into the ground

beneath me.

I lie flat,

smelling the sand and

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.

I watch the light in Momma’s

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.

Not anyone would know

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,

slow,

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.

111.

I need to speak to Dr. Kyle Marino,

I whisper into the phone,

hidden in Mari’s closet.

I know it’s late, but he told me to call him.

There is a shuffling noise

and I hear the woman

say,

Some girl, Kyle.

I really wish you wouldn’t

give out our home number.

My face turns red.

Just think of Lizzie,

I say to myself.

Mari, guarding her closet door,

says,

Did you get him, Hope?

Are you talking

to him?

Her voice is strained.

Not yet,

I say.

A moment passes.

This is Dr. Marino.

His voice is deeper

than in the daytime.

And me?

I can’t say anything.

Hello?

Umm,

I manage to get that

bit of a sound out.

Yes, I’m here,

he says.

Can I help you?

I hope so,

I whisper.

My heart pounds.

If Momma finds out.