a kind of calling the meeting to order deliberateness.
“Like what?”
“Like you. I’ve always wondered: your family all lived together until you were . . . ?”
“Twelve.”
“Then you and your father moved out and you never saw Calpurnia again.” I nodded. I’d told him that part when we first met. “Why? Because she was behind the wheel when your mother was killed? Did he blame Calpurnia for her death?”
“He did. But that wasn’t the reason he wouldn’t let me see her again.”
“Then what was?”
I wrapped my hands tight around the ceramic curve of my coffee mug and stared down at the mocha-colored pool inside the rim.
“Because Calpurnia kidnapped me.”
“Excuse me?”
I knew he’d heard me. He just didn’t believe it. I spoke louder so he’d know I wasn’t kidding.
“Aunt Calpurnia kidnapped me. We disappeared for nine days.”
I lifted my head.
“They were the greatest nine days of my life.”
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Twenty-five years before
Mrs. Christiansen, the school secretary, escorted me to the foyer and peered through the glass double doors toward the driveway, where Calpurnia’s silver sedan sat idling.
“Do you have everything, Celia? Books? Jacket? Lunchbox?”
Mrs. Christiansen was kind but tenderhearted. If I started to cry, I knew she’d cry too and I’d have to endure another round of hugs and sympathy before I could get to my aunt and find out why I’d been summoned from class on a Friday morning. And so, instead of crying, I nodded and looped the straps of my backpack in the crook of my left arm, ready to make my escape.
Mrs. Christiansen placed her hands on either side of my face. “Poor little thing. First your momma and granny and now this.” She sighed. “You take care of yourself, Celia. You hear?”
“Yes, ma’am,” I said, then wriggled loose and ran out the door, the heavy backpack whacking my leg with every step.
Calpurnia climbed out of the car, coming around to the passenger side to meet me. I flung myself into her arms and let the tears flow.
“Hush now, sugar. Everything’s going to be fine.”
“What’s wrong? Is Daddy okay?”
She bent over me, talking into my hair, her breath warm and scented with cinnamon. “Yes, honey. He’s fine. Just get in the car.”
“But is he—”
“Get in the car, Celia Louise.”
Every child knows that when an adult uses your middle name, they’re really saying, “Do not even think of arguing with me,” so I flung my backpack onto the front seat and climbed in after it. Auntie Cal looked back toward Mrs. Christiansen, who was watching from the door, smiled weakly and sadly, and then got behind the wheel.
“What happened?” I asked. “The principal said it was a family emergency.”
Calpurnia pulled out of the parking lot and into the traffic. “Well, it’s not exactly an emergency,” she explained. “Your daddy got called away on important business. There’s a big writers’ conference in New York City and the main speaker came down with the shingles, so they asked Sterling to fill in at the last minute.
“Since he’s going to be gone all week, having a grand time in the big city, I thought that you and I deserved a little getaway too. We’re going on a road trip, sugar! Just you and me. Doesn’t that sound wonderful?”
I glared at her, frowning. “But you said there was an emergency. Why would you tell my principal a lie?”
What I really wanted to know was why she’d lied to me.
I’d been through it all before, just five months previously, the seemingly normal day that is interrupted by a somber-faced adult who tells you to get your things and follow them but won’t tell you why, then delivers you to another adult who is higher on the food chain, who tells you there’s been an emergency but won’t provide details, the walk, the wait, the pounding heart, until you’re finally handed off to your family and told the terrible truth.
I was only just getting past all that; so were the kids in my grade. Being introverted, unpopular, and twelve is even more miserable when your classmates either look through you because they don’t know what to say, whisper about you behind your back, or pretend to like you because they feel sorry for you. Until recently, the only person who treated me like she always had was Polly. I just wanted for things to be normal again. Finally, it was starting to happen.
Earlier that week, Andy Green, whom I had been praying on my knees would notice me, begged the teacher to put me in his