“Hello?”

It’s the first time I’ve heard her voice in months.

Five months, three weeks, and a day.

And hearing it now, on the other end of the line, has me damn near crying. I knew I’d missed her, but I had no idea how much until just now. And I realize it’s a miracle the ache ain’t killed me yet.

“Hello?” Agnes says again.

“Hey.” It comes out a croak. I swallow and try again. “Hey … It’s me. It’s Bo.”

She gasps. The way you might if you saw a ghost.

And I’m the ghost.

“Can you talk?” I ask. “If it’s a bad time, I can—”

“Where are you?”

“Oh, um … Paducah. With my foster parents.”

“Foster parents,” she repeats.

“Yeah. Joe and Lucy.”

“I’ve been looking for you,” Agnes says. She sounds like she might cry, too. “Me and Colt both have. We’ve been so worried. He’s made calls, but we could never find out where … Are you okay?”

“I’m all right,” I say, even though the guilty feeling in my chest stirs. It’s been there for a long time—since the night in June when me and Agnes took the car—and it’s only gotten bigger, heavier over time. “Joe and Lucy are nice. Kinda strict but … maybe that ain’t a bad thing. It … it ain’t nothing like before. The other place. The first time Mama … Well, it ain’t like that.”

“Good.”

“Yeah. I really like Lucy. She’s—”

“You didn’t say good-bye.” She don’t sound like she might cry anymore. Instead, she sounds mad.

I swallow, already feeling guilty. “I know.”

“After everything we went through, everything I did … I woke up and you were just gone. I made my parents drive hours to go get you, even after you lied to me. You cried in my lap while you were drunk and sick, and I was scared to death. And then you disappear and I don’t hear a goddamn word from you for months. What the hell, Bo?”

“I know. I’m … I’m sorry.”

I don’t give her any kinda answer. I don’t tell her why I ain’t called, because truth is, I don’t know. I’ve dialed her number a hundred times, but I always hung up before anyone answered.

When I first got here, after the CPS worker dropped me off … it was real bad. I was mad and hurt and scared. I cried at night. Yelled at Joe and Lucy during the day, even though they ain’t never done nothing wrong to me. I even threatened to run away again.

I was a mess. And I didn’t want Agnes knowing about it.

Then, come August, I started at a new school. A big school, where no one had heard of Bo Dickinson. I didn’t have to think about Mursey or Mama or the trouble I’d caused. And as much as I missed Agnes—as many times as I’d heard a country song on the radio and got tears in my eyes because it was one we’d heard together, sang together—I knew calling her would open that door. It’d mean looking back at everything that had happened. And I wasn’t ready for that yet.

I ain’t even sure I’m ready now.

“Have you called Colt?” she asks. “He’s been worried sick, too.”

“No … not yet.”

“Well, you should.”

“I … I will.”

“God, I’m just …” She lets out a long, harsh breath. “I’m so glad to hear from you, but I’m so mad at you right now, Bo. I thought you were my best friend—”

“I am,” I say.

“Really? Because first you lied to me, and then you left me.”

“I’m sorry,” I whisper. “You called me a coward and you were right … but I’m calling now.”

There’s a long stretch of quiet, and I’m starting to think I shouldn’t have called at all. Not that I thought this would be easy, but … Fuck, I don’t know what I thought.

“Well,” she says finally. “Better late than never, I guess.” She don’t sound happy, though.

I take a deep breath and try to get her talking about something else. “So, um … how’re you? How are things with your folks?”

“Fine,” she says, hard and cold. But then, with a relenting sigh, she softens. “Better. It was bad at first. They didn’t wanna let me go anywhere for a while. Guess I can’t blame them for that. But we’ve been doing a lot of talking, and they’re starting to ease up. They’re actually letting me go visit Gracie at college after Thanksgiving.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. Just for a weekend. She’s gonna show me the campus. And Daddy’s driving me up to Louisville to look at U of L, too. Money’s gonna be tight, but he says we’ll do whatever we got to—take out loans, financial aid—he and Mama are gonna help me if I wanna go to college.”

“That’s great.”

“We’ll see what happens. I don’t wanna get my hopes up just yet. And I still got nearly a year in Mursey to survive … but it helps knowing I might have something to look forward to.” She hesitates. “And I might introduce Daddy to Colt while we’re in Louisville.”

“Y’all are still talking?”

“Yeah … I haven’t seen him since the summer, but he calls a lot.”

I know this is good news, but it hurts. Colt and Agnes, the two people I love most, have got each other now. They’ve got a whole world between them that I ain’t a part of.

It’s my own fault. I know that. I’m the one who ain’t called. But still.

“He says your mama is gonna be in jail awhile. That she—”

“Don’t got the money for bail? Yeah. I heard.” I take a breath. “I think I’m kinda glad.”

I expect her to be surprised by this. Or hurt, maybe, since it sorta means I’m glad to not be coming home. Back to her. But she don’t say a thing.

“How’s Utah?” I ask.

“She’s all right. She sleeps on my bedroom floor every night. Right where your pallet used to be.” She laughs, and a weight lifts off my chest. I’ve missed that sound so damn much. “I’ve tripped over that dog so many times getting out of bed. But Daddy loves her. He’s got her trained to do all kinds of things now. Even taught her to fetch him a beer from the cooler.”

Just then, Lucy pokes her head into the kitchen, where I’m using the phone. “Sorry to bother you,” she says. “Quick question.”

I nod. “Hold on, Agnes.” Then I look back at Lucy, and she smiles at me.

She’s short, like me, but wide. In the last five months, I ain’t never seen her wear anything but red lipstick and a white collared shirt that looks nice against her dark skin. She’s got a good job at the newspaper, and Joe’s a teacher at my school. They’ve got a nice house—small, but nice—and a little girl named Phoebe who thinks my name is Boat.

I asked her once why they’d want a foster kid, and Lucy said her parents had taken in foster kids. Over twenty. Some only for a night, others for years at a time. And now, Lucy’s best friend is a woman her parents had fostered. So she always knew she’d do what they did.

I’m their second foster kid. The first, Helen, is off at college now. Aged out of the system. But she still calls them every weekend.

“Sorry,” Lucy says again. “Just wanted to check—you said Laurie’s coming for Thanksgiving dinner, right?”

“Yeah,” I say. “That still all right?”

“Of course. Phoebe and I are about to go shopping, and I just wanna be sure we get enough for everybody.” She looks at the clock on the wall over the stove. “Don’t be on the phone too much longer, okay?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

She gives me another smile, then ducks out of the kitchen.

On the phone, Agnes asks, “Who’s Laurie?”

“Uh … my friend. Or my girlfriend.”

“Oh!”

I can hear the smile in her voice, and I can’t help picturing it. The way her blue eyes light up. The crinkles around them.

“That’s great. Does she go to school with you?”

“Yeah. We met in English. But we ain’t told anybody about us yet. Everyone just thinks we’re friends. This place ain’t as bad as Mursey but … I like her a lot. She writes real good poetry.”

“I knew it,” Agnes murmurs.

“Knew what?”

“Nothing,” she says. Then she goes quiet for a minute. “I am happy for you, Bo. It sounds like you’ve got everything you wanted. Everything you were looking for.”

“Yeah … Except you.” I swallow. “I miss you, Agnes. I’m sorry I didn’t say good-bye.”

She don’t say it’s all right. Or that she understands. It probably ain’t, and she probably don’t. But she does say, “I miss you, too.” And then, “But I’m still here, you know. You can always come visit. My parents would like to see you.”

“Maybe.”

But I know I won’t.

I’m glad she’d wanna see me again, after everything I’ve done. Mad as she is at me, she’d still let me in her house, which is more than I deserve. But going back to Mursey is the last thing I oughta be doing.

“And there’s a college near there,” Agnes says. “Murray. Maybe I can talk Daddy into taking me there, too. Maybe we could see each other. You could show me where you live.”

The thought makes me a little nervous. Bringing Agnes here, bringing all the memories into my new world, is scary enough. But the idea of having her back for a day, maybe two, then watching her leave … I ain’t sure I can handle it.

Not yet.

Hell, I already know hanging up this phone’s gonna tear me apart.

She don’t push, though, and I’m real glad for it.

“Hey,” she says. “I know you gotta go soon, but … can you do something for me?”

“Sure,” I say. Because I owe her so much. I’d do almost anything. “What?”

“Don’t laugh, but … can you read me a poem? I don’t even know if you still have that book I got you, but—”

“Give me a minute.”

I put the phone down on the counter and run to the little bedroom I share with Phoebe. The book is on my nightstand, next to my bed. I grab it and head back to the kitchen.

“I’m back,” I say, tucking the phone between my ear and my shoulder. “What poem you want me to read?”

“You pick,” she says. “One we haven’t read before.”

I’d dog-eared half a dozen pages in the book by now. Poems that stood out to me. That I’d liked. I’d even marked up a few, circling lines and underlining whole stanzas. I find one of them. One of the poems I’ve marked all over.

I clear my throat and start reading Edgar Allan Poe’s words, slow and careful. Agnes is quiet, listening. And for a minute, it’s like we’re back in her yard on a summer day. Just her and me.

I run my fingers across the second stanza and the four lines I’ve underlined there.

I was a child, and she was a child,

In this kingdom by the sea,

But we loved with a love that was more than love—

I and my Annabel Lee—