CHAPTER 43

Granddaddy thanked Berta’s daddy kindly for bringing me back.

I figured I might get a talking-to for running away like I did, but neither Granddaddy nor Grandma said anything except I should eat something.

Instead, I headed to the barn.

I sat cross-legged in Buster’s empty pen. The little bit of joy that was growing in my heart from finding out I didn’t give Charlotte polio got drowned quick by the sorrow of missing my lamb.

Not sure how long I sat there before Granddaddy came into the barn, walking over to me. He sat down with a grunt on the hay bale beside the pen.

Granddaddy always had something smart to say about life being stupid. So I waited.

Nothing came.

I glanced at him to make sure he was still there. He was. Just sitting there like that was his job. “Aren’t you gonna tell me I shouldn’t’ve run away like that? Aren’t you gonna tell me how I gotta be brave? That I shouldn’t be sitting here wishing everything was different?”

“Reckon I don’t have to tell you nothing right now.”

“Good. ’Cause you could talk from today till there was no more tomorrows and I wouldn’t listen. I thought I could be brave—but I’m not.”

“Mm-hmm.”

“Now, aren’t you gonna tell me letting Buster go was the right thing to do?”

Granddaddy smiled but shook his head.

“Well, that’s good. ’Cause I don’t want to hear it. I thought I could let him go. But now I don’t feel so brave.”

“Mm . . . hmm.”

“Stop saying ‘Mm-hmm’! Tell me something that will make my heart stop hurting, Granddaddy. Tell me something.” I got out of the pen and ran to Granddaddy’s lap. He held me tight.

Finally, he spoke soft words in a deep voice. “Pixie—I want you to remember two things: First, that lamb would’ve died when he was two weeks old if you didn’t take him in. You gave him a good life full of belly rubs, bottle feedings, and more love than any lamb ever knew. You did right by him—don’t be forgetting that.”

I tried to nod, but I couldn’t.

“And second, I can’t promise your heart will stop hurting today, but I promise it will one day, the good Lord willin’—”

“Don’t say it, Granddaddy. Don’t say it.”

He held me for a few more minutes until a shadow at the door blocked the sun’s rays on us.

Ricky.

“Your grandma just told me, Pixie. I’m sorry.”

I squeezed Granddaddy one more time before standing up to go to Ricky. Without a word between us, we started walking toward the orchard.

Ricky kicked a green apple as he walked. I picked up a big stick and started batting the apple away from him like we’d done before, but it wasn’t at all fun.

Even without us talking, I suspected we were sharing the same thought.

We stopped near a tree with a low branch that was perfect for sitting, and both climbed on. From the lane came the crunch of gravel under Granddaddy’s car. I squinted to see Daddy get out, look around, and head to the barn.

Guess he already returned the truck.

Guess he already . . .

I sighed.

My back leaned against the rough bark of the apple tree while Ricky balanced on the hanging limb, finally breaking our silence. “Seems weird. Him not bein’ here, I mean. It’s weird, isn’t it?”

I sniffed. “Yeah.”

“Remember when you first got him and he was sick right after? Remember that bath when he splashed water everywhere but fell asleep feelin’ better?”

I couldn’t tell if Ricky was trying to make me—or himself—feel better, remembering things we knew we’d never forget. But it was nice of him, nonetheless.

And with him being such a good friend and all, I felt bad there was ever a time I thought he was less than who he really was. So I confessed. “You know, I used to call you Rotten Ricky—can you believe that?”

He laughed. “I figured you had names for lots of people, so it don’t surprise me none to find out you had one for me. Why’d you call me rotten, though? I’m not mean.”

I laughed at him not remembering. “What about things like letting a frog loose in school? Or that spit wad you threw at me?”

He gasped. “I never!”

“Yes, you did. I know it.”

“I swear. Okay, yeah, I brought a frog to school, but only ’cause I found it half dead in front of the school that day and I wanted to help it. Not my fault it got out of my desk before lunch and jumped on Olivia. But that spit wad—that was not me.”

“But when I looked up, you were looking right at me. Why else would you be lookin’?”

“I don’t know. Maybe I just . . . thought . . . you needed a friend,” Ricky told me. “Was that why you pushed me down after I opened the closet and let you out?”

“Yeah. And I’m real sorry about that. I thought for sure it was you.” I shook my head. “Guess I don’t know what’s right and what’s wrong anymore. And while I’m confessing—you know who else I was kinda wrong about?”

“Who?”

“Big-Mouth . . . I mean . . . Berta.”

Ricky snorted. “Really? You could knock me down with a feather!” He laughed.

“I mean, don’t get me wrong—she still has a pretty big mouth she likes to use. But now I see another side of her too.”

Ricky shook his head in surprise. “I tried to tell ya she wasn’t too bad. I admit she’s kind of . . . forceful . . . sometimes, but she can be nice. Bet you didn’t even know she told everybody you were a better singer than her.”

I didn’t.

I shut my eyes and tried to clear my head. Did I know anything true about anybody at all?