Run(38)

Gracie let me out in front of the church. But she couldn’t stop herself from asking, “Are you sure you can walk to her house on your own?”

I pretended I hadn’t heard her and just started walking, my cane tapping its way down the sidewalk ahead of me.

Despite that, I did have a little trouble. I’d never actually stepped into Bo’s yard before, just stood on the sidewalk in front of her trailer. So when I got there, it took a second for me and my cane to find our way across the frozen yard and up the cement steps to her door. When I knocked, I heard Utah start barking inside.

“Hush!” I heard Bo yell. “Ain’t nobody trying to kill us, Utah. Jesus Christ.”

Then she opened the door. And froze.

“What’re you doing here?” she asked after a second.

It wasn’t the warm welcome I’d expected, and for a second, I was stunned. And scared. Like maybe she’d decided she didn’t like me now. Maybe she realized what everyone else already knew—that I wasn’t nearly the badass she thought I was.

“Um … I brought you something,” I said. “Can I come in?”

“Well … Mama’s not here, so yeah. Sure.”

I noticed the way she said it. Like, if her mother had been there, I wouldn’t be welcomed in.

Bo stepped aside, and I walked into the trailer. First thing I noticed was how cold it was. Barely warmer than the December air outside. When I looked back at Bo, I noticed she looked wider than normal. Layers, I realized. No telling how many she had on.

The second thing that caught my attention was the soft sound of talking mixed with static coming from down the hall.

“What’s that sound?” I asked.

“Police scanner,” Bo said. “I keep it on all the time, just in case …” She trailed off. “You said you brought me something?”

“Oh, yeah.” I reached into my coat pocket and pulled out the book from Goodwill. “Thought you might like this. Merry Christmas.”

She took the book from my hands, but she didn’t say anything. Not for a long second.

“Do you like it?” I asked.

Her voice cracked when she answered. “I can’t take this.”

“Why not?”

“Because I ain’t got nothing for you,” she said. “I wanted to get you something, but I just don’t got the money to—”

“That’s all right.”

“No. It’s not.”

“Bo,” I said. “It’s a book from Goodwill. I didn’t spend a lot. And …” I hesitated. “Honestly? You know what I’d like in return? And it doesn’t cost a thing?”

“What?”

“Can you read me some of those poems?” I asked. “I’m still not real good with poetry. Still don’t get it most of the time. But I love hearing you read it and explain it. That’s all I want from you.”

Bo seemed to think on this for a second before saying, “All right. I reckon I can do that.”

“Good.” I folded up my cane and tucked it under my arm as I looked around. The trailer was pretty dark, and the windows looked like they were covered with sheets instead of curtains.

Bo must’ve seen me looking, because she said, “It ain’t real nice, I know. Not like your house. But—”

“Can I see your room?” I asked.

She hadn’t given me an answer yet when the front door burst open and Utah let out a startled bark from somewhere in the living room.

“Oh, shut up, you damn mutt,” a woman’s voice snapped.

“Mama.” Bo sounded just as surprised as the dog. “What’re you doing here?”

“Live here, don’t I?”

In the pale light, I could barely even make out her outline, though I still had a pretty good memory from the day when I’d first seen her in the front yard, screaming at the trees. “Who’s this?” she asked.

I guess she didn’t remember that day quite as well.

“Uh … Mama, this is Agnes,” Bo said. “Agnes Atwood.”

“Hi,” I said, giving a little wave in her general direction.

“Atwood,” Mrs. Dickinson repeated. “Your daddy owns the hardware store, right?’

I nodded. “Yes, ma’am.”

“I see a lot of people going in and out of there. Y’all must make a lot of money off that place.”

“Mama …”

“What? I’m just saying—it’s great for her dad. Probably a pretty penny. Ain’t it, Agnes? Y’all do pretty well for yourselves, I’d imagine.”

There was something strange about her voice. She sounded jumpy. Like she was teetering on the edge of something. And whatever it was, it made me nervous.

“You’re friends with Bo now, huh?” she continued. “She’s always at your house these days. I hardly ever see her. You might as well be family. And since we’re family, maybe you and your folks can help us out.”

“Mama, don’t.”

“I’m only kidding!” Mrs. Dickinson said. “Agnes knows that. Right, Agnes?”

“Uh …” I glanced at Bo and wished I could make out her face in this light.