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Chapters (65)
  1. Cover
  2. Dedication
  3. 1
  4. 2
  5. 3
  6. 4
  7. 5
  8. 6
  9. 7
  10. 8
  11. 9
  12. 10
  13. 11
  14. 12
  15. 13
  16. 14
  17. 15
  18. 16
  19. 17
  20. 18
  21. 19
  22. 20
  23. 21
  24. 22
  25. 23
  26. 24
  27. 25
  28. 26
  29. 27
  30. 28
  31. 29
  32. 30
  33. 31
  34. 32
  35. 33
  36. 34
  37. 35
  38. 36
  39. 37
  40. 38
  41. 39
  42. 40
  43. 41
  44. 42
  45. 43
  46. 44
  47. 45
  48. 46
  49. 47
  50. 48
  51. 49
  52. 50
  53. 51
  54. 52
  55. 53
  56. 54
  57. 55
  58. 56
  59. 57
  60. 58
  61. Acknowledgments
  62. About the Author
  63. Books by Bobbie Pyron
  64. Back Ads
  65. About the Publisher

I smile just a tiny bit. My mind latches onto the rhythm of the rocking bus. It whispers in time, over and over, “Maybe, maybe, maybe . . .”

2

Baby and Jewel

A small brown dog listens

to the beat of his world

in the chest of a woman

named Jewel.

He watches a raccoon waddle across the grass

in the bright moonlight.

Baby squirms with curiosity.

Is it doggish?

Is it cattish?

Oh! So many things to smell!

To see!

To make friends with!

Jewel stirs.

Baby settles

against her chest

quiet

a good, good dog.

He tucks his head beneath her chin.

Jewel’s scent fills every inch

of the little dog

with deep joy.

Baby and Jewel

a pack of two

warm and safe together.

3

Somewhere

“Time to wake up, Piper.”

I sit up and blink at the sunlight filling the bus. Outside the windows are tall, tall buildings, rushing traffic, trash pushed up against the sidewalk curbs by the wind. What happened to the moonlit fields? The tidy neighborhoods?

Daddy lifts his Atlanta Braves cap from his head and runs his fingers through his hair.

“You sleep okay, little chicken?” he asks around a yawn.

I yawn too. “I guess. The moon was awful bright.”

Everybody’s waking up now. They stand and begin gathering their bags, boxes, backpacks, and suitcases from under seats and overhead racks.

Mama gives me a tired smile as she shifts Dylan from one arm to the other. “Morning, sweetheart.” She stretches and tries to smooth her shirt. Her hair is coming loose from its braid.

“Your hair’s a mess, Mama,” I say. “Let me fix it.”

I undo her braid, smooth down her springy hair as best I can, and rebraid it nice and tight.

“Thanks, honey,” she says. She scoops Dylan up off the seat and into her arms. Dylan can sleep through anything. Once he slept through a tornado that hit near our street. Never made a sound. Me, I’m not much of a sleeper. I’m like Daddy that way.

Dylan’s eyes open. I watch as he slowly comes back to the world. His eyes are the same deep, deep sea blue as Mama’s.

“Where are we?” he asks in his croaky little voice.

I look back out the windows. Nothing looks familiar. Nothing looks like anywhere we’ve been. And we’ve been a lot of places over the last few months.

I reach out and push the hair out of his eyes. His face is hot and damp. For just a second, I let my fingers rest against his cheek.

“Somewhere,” I answer. “We’re somewhere.”

“Over the rainbow?” Dylan asks. Me and Dylan used to watch The Wizard of Oz every Easter when it came on TV, and we can sing every song.

I smile and click my red high-top tennis shoes three times. “Maybe.”