Run(56)

This ain’t no stranger. But he’s sure looking at me like I’m one.

“Hey, Daddy.”

He looks like he don’t know me. Like he’s never seen me before in his life.

“It’s me, Daddy,” I say. I reach up and touch my hair. “I know. With it cut this short I probably look like a boy, right? But it’s me … It’s Bo.”

“Bo,” he says. “Bo … what’re you doing here?”

“I came to see you.” Despite all the bad that’s happened tonight, I can’t help smiling. “God, I’ve sure missed you. Can I come in?”

“Uh—well, you see …”

“Wayne? Who’s out there?” It’s a woman’s voice, coming from inside the house.

“Nobody!” Daddy yells, and I try not to take it personal. “Listen, Bo—”

But I guess the woman didn’t like Daddy’s answer, because now she’s standing behind him, looking over his shoulder at me. She’s tall—taller than him—and with peroxide-blond hair. Except for the roots, which look about as dark as Agnes’s hair. Her eyes are dark, too, and right now, they’re narrowed. And even if her sight is as bad as Agnes’s, there ain’t no way she’s gonna miss the resemblance between Daddy and me.

“Nobody, huh?” she says.

Daddy looks scared. “Vera, this … this is Bo.”

“Hi,” I say. “Nice to meet you.”

But Vera don’t look like she feels the same. “Bo?” She says it like a question and an accusation rolled up in one. And even though she’s looking at Daddy now, he don’t look back.

“How’d you get here?” he asks me. “And where’s your mama?”

“It’s a real long story,” I tell him. “But that’s why I’m here, actually.” And then, because I’m still out on the porch, I ask one more time, “Can I come in?”

Vera looks like she wants to say no, but Daddy steps aside and lets me walk through the door, into the living room. There’s an old beige sofa sitting against the wall, facing a little box TV. There are kids’ toys all over the floor, too. Blocks and toy soldiers and even a teddy bear missing an eye.

“I’d better go check on Brent,” Vera says. “Make sure the knocking didn’t wake him up.”

When she’s gone, I turn to Daddy. “Who’s Brent?”

“Our son.”

“I got a little brother?” I ask.

He don’t answer. Just jumps right back into his questions. “What’s going on, Bo?”

“Right.” I sit down on the couch. “Things have been real rough with Mama lately. She’s been using a lot, and a few days ago—”

“Are you here asking for money?”

“What? No,” I say. “Nothing like that.”

“Then why are you here?”

“Because … you’re my dad,” I say. “And right now I ain’t got nowhere else to go, so …”

He blinks at me, like he’s still confused. Just then, Vera comes back around the corner. And the crease between her eyes says she’s disappointed I ain’t left yet. Which makes my next words even harder. So I keep my eyes on Daddy.

He used to rock me to sleep in his grandma’s old rocking chair. Used to sing me Hank Williams songs when I was crying. Used to let me sit on his lap and watch the NASCAR race with him while he drank a beer. He’s my daddy. And no matter what this woman thinks of me, I’m his baby girl. His family.

So I take a deep breath and spit it out.

“Well … I was sorta hoping I could live here. With you.”





It wasn’t long before the days started getting hot and the humidity made us all miserable. Farmers’ kids stopped coming to school, pulled out by their parents to work in the tobacco fields. Summer was here, and we’d all be done with classes in a couple weeks. Then there were two and a half months of long, slow summer days to get through.

It got too hot to stay inside—Daddy refused to turn on the air conditioner until June to save money—so Bo and I started spending our afternoons in my backyard. We’d get off the bus at the church and head to my house. By the time we each poured ourselves a glass of sweet tea to cool down from the walk, Utah would be waiting outside for us, lying right by the back door. The first day she showed up, I nearly tripped over her. The second day, too, actually. But after a week or so, I just expected to find her there.

There wasn’t much to do outside besides get a sunburn, so Bo started bringing the book I bought her and making good on that promise to read some of the poems to me.

“ ‘Hoodwink’d with faery fancy, all amort, save to St. Agnes and her lambs unshorn …’ ”

Her voice curled around Keats’s words, so slow and soft that I nearly drifted off. We were stretched out beneath Mama’s dogwood tree, the only good shady spot in the yard. I was on my back, arms tucked behind my head. Bo was next to me, propped on her side as she read the long poem. Somewhere near my feet, I could hear Utah panting.

“What’re we gonna do this summer?” I asked once she’d finished reading.

“What do you mean?” She was flipping through the book again, looking for another poem, one we hadn’t read together yet.