Chapter Nine

Joanie woke Nova up early on Sunday morning.

“Get dressed,” she whispered. “We’re going to breakfast at the diner, just us!”

Nova hopped out of bed. She loved the diner. They had silver dollar pancakes with whipped butter and pecan syrup at the diner. She rushed to the bathroom and returned with her teeth brushed and face washed. She pulled on her favorite Olive Green overalls, which Joanie fastened, over a long-sleeved Brick-Red-and-Maize-striped shirt, with Cornflower blue slouch socks. Joanie fixed her hair and tried to give her a hug, but Nova wriggled away. She liked Joanie and she liked the diner, but she still did not like hugging….Not much, anyway.

“Come on, let’s go! We have to be back before Mrs. Steele gets here.”

Nova frowned. In her the excitement over the diner, she’d forgotten about the social worker. Knowing Mrs. Steele would soon be in the house suddenly had Nova’s stomach all in knots, knots like the ones in her shoelaces she could never untangle. Even though she’d seen Mrs. Steele every single month for the past five years, she could not help fearing each visit. This was mostly because she never knew ahead of time if it was going to be a check or a removal. But once they got to the diner she didn’t want to ruin breakfast, so like Peter Pan she tried to “think happy thoughts.”

Joanie insisted Nova order her own food by pointing to pictures on the menu. Nova chose the silver dollar pancakes, of course, with a side of bacon, and doused both with pecan syrup. Joanie ordered eggs and corned beef hash with toast and they drank Coke from glass bottles. While they ate, Joanie talked and talked and talked. Nova tried to listen, but she was distracted by the sights and sounds in the diner, which was already bustling even though it was only nine-thirty, which meant church hadn’t let out yet (there was always a line at the door once church let out). She smiled, though, and said “Mm” every so often, and Joanie seemed happy because she kept smiling too.

On the drive back, Joanie pulled over. She turned down the music—she’d been singing along to “Let’s Dance” by David Bowie, while Nova, in the front seat beside her, was tapping her hands on her knees to the beat—and put the car in park.

“That song had me thinking,” said Joanie. She pointed to something on the side of the road. “See the cross on the embankment, Nova?”

It was painted white, made of wood, stuck in the mud.

“I know you’ve ridden by it before, with Mom.”