Sara Lost and Found (2 page)

“Daddy home?” Anna's voice startles me. For one thing, she hardly ever talks, and for another, I thought she was asleep. But here she is, leaning sleepily against the doorway.

“Not yet.” I undo the rope-hug and pat the mattress beside me.

Anna shuffles across the room and sits on the edge of the bed. I hear tiny snaps as she bites her fingernails. She's lost somewhere in her head. We sit together in the dark, thinking about things, when suddenly three loud raps on the front door make us jump.

I reach out and cling to Anna.

THREE MORE SHARP KNOCKS RATTLE
the walls. I grip Anna's hand tightly, afraid to let go. At first I figure that's why she starts to cry, but, really, she's more scared than I am.

“Shhh, it's okay.” I try to sound like I mean it, even though I'm not feeling one bit like anything's okay. “It might be the wind knocking.”

A man's voice drifts into the room. “Sara?”

Even Anna knows the wind doesn't talk, let alone say my name. It isn't Daddy's voice, either.

“I'll go see who it is.” I pry my fingers free from Anna's grip and start for the door. Anna follows, close as a shadow behind me.

When I get to the front door, I press my ear against it. The wood is cold and hard. Still, I know anger can come through that wood and splinter it in one easy blow. No bad words. No pounding fists on the door. Just another loud
knock, knock, knock.

“Who is it?” I put on my bravest voice.

“It's the police, Sara. Open the door.”

I look at Anna, remembering how Daddy always said not to open the door for anyone. Anna looks scared enough to crumple. I stretch up on my tiptoes, cup my hand to her ear, and whisper, “He could be trying to trick us into opening the door—saying he's the police when really he isn't.” But another voice, a woman's, sounds familiar.

“Sara, dear, it's Ruth Craig from Child Protective Services. We need you to open the door, sweetie.”

I remember her. She's the caseworker who took us to the Cottages right after Mama left. The Cottages are a place where kids who've been separated from their parents stay until the judge at the court decides what to do with them. Daddy had gone out drinking and time kind of got away from him. But he came back and got us within a week.

“Where's my dad?” I ask, finding Anna's hand in the dark.

The woman's voice comes through the wood again. “Your dad had to go to a special place for a while, Sara, but he wanted us to come and get you.”

I know the special place she's talking about is jail.

“What did he do?” I glance at Anna's face, lost in the shadows.

“He got into a bad fight at the club where his band was playing,” Mrs. Craig explains. “Sara, please. I know you and Anna must be hungry. Wouldn't you like something to eat?”

They'll try to trick you with food,
Daddy said.
Don't open the door
. So even though the thought of food makes my stomach rumble, I gently tug on Anna's hand and lead her into the kitchen, pointing to the back door. I press a finger to my lips.

“Run away?” Anna's eyes widen. I nod solemnly. Even though it hadn't worked every time we'd tried it before, it seemed like the only thing to do.

“Open the door, Sara!” The man's voice grows louder.

Anna gives me a panicked look and then races to our room and returns moments later with Abby, her doll, and Cowwy. “Can't leave them,” she murmurs. She's right. I hug Cowwy and grab my jacket. Something falls out of the torn lining.

Mama's letter!

I pick it up and stuff it back into my jacket, then grab Anna's hand.

Usually when we open the back screen door, it makes an awful
screech
, wild and shrill. But tonight, with the wind wailing, the screech isn't much louder than a squeak. The door closes behind us with a soft
thoop.
I tighten my grip on Anna's hand and give it a tug. Crouched down, we cross the weed-choked backyard, past dented trash cans and a stack of old tires covered with giant spiderwebs.

The alley is no more than one car wide and has deep tire tracks on either side. We sneak past nine houses—four on one side, five on the other, most with peeling paint.

When we finally reach the end of the alley, we turn the corner onto Elm Street, slip past the shoe store, and stop in front of Big Eddie's Bakery. The sweet, toasty smell of doughnuts makes my stomach bark with hunger. I breathe in deep and swallow, mad at myself for not remembering to grab a piece of paper towel before we sneaked out of the house. I could have stuffed it in my pocket. Big Ed, as everyone calls him, is a fat, sweaty man who looks more black than brown against his big white apron. I wait until he pulls a tray of fresh-baked doughnuts from the oven—his back is turned—and then tug on Anna's arm.

“Where we going?” Her voice shivers. I know she's scared. We duck behind a Dumpster that smells both sweet and rotten-trash sour and wait for cars to go by. One slows down. It's a police car with a bright light searching the sides of the street. I feel Anna stiffen when the light hits the Dumpster. We curl up so tight that my head almost touches my toes.

He must not see us because he drives right by, and I let out a deep breath. I tap on Anna's back and motion for her to go. She doesn't move. I tug her hand harder, and she tips over.

“Come on, Anna. They'll catch us if we don't get out of here.”

Finally, she uncurls and stands up.

“Which way?”

“This way.” I make my voice as strong as a whisper can sound. Anna relaxes and follows, this time without holding us back.

RIDING DOWN A STREET WITH
a caseworker driving us to a new foster home is a lot different from walking it in the dark. At first, everything looks like I remember it. I guide Anna this way and that to avoid dogs that might give us away, but then we hit streets I don't know. I turn down one that looks quieter than the others. Someone yells from an open window. Behind us, a group of men stand around a car, smoking and blasting music. Another car drives up, and everyone starts yelling.

One of the streetlights is burned out, and we duck into the shadows. When the men start throwing fists in the air and shouting bad words, I force Anna to cross the street to get us as far away from them as I can. I drag her up close to the houses so we can't be seen so easily from the street. Bushes reach out and scratch us. Even the ones with flowers on them aren't friendly at night.

“Daddy there?”

I look back. Anna looks too.

“No. Daddy's not with them.”

That I know. Just like I know Daddy's at the same place these guys are going to be if the fighting gets any worse. But I don't tell her that.

“Come on, Anna. Don't look back.”

After at least a thousand steps through dirt, rocks, weeds, and grass, we reach a clearing.

Anna points excitedly. “The fountain!” She races for it.

We call it “the fountain” even though there's no water in it. I don't want to drag Anna away, but the statue is out in the open, and someone might see us. “Let's go to the Silvermans',” I whisper.

Her eyes light up. “Ben and Rachel!” Even though she's excited, I have to peel her from the statue.

“Come on, Anna. We'll freeze to death out here if we don't get going.” My legs are already stiff with cold, and my nightshirt does little to keep the wind from wrapping around my legs. We pass by a store window. A plastic girl smiles out at us. She's wearing a white pair of pants with a blue-and-white top.

As we round the corner, I think about her, wishing we could trade places for the night. I picture myself in her clothes, sitting at the window, watching people pass by all day, smiling away, hoping one of them will be Daddy or Mama coming to take us home.

Ahead, I spot the gate and relax a little. I'd know that gate anywhere. I remember it because it doesn't open to anything. Maybe a long time ago it did, but now it stands at the edge of a field, covered in creepy vines that come back to life in the spring. Daddy said that it probably opened onto a cemetery at one time, but the cemetery is gone. I didn't know cemeteries could go anywhere.

Anna and I slip past the gate and, crouching down, start across the dark, weedy field. Anna's grip tightens.

“Hear that?” She moves up so close behind me that she steps on my heel.

I wince. “There's nothing to hear,” I tell her, quickening my pace. “See that elephant tree over there by that rusted-out car?” It was a sycamore. I know because Ben taught me about trees, and sycamore trunks are as big around as elephants. Their patchy bark reminds me of elephant hide, even though I've never actually touched an elephant. And their leaves are silky soft, like I imagine elephant ears to be.

They have dangly fruit with prickly things covering them that hurt when you step on them. So, as much as I would like to go and pat the trunk of the elephant sycamore, I make a wide circle around it, dragging Anna behind me.

“Ben's tree!” Anna squeals. Ben taught us both about trees. He says we can learn a lot from them, like how if they don't grow deep roots, a big wind can blow them over like dominoes. Anna clearly remembers that the sycamore marks where Ben and Rachel's street starts.

It's not easy walking through prickly weeds in bare feet. I try not to think about the burning scratches on my legs or how I can't even feel my toes anymore. Even Anna doesn't complain.

In the moonlight, I see another tree, an oak, beside the sycamore. I slow down to take it all in, and something moves. Something big. Anna sees it too, and stiffens.

All I can think is that maybe the cemetery didn't go away after all, and that maybe a ghost or something is mad because we didn't knock on the gate before sneaking in, or maybe—

A fire burns brightly in a nearby garbage can. I see them then, gathered around the fire. Some are wrapped in coats, others in blankets, all huddled together.

“Who's there?” Anna asks.

I can feel her breath on my cheek. I know the shadows are homeless people, just like me and Anna at the moment, and they are trying to stay warm. They have a new family now: each other.

“They're the forgotten ones,” I whisper, widening our path around them.

“Like us,” Anna says, straining to look at them.

Her words cut deep. Daddy wouldn't forget us. He's locked up. That's why he's not here. “Let's go this way.”

“Get warm?” Anna pulls on my hand. I know she's looking at the fires. Before I can answer, a sound comes out of her that makes my hair stand up. It's the sound that fear makes when it takes over your whole body. I glance back and see a dark streak racing right at us.

“Run!” I pull hard on Anna's hand, but she freezes.

“Come on, Anna!” I jerk hard on her arm as a dog closes in.

“Princess!” A man's voice cuts through the darkness. The voice jerks the dog back like a leash has been pulled, and instead of coming after us it runs back to the circle of shadows gathered around the fire.

“Are you okay?” I turn to Anna, surprised by what I see. She's smiling! Or maybe the muscles in her face have just frozen with fear. “Anna?” I wrap an arm around her and guide her toward the street.

She walks stiffly, all the while grinning that strange grin. “Princess?” Her voice cracks.

“If that was the princess, I don't want to see the prince,” I whisper, hugging her. She lets out a sound that I've learned is a laugh and looks back at the dog. A new look comes over her face, like maybe she sees herself in it.

Her biting self, that is.

Anna just can't help it. If someone scares her bad enough, she bites.

When I look up, I see familiar street lamps—the ones that line Ben and Rachel's street, and my heart swells in my chest. The Silvermans' house is still a long way away, but at least I know we're going down the right street, and that makes my feet hurt a whole lot less.