The social worker lady named Jan said something cheerful, I didn’t even hear it and she took my arm and we were walking out.

Mom was not walking out.

She was back there.

She was in the Dixon Middle School office.

I wondered if they’d lock her up in the supply closet.

Maybe she’d be trapped there for the rest of her life.

Maybe Dixon was jail.

Or maybe it was hell.

Maybe Mom was going to hell and maybe I was, too.

I wondered if there really was a hell.

I wondered if there was a heaven.

I wondered if you could end up in heaven and know you were in the wrong place.

What if you didn’t belong in heaven or hell? What if you belonged nowhere?

Would God let you just float in between?

Just let you be no one?

Nowhere?

Nothing?

Jan kept chattering and chattering and chattering. Springtime. Flowers. Fun times. Family. Won’t be long. Your daddy. Teddy bears! Happy times. Swimming. Summer.

I looked at her.

Her mouth was moving still but I heard nothing.

And Dad was coming.

Ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha.

He had answered his phone. Or answered an email. Or answered a letter.

And he was coming.

We walked out into the gray.

She pointed to her car, which was red. Bright red, like a cherry.

I stared at it.

“Come on,” she said. “It goes really fast.”

I remember her saying that.

It goes really fast.

We were walking toward it. She was talking again.

And then I saw him.

He was standing across the street.

He wore a yellow tank top and puffy jeans. His hair a Mohawk.

He watched us. I watched him. Was he going to beat up Jan? Take me to Morocco?

He walked across the street and right before I got in the car he said, “I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry. I couldn’t let you do it.”

My heart dropped and I was going to throw up.

He did tell.

Not Carlene.

Him.

He did.

Bart told.

I knew I’d never love anyone again.

He said, “Olivia. You have to understand.”

And I said, “No.”