Run(65)

They look at each other, and I know they ain’t got a clue what to say to that.

A car pulls up out front. I can see it through the window. It’s white and clean, and a tall, skinny woman in khakis climbs out of the driver’s side.

“That must be the woman from CPS,” Mr. Atwood says.

“Yeah.” My heart jumps into my throat, but I try to keep a straight face. I don’t want them to know how scared I am.

The skinny woman knocks on the front door, and Agnes’s folks go to answer it.

I crouch down and open my arms to Utah, who’s sitting a couple feet away, watching me with those big brown eyes. “Come here, you mutt.”

She runs over and starts licking my face. Even putting her paws on my shoulders, almost knocking me backward.

“All right, all right. Cut it out.”

She sits, tail still wagging, while she looks at me. Her mouth’s open, like she’s smiling. She ain’t got a clue what’s going on.

“I gotta go now,” I tell her. “But you gotta stay here. I ain’t sure when I’ll see you again, but …”

I don’t know when I started crying, but my face is real hot and wet now. Utah sits forward and licks the salt from my cheek.

“Quit it,” I say, but I don’t stop her.

“Don’t worry,” Mr. Atwood says behind me. He’s come back to the kitchen to get me now. I look at him over my shoulder, and he gives a soft smile. “We’ll take good care of her. I’ve actually always wanted a dog.”

“Well, you ain’t gonna find one better than Utah.” I turn back to her. “You hear that, girl? You’re gonna be all right. But you gotta be good, okay?”

I wait, like she might answer. But of course she don’t. She just keeps wagging and dog-smiling.

I give her one last scratch behind the ears and stand up. I have to wipe my eyes and take a deep, shaky breath before I follow Mr. Atwood to the living room. Agnes’s mama is in there, talking to the CPS lady, who looks over at me.

“You must be Bo.”

I nod.

“I’m Judy,” she says. “I’ve picked a few things up from your house, but I see you have some stuff here, too. So that’s good. Are you ready to go?”

I nod again. Because I know if I open my mouth to talk, I ain’t gonna be able to hold in the sobs I feel trapped in my throat.

Judy picks up the bag by the door, and I start to follow her out.

“Wait,” Mrs. Atwood says when I’m halfway out the door. “Shouldn’t we wake up Agnes? Don’t you wanna say good-bye?”

But I shake my head. She and Mr. Atwood look surprised.

But I can’t do it. If saying good-bye to the dog has me this much of a mess, saying good-bye to Agnes might kill me. I swallow. Twice. And slowly, carefully, manage to squeeze a few words past the lump in my throat.

“Tell her … tell her I’m sorry, too. And I love her.”

Then I turn and follow Judy out the door, to her clean white car, putting Agnes’s house behind me for the last time.

Just like always, I’m leaving before she even wakes up.





“I’m coming with you.”

“Agnes—”

“I’m coming,” I insisted. “I’ll pack my stuff now. We can take Gracie’s car. I know where my parents keep her keys.”

“Agnes …”

“That’s why you called, isn’t it? You know you can’t just call and say you’re leaving and expect me to stay here. What did you think I was gonna say?”

Bo didn’t answer. Because she knew as well as I did that there was never a chance of me staying behind. If she’d wanted that, she would’ve called from the road, from a pay phone miles away, where I’d never find her. That was the only way I wouldn’t follow her. She knew that, and she’d called anyway.

“Meet me behind the garage,” I said. I could feel my pulse, like a drumbeat throbbing in my chest. It hurt. I clutched the phone with palms that were slick and shaky. I couldn’t believe I was doing this. Couldn’t believe what I was saying. “I’ll wait for you there. I’ll grab some money, too, if I can.”

“But your parents—”

“I’m coming,” I said again. And this time, it was my voice that broke. “I can’t stay here without you, Bo. You’re the only thing that makes life here bearable. My parents are never gonna let me leave Mursey, and if you go, I’ll be trapped and miserable and alone. I’ll die.” There were tears in my eyes, and I wiped them away with the back of my hand. “Please. Take me with you.”

“Okay,” she said. It sounded like she might be crying, too. “I’ll meet you behind the garage. Don’t pack much. Just what you got to.”

“Got it.”

“And, Agnes …”

“Yeah?”

“Thank you.”

I took forty dollars from Mama’s purse.

A hundred from Daddy’s wallet.

And I had twenty-six of my own leftover birthday money.

I put on some jeans and tossed a few random T-shirts into a bag. My cane was lying, folded up, on my desk, and I grabbed that, too. Then I headed downstairs, moving as fast as I could without falling. The house was dark, and I didn’t bother turning on any lights. My shoes were by the front door, and I stepped into them just before putting my hand on the knob and— I stopped.