Chapter 9: The Horse

I was at the front door in my father's old flannel robe before the knocking started.

Jesse was behind me in the hall, pulling on his jeans.

I had said no Lottie and no Birdie.

Here she was on the porch at two in the morning, standing in the yellow circle of the light.

She had Birdie asleep against her shoulder, wrapped in a quilt, with the palomino horse hanging from one little fist.

"Hattie, I'm so sorry," Lottie whispered. "I saw his truck in the drive. I didn't want to wake the whole house."

"It's two in the morning."

"She woke up screaming for him. Over and over. She wouldn't stop. I tried everything."

Her voice cracked.

"I didn't know where else to go."

"How did you know where he was?"

"The whole county knows, honey. He's been here every night."

That was a lie.

He had been here once, and I had asked him to come.

Behind me Jesse said, "Give her to me, Lottie."

"No." I took a step forward. "I'll take her."

Lottie looked at me, and I saw her decide whether to refuse.

She handed Birdie over.

The little girl weighed almost nothing.

She turned her face into my neck and sighed, warm and damp, and her braids were coming loose against my collarbone.

She smelled of baby shampoo and fever sweat.

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