ANNIE LIES IN bed and looks at the ceiling, plastic glow-in-the-dark stars glued to its surface. The stars don’t glow anymore, but they still sit there—stuck on and forgotten about. The room is hot, but her momma doesn’t believe in turning on the air-conditioning until at least June. There is a slight breeze from the open window, and she turns her body so that more of it hits her skin. The trailer creaks and settles, and after a few minutes, her eyes close.
Two hours later, the man walks silently down the side of the trailer, the dead ground quiet beneath his feet. He reaches the open window and waits, still, listening to the sounds of the fields surrounding him. Bending, he sets the stool on the ground and then climbs onto it, the additional height allowing him to lean his torso directly into the window. He reaches into his back pocket and pulls out the long silver flashlight he has stuck there. Leaning forward, he switches it on, moving the beam through the girl’s room, illuminating clothes, a plastic drawer set, and the bed. He slows the light’s movement, playing it over pale legs, pink cloth, until finally it rests on a face, pale and slack with sleep, yellow hair framing it against the white sheets.
Something is bright, hurting her eyes. She squints, moving a hand, and the light disappears and then reappears. Then it is gone, and she opens her eyes to darkness. Out of the darkness, there is a voice.
“Annie.”
“Yes?” She sits up, confused.
“It’s me. See? Come to the window.”
She yawns, sits up slowly, and rubs her eyes, her limbs uncooperative, her mind sluggish and confused. Why is he here? In the middle of the night? At her window? She pads to the opening, the plastic blinds pulled up by her mother last night, the small window barely accommodating his big size. “What?” she whispers.
“I have a surprise for you—out in the car. Be quiet, sweetie, and go unlock the front door. Meet me on the front steps. Don’t wake your mommy, she’ll make me take it back.”
Every part of Annie is instantly awake, trembling with excitement. “Is it a kitten? You know I’ve been wanting a kitty—”
“Shhh!” The sound is harsh, mad, and she quickly stops talking, the next words stuck in her throat. “Go to the front. Be extra quiet and wait on the step.” She nods quietly and turns, tiptoeing out of her room and past her parents’ closed bedroom door.
The man breathes a sigh of relief when he sees her pink-clad body sitting on the step, arms wrapped around her little knees. He is close, so close. He holds out his hand and she stands, rushing forward and grabbing it, her small hand slipping into his. They turn as one, walking past her bike, turned over in the dirt, and on to his car, which sits at the outside corner of their lot, dark and silent in the night.
She realizes something is wrong earlier than he had expected. She had believed him when he said that the kitten was down the road in a box. She had gotten in, fastened the seat belt, and leaned forward expectantly—scanning the fields and approaching roads for a sign of it. But now, six miles down the road, she is silent, her questions less frequent, her face tighter.
“How long before we get there?”
“About fifteen minutes, sweetie. I forgot, I decided to take the kitten to our house instead. It’s there, drinking some milk.”
“But what about my mommy and daddy seeing it? Aren’t I going to get to keep it at my house?”
He reaches over, rubbing her knee. “Of course, Annie. We’re just going to make a quick stop at my house first.” He reaches for the cupholder and lifts out an opened bottle of Coke. “Here, Annie. Drink this.”
She reaches for the soda, her eyes wide. Soda is a luxury not allowed in her home; the few sips she’d had were taken at others’ birthday parties and friends’ homes. She grips the cold bottle carefully and lifts it with both hands to her mouth, the bubbly taste of the soda foreign on her tongue.
He watches her, his mouth curving into a smile. “That’s good, Annie. It’s a hot night. Go ahead and finish it all.”