The Chosen One - Carol Lynch Williams Page 0,54

engine is off. She wears a pair of blue jeans and a pink top. Her hair is pulled back in a ponytail. At first I think she’s in her early twenties until she stands at my car window. Then I can see she’s older.

“I am so glad you’re here, Kyra,” she says when I step outside. Her face is full of smiles.

Officer O’Neil gets out of the car and hugs me good-bye. Tears fill my eyes. For a moment I’m not sure I won’t follow her right back to the police station.

“I’ll see you again,” she says into my hair. “I’ll check in on you.”

“Okay.” My voice is a whisper.

Samantha has hold of my hand in an instant. “Let’s go inside.” We walk toward the light and the house and the girl.

But I pull back. Turn to watch Officer O’Neil drive away. Then the cars that pass on the street close enough, it seems, I could reach out and touch them. I watch it all.

Less than fifty miles from here is my family. I can’t quite move, can’t quite breathe thinking of them without me.

A wind picks up and I smell something sweet. Roses maybe? Samantha touches my arm. “It’s hard at first,” she says. Her voice is low, like it rides the breeze.

I want to nod, let her know I hear her, but I can’t.

“I did it myself, Kyra,” she says.

I stare away.

“Not from The Chosen Ones, but from the Fundamentalists. I’ve been where you are now. I got the hell out of there.” She laughs. Even though things aren’t funny at all, she laughs. “I ran. And they followed me.”

Now I look at her, straight in the eyes.

“I ran more than once. I was sixteen and married. I had a baby. Somehow I carried us both away.”

I look at the girl on the porch. She’s probably my age. The air is soft around my face.

“That’s my second daughter, Madison,” Samantha says. “The first is at the university.”

We’re both quiet. Then Samantha says, “I hear they followed you.”

“Yes,” I say.

My dress seems too tight around the wrists. She looks at me.

“And I see they gave you a good beating, too.”

“Yes.”

“Gotta keep you little ones in line, don’t they? Or you could be dangerous.”

I look back at where Officer O’Neil drove away.

“I bet you’re starved,” Samantha says. “Let’s get something to eat, you want?”

“Can I go, too, Mom?” Madison has snuck up behind us. She wears blue jeans and a top with tiny sleeves. Her bra shows. I look away. I’ll never wear anything that shows my bra. Never!

“Sure,” Samantha says. She puts an arm around her daughter. “Let’s go to IHOP.”

IN THE CAR

In the restaurant

I wonder how I will fit in here. Outside. Away and with the sin of bras that show.

My hair, my bruises, the reminder of words not that long ago, Polygamists, you can tell by their clothes, all of it separates me and makes me different. People stare when we walk in and find a seat. Like before at Applebee’s. But then I was with my mothers. Then I was with Laura.

Now I’m with strangers.

“Do you have brothers and sisters?” Madison asks. She’s been looking at me from the side of her eye. Maybe she’s never seen anyone who’s been beat up. At first, her looking, her sneaky stares, make me angry. But then her question, it knocks my anger aside.

“Yes,” I say. “Lots of both.” I pause. “And there are four girls with my mother.” No, that’s not right. “There were four girls. Now there are just three.”

There should be five, a voice says, but I ignore it.

Madison nods. “I’m the baby.” She scrunches her nose at me.

Mariah, too, the voice says.

“We have lots to do tomorrow,” Samantha says. She sips a cup of hot chocolate topped with whipped cream. “We need to take you clothes shopping.”

“Clothes?”

“You can’t just wear that,” Madison says. “You need something else. Something in style.”

I keep my eyes on the turquoise tabletop. I don’t say anything, but I think. I think, Nothing that shows my bra like some people sitting here.

The waitress sets our food in front of us. We all have the same thing—strawberry-stuffed crepes, hash browns, and tall mugs of hot chocolate. “Because you’ll love it,” Madison said when we ordered.

She’s right, though I don’t want her to be because of the dress comment. But the whipped cream and strawberries together are so good I think I might cry again. My mother would love this.

“And you can think