Burn(58)

But it had never been suspicious. Suspicion corroded, she’d always said. It would grow and take the things you loved with it. What had happened in this universe to make her suspicious?

The death of a daughter and husband might do it.

“The pigs sure like you,” her mother said. “You holding food?”

“No, ma’am. I think they just recognize me.”

Her mother shook her head, angrily. “I will not put up with cruelty—”

Sarah raised her hands in a kind of surrender. “I don’t mean to be. This is hard for me, too, seeing you here.” She began to cry again. “It’s been two years in my world.”

“Your world?”

Sarah shrugged. “That’s what they said. A world right next to this one. Almost the same, but not quite. And somehow . . . We jumped over.”

“We? The other two who were with you?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Her mother looked around. “Where are they now?”

Where were they now? Sarah had gone off with such purpose, she hadn’t looked to see whether either of them was following her. Distantly, she knew that if she was ever going to get back, she’d probably need them, but putting space between her and them right now also didn’t feel like the worst idea. How else could a girl gather her thoughts?

“Oh,” her mother said, “there they are.”

Sarah saw them both hesitating at the end of the drive. Malcolm looking sheepish and sad, Kazimir still naked as the day he was born, staring intently at Sarah, but neither of them coming closer.

“Stay there!” Sarah said, then she turned to her mother. “Can I talk to you?”

“I said, no—”

“My pigs were poisoned.” Sarah put her hands back to the still-waiting snouts. “Back in the other world. Whatever and wherever it was. Mamie, Bess, and Eleanor.” She glanced back at her mother. “Dad poisoned them. Because . . . Well it’s a long story but I think he knew it was wrong.”

“Your father knew a lot of things were wrong.” Her mother immediately corrected herself. “Not your father.”

“I suppose there’s no such things as dragons either?”

“Don’t be ridiculous. They’re only from white people stories. Black folk have more important things to do than worry about dragons.”

“Dragons like the giant red one you saw flying less than ten minutes ago?”

Her mother bit her lower lip. “I don’t know what I saw.”

“You saw a dragon.”

“I said I don’t know what it was.” Then she frowned more. “But I did see something.”

“It’s dangerous.”

“Well, that may be the first thing you’ve said I believe, missy.”

Sarah’s heart jumped a bit. She hadn’t heard her mother call her “missy” in too long. It didn’t matter that she only said it when she thought Sarah was getting sassy; it was like being hit right in the chest. She felt her eyes well up again.

Her mother sighed at the sight of the tears. “You do look so much like her.”

“I’m not her,” Sarah said, “but I’m almost her.” She was really crying now. “I’ve missed you.”

Darlene Dewhurst still looked stern, but she used a thumb to wipe excess tears from her own eyes. “This isn’t right. Whatever this is, it isn’t right.” She cocked her head. “Is that blood on your dress?”

“It’s . . . How do I even explain? There was a boy. And there were guns. And then I saw Daddy. . . .” She couldn’t quite say it, but forced it out. “A woman shot him. Right on that road out there. And then I was here. And so were you. And I don’t know how to get back, if I even can.”

Her mother sighed again. “Okay, listen, girl, whoever you may be—”

She stopped at the sound of a truck. It was rounding the corner of the drive, and as Malcolm and Kazimir—who had, somewhat surprisingly, waited where Sarah had told them to—stood to one side, she recognized it. Hisao Inagawa was behind the wheel, looking shocked at Malcolm and Kazimir as he passed, then his eyes widening so big at Sarah she could see them through the windshield. He stared at her as he got out, before looking over to Sarah’s mother. “You all right, Darlene?”

“I’m debating that right now, Hisao,” her mother said, “but I don’t feel under threat if that’s what you mean.”

“Sarah?” Sarah heard.

She had been staring so hard at Mr. Inagawa that she didn’t even realize Jason was getting out of the truck next to him. An unbloody Jason, an unshot one. One who wasn’t lying (dead, she knew it, she couldn’t think the word, but she knew it, dead) in her lap.

“Oh, thank God,” she whispered, her heart leaping. She ran to him, wrapped her arms around him, holding him close and hard. It felt like nothing but him, down to the boniness of his skinny shoulders.

“It’s not Sarah,” Darlene said. “It looks like her. It’s not.”

“Oh, Jason, thank God,” Sarah said.

“She knows my name!” Jason kept his arms at his sides but was letting himself be hugged, possibly out of sheer surprise.

“She knows a lot of things,” Darlene said.