Sisters in the Wind(51)

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After dinner, Missus and Jennifer gave a tour of the farmhouse.

“The kitchen is the newest extension to the farmhouse,” Missus said. “I designed every square foot of this wing. My dream kitchen with a dining table to seat fourteen people.”

I wondered whether the number fourteen held any special meaning for her. My fear, which stopped me from inquiring, was that it might have had something to do with the Last Supper—twelve disciples had dined with Jesus. Replacing Jesus with Mister and Missus totaled fourteen people.

Missus motioned to three doors beyond the dining area. “Mr. Hoppy and I live on the second floor. It’s our own apartment where we can relax after a long day of farming. The doors on either side lead to the pantry and the powder room.”

We continued into an older section of the home. The walls were wood-paneled except for one stone-covered corner with a square woodstove. The space had been renovated. Vertical wood beams were the only remnants of a floor plan with small boxy rooms.

“This is the original farmhouse, where Mr. Hoppy was born. We needed a living room where everybody could hang out in the evenings and on stormy days.” She pointed at a door that had once been the home’s front entrance. “We know you like to read. We closed in the front porch and turned it into a library quite a while ago. It’s not much,” she admitted.

Jennifer blinked her lush eyelashes before speaking.

“Maybe you could grow it to be something?” Her lyrical voice was delicate and high-pitched, but her words carried weight.

I wouldn’t age out of foster care for two years and three months. Plenty of time to create something special. But only if it was my last placement.

Make them like you so they won’t give you away, Devery whispered in my ear.

Missus entered an alcove connecting the original house with a newer section.

“The first floor of the annex has the laundry room, two bedrooms, and a bathroom for the boys.” She motioned as we passed a hallway and headed upstairs. “Girls are on the second floor.”

We reached a landing halfway up. A stained-glass window captured the last moments of daylight. The window needed a good cleaning. Miss Lonnie would’ve known what products were safest to use.

There were three bedrooms and two bathrooms on the second floor. One lucky girl had a bedroom and small bathroom to herself. Four girls shared two bedrooms and the other bathroom.

“Here’s your room. Hope you like green.” Missus led me into a sage-colored room with twin beds. My trash bag was on top of the one with the floral comforter. I had my own nightstand and dresser, as well as a small chest at the foot of the bed.

Missus retrieved a padlock from the front pocket of her jeans.

“Your footlocker is your private space,” she said. “Here’s your lock.”

It was heavy in my palm. I’d never had a private space at Miss Lonnie’s or at the Sterlings’. Was I supposed to have had one? Was Hoppy Farm the one place that followed the rules?

“Lucy.” Missus spoke reverently. “We love being a foster home for teens. We’ve been doing this long enough to know the farm isn’t for everyone. I hope you’ll come to feel this is your home too.” Her smile was kind. “We’ve overwhelmed you enough. Please unpack and settle in. Breakfast is at seven a.m. We’ll talk more then.”

She backed out of the room, followed by her daughter-in-law. It was Jennifer with the parting words.

“Sleep well, Lucy.”





THE COUNTDOWN


APRIL 2009

They found me. I have six days remaining to figure a way out.

Always have an escape plan. I told you so, but do you ever listen to me? Oh, Clancy, if you could see the look on your face.

I wake after fitful dreams of being chased while using a walker that grew heavier with each step. I couldn’t let go. I wasn’t supposed to put full weight on my broken leg. Daunis’s dad broke both legs and never healed properly.

I shake the dream, only to remember about Daunis and Jamie together. Does Jamie care that she’s cheating on Toivo Jon Kewadin, III? Would their someday be worth any cost?

People cheat and rationalize their choices. Villains are heroes in their own retellings.

Life continues the same as before, except that I’m observing everything from beyond the moment. I’m detached from the reality. It all unfolds as I narrate inside my head.

Daunis goes for her morning run. Jamie cooks an egg-yolk omelet. He reheats leftover seasoned greens, rich in vitamin D so my leg can continue healing. He enjoys his Ethiopian roast twice poured over. I gave up the coffee charade long ago. I’m Earl Grey all the way.

The cane is mostly a security blanket now, three months post-break. Dr. Rao said my age and excellent health might result in recuperation at the early end of the expected range. Three to six months was based on all patients, including the silver-haired ones with brittle bones.

I’m well enough to leave town. My physical-therapy routine is part of my everyday life, and I can continue to heal. I’ve learned to prepare meals rich in vitamin D and calcium.

I’ve fled before. I know the routine: plan, pack, go.

Do not look back.

Ignore the crying.

Do. Not. Go. Back.

So why does this time feel … different? Like I’m letting Jamie down.