Love, Aubrey

I was very glad to have Sammy, who needed his food pellet every few days.

“She took her address book, but she never said anything at all?”

I didn’t know which would be worse, if she had left in that hazy not-my-mother state, or if she was normal when she left, and might have known that she was leaving me behind.

“No. She never talked about…them, either.”

“I don’t play on rainy days,” I said. I grabbed my covers back and rolled over, knocking her off me, and hid my head.

“Why not?”

“Rainy days are bad,” I answered. “Bad, bad, bad.”

“It’s okay to wait,” Gram said. “I’ll drive you over when it stops.”

I’d ridden the bus in the rain before, but it was a drizzly, soft, and safe rain. The rain was pounding, sweeping, drizzling.

My hair was braided, in two tails, the same way Bridget would wear her hair, the way we’d planned.

I was going to see Amy today.

I had a science presentation. My report, “The Understory Story: The Life Cycle of a Forest,” was tucked in my backpack. It was six pages, plus the bibliography. Gram had marked the end of several days’ work by buying me one of those clear plastic covers with a red plastic spine that slides on to hold the whole thing together.

“No,” I answered Gram. “I—I’ll get on the bus when it comes.”

“I was so scared today,” she whispered.

“I know,” I said. “She’s fine, though.” I pressed my face against her chest, a hug.

“You must miss Savannah so much,” she whispered.

“I do,” I whispered back, even more softly. I could hear Bridget’s heart beating, and I held on tight.

“Savannah, none of these people go together. They aren’t a family.”

Savannah doesn’t seem to care. “They live in the same place.”

“That doesn’t matter.”

“And they are happy together. So there.”