She looked down at her arm, and now the most terrible thing was happening. The red scratches were starting to bleed. Did that mean she was really hurt?
She started crying, and she jumped up and ran to the house. They followed her, so she ran up to her room and shut the door. Her door shut fine. The boys stayed outside the door, calling to her, but she sat on the bed and watched her arm bleed. Finally she said, “Go away! I won’t tell!” and after a while they went away. In a few minutes, she looked out the window and saw them out in the pasture by the ponies. Face-off was out there, and she saw her kitten sneaking around the bushes.
She felt so alone. Everything was quiet, and she didn’t think it had been quiet since she got here. She almost wished the boys were still outside her door. She touched her arm and blood came off on her finger.
That scared her, and she went down the hall to the phone and tried to call Miss Jenny even though she always called Miss Jenny at night before she went to bed. Nobody answered, and her arm kept bleeding. Wasn’t it supposed to stop?
Her momma had been in a car wreck and been so hurt she died.
Something squeezed her in the chest then, and she started crying harder and tried to think what to do.
Miss Jenny would come and get her. She just knew it, and if Uncle Mitch and the judge knew that she was almost dying they would let her go home, wouldn’t they? If she could just talk to Miss Jenny!
Then she had an idea. She went down to the kitchen and got this piece of paper off of Uncle Mitch’s desk. The paper was Miss Jenny’s paper from work. It had her address on it, and then some stuff at the bottom that had never made sense until today. Now she looked at it again. Just what she thought. It was an address like Jason’s friend had.
She took the paper and went to Jason’s room. His computer was still on. She did everything he’d told her to do. She thought about how e-mail was kind of like magic, and she wished you could send e-mails to heaven. But instead, when the square came up, she carefully typed in Miss Jenny’s address. Then it got to the part where you could write the message.
Mis Jenny they hurt me. im bleeeding From Crystal.
Then she found the Send button and pushed.
CHAPTER THREE
MITCH WAS running late again. He had an eight-thirty appointment this morning with one of the high-school coaches to discuss the possibility of Serious Gear supplying all the sporting equipment for next year’s football program. Setting the meeting so early this morning had seemed like a good idea when the guy had called yesterday. Mitch had figured to get a jump start on the day, make a good sale before he’d even opened for business.
But last night, he’d been out until after 2:00 a.m., working on Luke’s slap shot and helping Luke’s minor league team, the Northern Lights, with practice.
Now he stood in his kitchen and raked a hand through his hair and tried to shut out the sounds of his kids. They were arguing again—or goofing around—who could tell the difference?
“Gotcha, Squirt.” Ryan put another Froot Loop on his spoon and flicked it at Jason. The bit of cereal hit Jason on the nose.
“I’m gonna get you for that.” Jason jumped off the counter stool and grabbed the open box of cereal. Dancing away, he held the box out temptingly, then snatched it to his chest when Ryan made a grab. “I’ve got the ammo.”
Ryan dodged Tommy, who was going to the refrigerator for another gallon of milk. Ryan grabbed Jason by the shoulder and swung the younger boy around. Jason kept up the taunts.
Mitch had finally had enough. “Cut it out,” he said at the same time Luke said, “Quit that.” Mitch looked up from where he was loading the dishwasher and shrugged at his eldest son as Jason and Ryan kept at it. Neither Mitch nor Luke were big on mornings; too many late-night practices at the rink had done in mornings long ago.
The kitchen floor was sticky; Mitch had felt it on his bare feet. The kids must have spilled milk again. Someone must have turned down the furnace; the air in the house felt chilly on his bare chest.
Weren’t millionaires supposed to live better than this?
Jason was still teasing Ryan. When Jason’s elbow hit Tommy’s cereal bowl and sent the empty bowl skidding across the counter, Mitch finally said, “That’s enough!” He marched over and held out his hand for the cereal box.
“Aw, Dad, I was finally getting to him,” Jason pleaded. Face-off was begging at his feet. Face-off loved Froot Loops.
Mitch ruffled the hair on his youngest. “You’ll get him next time.”
Ryan did a sneak attack and grabbed the box. Cereal flew. Face-off gleefully chased the windfall. Crystal’s kitten—which had been observing the shenanigans from the safety of a chair back—puffed out her tail and took off.
Mitch turned to Ryan. “Give me the box. Now.” After a couple of moments to see if Mitch really meant it—why did they always do that?—Ryan finally handed it over.
He peered inside. “You guys are done here. You’ve eaten your way clean through two boxes, and you’re going to be late for the bus. Luke doesn’t have time to drive you, and neither do I.” Absently, he scooped up the crumbs of cereal from the bottom of the box and fed them to Face-off, who’d finished his vacuum routine and sat before Mitch with his big wet tongue hanging out. Then Mitch crumpled the box and tossed it toward the trash.
As he started for the stairs, it dawned on him that Crystal was missing. “Hey, where’s Crystal?”
For a second, the boys, arguing about something, didn’t seem to hear him. Then the room got very quiet.
Not a good sign. He looked at the boys, who were looking at each other.
Luke said quietly, “Okay, what happened?”
“Nothing.”
“No clue.”
“How would I know?”
They were looking everywhere but at Mitch or Luke. From the bottom of the steps, Mitch bellowed, “Crystal!” She didn’t answer, and alarm ran through him. Before he even realized where he was going, he was halfway up the stairs.
She appeared at the top of the stairs. Slacks and a flowered sweater, a toothbrush in her hand.
He stopped dead. She looked so normal. “Are you all right?” he asked foolishly.
She nodded, but she had this fearful, pinched look on her face, the one she often got around him.
“Oh. I just wondered—” She was still looking at him. He said, “You’re running late.”
Her face crumpled. “I slept too long,” she said in a small voice, and Mitch had the horrible thought that she was going to cry.
“That’s—uh, okay.” Don’t cry. “Listen, I can drive you if you miss the bus.”
“You’re not mad? You yelled.”
“I didn’t yell at you.”
“Yes, you did. I heard it from the bathroom. You yelled real loud. Crys-tal. I dropped the toothpaste.” Her lower lip wobbled.
“That was to see if you were okay,” he tried to explain. She didn’t look convinced, and he didn’t know what else to say—they seemed to have no conversation, no common ground at all, and she was so sensitive.
The doorbell rang.
Barking