Here with Miss Freeman,

so I can help

her with her store

and so I can be close to Mari

and so I can see Alex.

Temporary Custody,

he says,

but I can tell he

hears what I say.

We’ll see how it

works out,

he says.

115.

I am mixed up inside

and bothered

that I miss my mother

who is gone

but Dr. Marino says

he can help me

work through it all

if I want.

If I want.

And I do. To work

it out,

figure why it was Lizzie

and not me

with those men.

And how things

might have been different

if Daddy

hadn’t died

that night.

This is going to take a while,

I say

to Dr. Marino.

I got lots of questions.

And he just nods.

116.

It feels like

it has been months,

years,

eons

since I’ve seen

Liz.

It’s time to go to the hospital,

and Mari’s grandmother

drives me and Mari

and we’re safe

because the lights

don’t need to be on.

We’re going in the

middle of the afternoon.

Going to see my

Liz.

At last we’re there,

driving closer and closer

to the hospital

and my sister.

My heart,

it thumps, hard,

like it has a

mind of its own.

When we park,

I hurry ahead of my friend,

hurry ahead of her grandmother,

hurry ahead

till I am

out of the Florida sun

and in the coolness of the

hospital.

Lizzie’s doing crafts,

the nurse at the desk says.

Come this way.

I know the way,

I say.

Please tell my friends.

Please,

I say,

let them know

where we are.

I point to Mari who

walks fast, her grandmother

following behind, and

I feel the beginning of a rose

start in my heart

that thumps so hard

it almost hurts.

I’m off,

toward the

Arts and Crafts room,

racing there.

Till I get

to the doorway.

I stand

watching

Lizzie.

She works on a pot,

coiling clay into a

snakelike thing.

I watch her, thin and timid,

but

there . . .

I see it . . .

I see the glimmer of a smile.

The rose in my heart starts to unfold.

Liz,

I say

and my voice is a whisper,

and thin like a glimpse,

but it travels over to her

and she looks up at me

and smiles

like I hold a camera

and asked her to

pose.

She smiles

like I take a picture,

a picture I

can remember later,

a picture I could tuck

in the box under Momma’s

bed,

if it was real.

Hope,

she says. And then,

Look what I have for you.

She pulls out the belt,

dotted butter yellow

and

olive green.

It dangles behind her,

like a dog pulled along might,

and the blossom in my

heart is full bloom now.

I close my eyes,

close my eyes to tears,

and walk in to meet

my sister,

Liz.

THE END

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

The truth about a book is that it starts from a seed and grows, if you’re lucky, into a tree. And there are lots of people who help cultivate the ground around that tree. My writing life is no different. There are many who inspire, boost, and support.