Run(15)

“Yeah. The trailer down there on the corner.”

“Oh.” Suddenly it all made sense: her walking past the church that day, her in the woods. She lived in the trailer my grandmother always pointed out on the way to Sunday school. I knew Dickinsons lived there, but I hadn’t realized Bo was one of them. “We’re practically neighbors.”

“Sorta,” she said. “If you go straight into the woods from my back door and head a little to the left, you can be right behind your house in ten minutes.”

“It scares me that you know that.”

She laughed and slowed down so that I could walk next to her. “Told you—I spend a lot of time out there. I also know how to take the trails to Sally Albert’s house in fifteen minutes. I’ve been skinny-dipping in her pool at midnight before. She’d shit herself if she knew.”

“Skinny-dipping with who?”

“Everybody, if you believe what people say.”

“Should I?” I asked. “Believe what people say?”

She took in a breath, like she was about to answer, but then, out of nowhere, she just stopped. I’d taken a few steps before I realized she wasn’t walking with me. I looked back.

“Bo?”

“Shit.” Then she moved past me, faster than before, toward her front yard. It was still a couple houses down, so I wasn’t sure why she’d taken off like that. Not until I heard her holler, “Mama!”

I hurried after her, thinking something was wrong. I almost tripped a few times—it was hard to use the cane properly when you were moving too fast—but I managed to reach Bo’s house just a second after she did.

“Mama,” Bo said, moving onto the grass. “What’re you doing?”

I squinted, scanning the space in front of me, trying to get a better focus. Bo’s trailer with its rickety wooden front porch. An old car in the gravel driveway. A lawn mower sitting next to a huge oak tree. And that’s when I saw her—Bo’s mother. She was so skinny it was no wonder I’d missed her, even on a bright day like this. She had dark brown hair pulled back into a low, scraggly ponytail, and she was wearing a black tank top that made her skin look almost paper white. Maybe they looked more like each other in the face—I couldn’t make out details like that—but from what I could see, she hardly looked like Bo, with her strawberry-blond hair and tanned skin.

That’s when I remembered that Bo’s mother had married into the Dickinson family, and I had no clue who she’d been before that.

“Bo,” Mrs. Dickinson said. “Good. You can help me. I’m gonna fix the lawn mower.”

“When was the last time you slept, Mama?”

“I’m fine. I just gotta fix the lawn mower.” She waved her hands in the air, and I noticed she was holding something silver. I glanced down and saw several more little silver objects at her feet, reflecting the sunlight. Tools, I guessed.

“It ain’t broke, Mama.”

“I can make it run better,” she said. Her voice was shaky and quick, like she was anxious and excited all at once. And she couldn’t seem to sit still. It made it hard for me to keep focus on her. “I can take it apart and put it back together and—”

“You ain’t even used that thing in years,” Bo said. “The county has to come and do it half the time. Mama, let’s just go insi—”

“Shh!” Mrs. Dickinson snapped. “Wait.”

“Wait for what?”

“They’re watching,” Mrs. Dickinson whispered. She took a couple steps toward the oak tree and looked up. “They’re up there. They’re watching us. Can’t you see them?”

“No one’s watching, Mama. Let’s go inside.”

Mrs. Dickinson let out a yell and flailed her arms. I only knew she’d thrown one of the tools when I heard it clatter onto the sidewalk a few feet away from me.

“Damn it, Mama!” Bo shouted. “Stop it! You could’ve f*cking hit somebody!”

“I was aiming for the people in the tree,” Mrs. Dickinson said. “Who’s that on the sidewalk? Who’s that girl? Is she watching us, too? Is she with them?”

I stood there, confused and wondering if I should go. But now Mrs. Dickinson was coming toward me and I didn’t know whether to run or introduce myself. I opted for the polite thing.

“Hi,” I said. “I’m Agnes. I go to school with—”

Bo stepped in front of me, blocking her mama’s path. “She ain’t with nobody. There’s nobody in the trees. You’re acting like an idiot.”

“Shut your mouth!” Mrs. Dickinson yelled. “Don’t you dare talk to me that way. You’re my daughter. I’m the adult. Stop acting like a little bitch, you hear me?”

I flinched. How could a mother call her own daughter a bitch? Then again, Mrs. Dickinson didn’t seem like your average mother, and Bo didn’t even seem fazed. When she spoke next, her voice was calm. Calmer than I’d ever heard it.

“Come on, Mama,” Bo said. “Let’s go inside. If they’re watching, we can close the windows. They can’t see inside.”

“But I wanna fix the lawn mower.”

“We’ll do it later,” Bo said. “Come on. Before the neighbors call the cops.”