but it’s imposing, like something straight out of a history book—something you’d see in the English countryside, not some hick town in Central Oklahoma.
“Look, Miss Granger’s here.” Noodle leans up on her knees and waves at her as we pull into the parking lot.
“I didn’t know you’ve met Miss Granger.”
“Sure, silly. She’s always at Oakmoor when I help out Mrs. Gifford on Saturdays. She makes the best Rice Krispies Treats. And she came to Dad’s funeral, remember?”
I don’t remember her being there, but then I don’t remember a lot about that day. It’s weird to think she’s been watching me all this time. Watching all of the Preservation Society kids.
“I like her,” Noodle says. “She’s nice.”
Miss Granger waves back. She’s standing in front of the chapel with two nuns. She’s wearing a blue blouse that I saw hanging in her closet with a slim tweed skirt, her hair pulled back in its usual tight knot.
“I like her, too,” I say, feeling a little embarrassed about rummaging through her things last night.
We get out of the truck and Noodle practically drags me across the lot like a Clydesdale to meet them. I’ve never seen a nun in real life. They’re pretty intimidating looking, but Noodle doesn’t seem fazed in the least.
“This is Sister Agnes and Sister Grace,” Miss Granger says.
“Hello, Natalie.” Sister Agnes smiles down at her warmly.
“It’s Nood—,” I start to say, but she steps on my foot.
“Yes, I’m Natalie Tate.” She reaches out to shake their hands.
Fresh start. Maybe she’s been craving it, too. Natalie. That’s going to take some getting used to.
“Are you a good fairy or a mischievous fairy?” Sister Grace asks.
“I count things.”