In the Arms of Stone Angels - By Jordan Dane Page 0,6

me. The bird didn’t move. It stayed put—mesmerized like me—and cocked its head toward him. Eventually that little bird came to him and I’d never seen anything like it. He cradled it in his hands with such gentleness.

“You want to see it?” he said quietly.

Seeing the way he was with that small creature, I knew I didn’t need to be afraid of this boy. I nodded and stepped closer to take a peek. The hurt bird had nuzzled into his hand. It was too weak to move, but it trusted him enough to close its eyes and rest.

“I’ll fix its wing. You want to help?”

I grinned and nodded. A little voice in my head—mostly Mom’s voice—warned me against going with him. I’d heard how perverts lured kids with missing kitties and puppies. But when I looked into this boy’s eyes, I was like that bird with a busted wing and I knew he’d never hurt me.

“Hi. My name’s Brenna. What’s yours?” I whispered and looked up at him. He was taller than the boys I knew at school.

“In town, they call me Isaac Henry, but my Euchee name is White Bird.”

“Which do you like better?”

“No one’s ever asked me that.” When he smiled, I did, too.

At that moment, I remember hoping he’d be my friend—a real friend. But if I had known then what I did now, I never would have let him near me. I would have run and not looked back.

For his sake.

“You didn’t eat your nachos.” Mom’s voice jerked me from my daydream. Harsh, real harsh. I was back at that lousy truck stop and sucked into my life, having faux breakfast with my mother.

“What?”

“I said, you didn’t eat much.” Mom looked at me like she knew I’d been somewhere else. And she was on the verge of asking me about it, but she must have changed her mind. She scarfed cold nachos off my plate instead. “We’ll be there before the sun goes down.”

Was that supposed to make me feel good? She gave her ETA like it was a good thing. I felt my jaw tense and I shoved the cold nachos away. Mom had a jacked-up way of commiserating. We were both heading to a place that would have burned us at the stake in another century. And all she could do was remind me that I had until nightfall before I became the human equivalent to a S’more.

Way to go, Mom!

Shawano, Oklahoma

We turned off the interstate at dusk and I had forgotten how intense the sunsets could be here. The sun was a molten orange ball on the horizon. Even behind my sunglasses, the light made me squint and I had to raise a hand to block the glare below my visor.

Mom hadn’t said much in the past hour. Either my nerves were contagious or she was dealing with her own demons. I wished her silence meant she understood, but I didn’t ask. She could have been quiet because she was tired. And if I had made a big deal about her mood, she would have blown me off and refused to let me in. I was only a kid in her eyes.

“Let’s stop at the grocery store. We’ll need a few things before we head to Grams’s,” Mom said as she turned onto the main drag of Shawano.

It surprised me that she still referred to the house as belonging to my grandmother as if she was still alive and would be waiting for us to arrive. That made me ache inside and I missed my phone calls to Grams, but when I didn’t say anything, Mom raised her voice.

“Did you hear me?”

“Yeah, I’m right here, duh.” I rolled my eyes and grimaced out of pure reflex. I could have spared Mom the attitude after she’d driven all day, but attitude was all I had left.

The town was how I remembered it, only way smaller. Most places on Main Street looked dirty and bleached by the sun. And graffiti was the new black. Any fond memories I had were tainted by the ugliness of why I left. I had no real purpose for coming back—except to deal with my past.

I guess Mom had her reason and I had mine. And maybe we both had something to prove.

We stopped at Homeland on the way into town to pick up groceries. The few things I wanted, I tossed them in our cart and I let Mom do the rest while I headed back toward the entrance.