HER MOTHER HAS always told Annie that angels exist. Angels who watch over and keep us safe. Annie had prayed for an angel in the dark space of the shed, and now she prays for her angel to return. She frets, her hands turning the phone over and over, the display flashing in the light. She has never used a cell phone; their family doesn’t own one. Once, she had been given a pink plastic cell phone, its buttons squishy, the faceplate a sticker that displayed all zeros. She had coveted it, feeling oh-so-important when she would pull it out in public, making a pretend call and speaking excitedly into its plastic receiver.
She strains to remember the phone number to their house. Her mother often recited it to her, preaching the importance of knowing it by heart. It starts with a nine. That is all she knows, and she opens the phone, pressing the nine button and trying to remember more. Nine. Nothing else comes. Her stomach growls.
The angel had said to wait until the alarm went off and then dial 911. That number is easy to remember. That she can handle.
She hears an engine growl and looks up, seeing the brown-haired girl pull up in her gray truck when there is still five minutes left on the timer. Annie stands, waving excitedly, seeing the smile on the girl’s face through the truck’s windshield. The girl responds, gesturing Annie to come, and she jumps down the stairs, running up to the truck and climbing in.
“You came back!” The words burst from her, relief flowing through her body. Soon she will be home. Soon she will be with her parents. Yanking on the car handle, she pulls open the door, struggling with the weight of it, and climbs into the truck.
The girl smiles, her face scratched, black marks on parts of her skin. “You bet, sweetie. Thanks for following directions. Ready to go home?”
Annie nods, tugging on the seat belt and pulling it over her body. “Yes!”
The girl puts the truck into drive and pulls backward, the truck rolling over the soft dirt. “I know your family is ready for you to come home.”
Annie wraps her arms tightly around her body and looks out the window.
It takes ten minutes to find civilization and a parking lot to pull into. I grab my newly activated cell, the same one that had flipped through Annie’s hands just minutes before, and reach into the floorboard, digging around until my hands close over my iPad. As I pull it out, I notice Annie’s eyes locked on my bag of gas station fare. “You hungry?”
She nods quickly, and I reach over, pulling the bag up and depositing it into her lap. The plastic bag opens to reveal a plethora of chocolate and candy. She shoots me a questioning look and I wave my hand dismissively. “Whatever you want. It’s all yours.”
There is a squeal of excitement, and the sound brings a smile to my face. My fingers dart quickly over the tablet’s surface, and then my search finds an answer, one home phone number for Henry and Carolyn Thompson. I perform a second search, looking for a location close to their home, its area a good twenty minutes from our current location. I take a deep breath, lean my head back on the seat, and try to think, try to figure out the best way to go about this. Then I open the phone, block my number, and dial Annie’s home.