I stop running
just long enough to grab
the damp diary from the mailbox
where it waits,
hiding.
I tuck it into my shorts
so it can’t be seen if
Momma drives past,
looking for me.
Then I start a slow walk
to
Mari’s.
Night is a deep dark by now
and the moon
is up good in the sky.
I’ve been walking
for just a few minutes
when I hear it.
Momma’s car
coming in my direction.
With a start I run into a
stand of trees that grows
close to the edge of the road
and throw myself on the ground.
A few moments later
the headlights round the curve and
Momma and the car appear.
Looking.
Looking for me.
Hope,
she calls from the car window.
Hope. Let’s go see Lizzie.
Her voice is so different
I almost do not recognize it.
Who is she?
My heart thumps
into the ground
beneath me.
I lie flat,
dead leaves under me.
Mosquitoes start biting
but I don’t move,
just watch Momma drive
down the road going
slower than I can walk.
She can hear my heart,
I think.
It pounds so
that it seems to echo
into the earth.
Hope, I know you can hear me,
she says.
Come on, baby.
Get in the car.
I’ll make you safe and Lizzie
safe too.
Nothing to worry about.
The car stops a few feet ahead of where I am.
car come on.
I watch as she gets out.
She walks to the far side of
the street, talking the whole time.
I lose her sound for a moment.
Blood pounds in my ears.
I think I might vomit again.
Then,
Hope, I know you’re here,
Momma says.
I know you’re here.
Let’s go on home together.
Come on, baby.
I start to cry, but
I don’t move at all.
Not at all.
And I don’t
make a sound.
Not one.
I’ve even stopped
breathing.
Just let those tears slide down
my face
and drip into
the sand.
Momma steps into the
grass not far from me.
You want me to leave her in the hospital?
Momma says.
Just you and me take off ?
The tears drip in the leaves.
We can go somewhere
no one knows us.
Just you
and
me.
I could do it,
I think.
I could go back with her.
Just me and Momma.
the truth.
No one but me.
And Lizzie.
And Momma.
She’s quiet.
When she speaks again
her voice sounds even less
like her.
I will find you, she says.
And no one will ever know
what happened.
In slow motion
Momma turns and walks back to the car.
Then she’s gone,
slow,
up the road,
slow,
out of sight,
around the next bend.
I keep lying still,
not moving,
just waiting.
Just waiting.
Then I’m off to Mari’s house,
again,
running,
and every once in a while
I hear Momma, driving around.
Looking for me.