Chapter 7: Aunt Noreen

My feet started walking before I told them to.

That's what seven years does.

When the white car comes, you go.

You get ten minutes to pack, and you don't cry, because crying wastes three of them.

I was halfway down the driveway with the bucket of oak leaves still in my hand.

"Minnie?" my mother said behind me. "Minnie, who is that?"

"That's Miss Noreen," I said. "I have to go now."

"No you don't."

She grabbed my hand.

Her rings bit into my fingers.

I pulled loose, gently, because she was a client and you don't yank on clients.

"It's the rule, ma'am."

Noreen opened the passenger door from the inside.

"Come on, kiddo. We'll get your things later."

The seat was the same tan velour. It smelled the same, like peppermints and cigarettes.

I looked at it.

And I stopped.

I didn't know why.

I'd never stopped before.

My feet just stood on the man's driveway and wouldn't go any closer.

"Minnie," Noreen said, in her Sunday voice. "Don't make Aunt Noreen get out of the car."

Tires screamed at the end of the street.

A black SUV came around the corner too fast, bumped up over the curb and slammed to a stop crossways behind the Buick.

Nose to the hedge. Tail to the mailbox.

Noreen couldn't back out.

Wesley got out of the SUV still holding his phone.

He'd been sent the video. I could tell from his face.

He looked at me. Then at the open car door. Then at Noreen.

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