As we went past Newell’s field, Hannie and I looked over to the fence post at the same time.
“Gone,” Hannie said. “Unicorn gone. Good-bye, unicorn.”
I looked over to where I’d seen that unicorn, where I’d held it and wished for Hannie to be all right. Even in the fading light, I could see it was gone.
“Hannie make wish,” Hannie said. “Hannie make wish on unicorn.”
“Is that why you left it here, Hannie?” I asked. “You made your wish and then you were finished with it?”
Hannie nodded.
“What did you wish for, Hannie?”
“Hannie wish Mags back.”
I put my hands on her shoulders.
“You used your wish for that, Hannie?” I asked. “You wished for me?”
Hannie nodded. “Hannie wish for Mama and Moochie and Mags.”
She hadn’t just wished for me. She’d wished for all of us. Hannie understood better than I did that we were all important. We were family.
We walked up to the fence post where the unicorn had been only an hour ago.
“Good-bye unicorn,” Hannie said.
“Yeah,” I said, touching her dark hair. She’d been saving her wish. She’d been saving it so she could keep that unicorn. But she’d found something she wanted even more. I had too.
We were nearly to the trailer when Mooch banged out the door and raced to meet us.
“Mooch,” I cried. “You’re home!”
Hannie hugged Mooch and danced him around in a crooked little circle.
“Course I’m home,” he said. “Where’d you think I was?”
“What’re you talking about, Mooch?” I asked. “I thought they put you in jail for stealing.”
“I never took those Twinkies,” Mooch said. “Brody just said I did. He said I took other things too, but I didn’t. He made his mama call the police on me.”
“Then how’d you get those wrappers in your back pocket, Moochie?” I asked.
“I just found the wrappers down in the ditch under the highway, Mags. Sometimes there’s a little bit of cake left on the wrapper and I lick it off. That’s not stealing.”
“Then you weren’t lying?” I asked.
“Heck no,” Mooch said. “You and Mama told me no more stealing, and I didn’t steal no more. I just didn’t want Mama thinking I was eating somebody’s old trash.”
“Well, how’d those Twinkie wrappers get down to the drainage ditch in the first place?” I asked.
“Brody took them, Mags,” Mooch said. “He took beer and stuff there too. I saw him. And he knew I saw him. He said if I told anyone, he’d make it look like I took all that stuff.”
“Why didn’t you tell on Brody before?” I asked.
“Well, I knew I’d catch it if you found out I’d been down to the ditch.”
“You’re right about that,” I said. “You should have never been down there in the first place, Mooch. Mama and I, we told you not to go down there. And I don’t want you going back there again either, you hear? That place is good for rats and snakes and nothing more.”
“Ditch good for Brody,” Hannie said.
I grinned. “You made a joke, Hannie! That’s a good joke! You’re right. That drainage ditch is good for three things: rats, snakes, and Brody Lawson.”
I put one arm around Mooch and one around Hannie, and we walked back toward the trailer, three in a row, with me in the middle—limping on that bad ankle—dragging my filthy pink penguin sweater behind.
“Was Mama mad about going to the police station?” I asked.
“Ohhh,” Mooch said. “She was boiling. Mama told the Lawsons a thing or two when she found out what Brody’d been up to. It wasn’t nice what Brody’s daddy did to Brody either.”
“I just bet it wasn’t,” I said.
“We got to ride home in a police car, Mags. The policeman let Mama and me sit in front with him. I made the siren go off by the Lawsons’ house and Mama started getting mad, but the policeman laughed and Mama wasn’t as mad as I thought, ’cause then she started laughing too.”
We climbed the steps to the trailer and went into the kitchen. Mama was at the stove, cooking dinner.
“I can do that, Mama,” I said. “You’re awful late for work.”
“I already called,” Mama said. “I’m not going in tonight.”
She smiled like she didn’t even care about a short check this week, and I smiled too for having Mama home, cooking dinner and taking care of us.
I went up and hugged Mama right then and there with her back to me standing at the stove, and Hannie came up and hugged her too. And then Moochie joined in, and Mama laughed like slow music and said, “You kids,” and kept on cooking.
Later that night, while Mama sat outside on the porch steps, Hannie, Mooch, and I, we piled into bed. We were all feeling good, with our bellies full and Mama right out front waiting to tuck us in and kiss us good night. Mooch asked a million questions about the unicorn. Hannie’s eyes lit up, and she started chattering like a squirrel in a gum tree.
Mooch wriggled around, digging his old elbow into my side. “Hey, Mags,” he said. “You think maybe Mama being here, and Hannie so happy and all—you think maybe that’s a little magic the unicorn left behind?”
Hannie’d been messing around under the blankets. She came up grinning, her hair poking every which way.
“Could be, Moochie.”
Mama pushed the screen door open and called in for us to settle down and get ourselves to bed.
“It could just be,” I said.