approached Sally's singlewide from the woods behind it. He peeked through the window in the door and saw light flickering like someone watching TV in the dark.
Sally's mom lay across the couch, her shirt open, naked beneath it. A man with dark hair wearing jeans and no shirt lay across her, his face between her breasts. Both passed out. Below the woman's hand a glass pipe had burned a hole in the lime green shag carpet. There were a bunch of holes near it as well.
Adam wrinkled his nose against the sharp stench of cat piss. Crank. Smelled like they were making it as well as smoking it.
He knew about methamphetamine. In Cleveland he'd seen how a binge of meth could lead to a deep crash, folks sleeping for days.
Who was taking care of Sally? She'd only just turned four.
The master bedroom was at the end of the trailer. He couldn't see anyone through the window there except a rumpled bed and clothing thrown everywhere like someone had gone through a frenzy and emptied every drawer and closet. He walked around to the front of the trailer, keeping his footsteps silent despite the gravel coated with frost.
And then he saw her. Sally sat on the cement block steps leading up to the trailer's front door, her knees drawn to her chest, arms hugging them to her body. She wore a pink nightgown, a pink fleece bathrobe, and pink fuzzy fake fur slippers.
"Sally," he said.
She didn't respond at first. Her eyes were open but not focused. He shook her gently. She was freezing. Her face was white, lips dusky, teeth chattering.
Adam sat down beside her. The cold from the cement blocks burned through his jeans. He took off his jacket, then his sweatshirt and bundled Sally inside them both before gathering her onto his lap. A bedraggled stuffed cat that once was white fell from her arms. She'd been hugging it tight to her body as if more worried about it getting cold than herself.
Between the cold bundle in his arms and the night air surrounding him, he was shivering as well. Without moving her, he reached behind him, up to the doorknob and tried to turn it. Locked. "What are you doing out here so late?"
She pointed to the stuffed cat at her feet, her hands lost in the sleeves of his sweatshirt. Adam scooped up the cat. One of its glass eyes was missing, the space left behind colored in with blue marker to match the remaining eye. He handed it to her.
"I woke up," she said, not looking at him but focused on the cat. "Miss Priss was gone. I went to look for her. She was hiding in Mommy's car." She nodded to a Chevy Impala parked beside a black Ford F-150. The truck was shiny, even in the moonlight. Chrome accents, fancy toolbox. The Chevy listed to one side, its front tire flat, and had more primer than paint holding it together.
"You got locked out?"
She nodded. It couldn't have been too long ago or, dressed the way she was, she'd be dead.
"Didn't you knock?"
"No one answered. I hit it as loud as I could, rang the doorbell. Mommy and Bert are asleep. They didn't wake up." She looked up at him with wide eyes so big they could have swallowed the moon reflected in them. "Do you think they're okay?"
Something stung Adam's cheek. He reached a hand up and realized it was a tear. Just the cold, he told himself. He stood up, taking Sally and Miss Priss with him, and carried them to the truck. The doors were open. He slid Sally into the passenger seat. It was a little warmer in here and she was out of the wind.
A few seconds later he had the engine running and heat blasting from the vents.
"How would you and Miss Priss like to come home with me?" he asked, tickling the cat under its chin. Sally giggled at that, the color already returning to her face. "My name is Adam. I'm kinda your big brother."
She yawned, covering her mouth after the fact, and curled up with her head resting against the back of the seat. "What about Mommy?"
"I'll leave her a note so she won't worry."
"No. I mean, who's going to take care of her?"
"Don't
Sally's mom lay across the couch, her shirt open, naked beneath it. A man with dark hair wearing jeans and no shirt lay across her, his face between her breasts. Both passed out. Below the woman's hand a glass pipe had burned a hole in the lime green shag carpet. There were a bunch of holes near it as well.
Adam wrinkled his nose against the sharp stench of cat piss. Crank. Smelled like they were making it as well as smoking it.
He knew about methamphetamine. In Cleveland he'd seen how a binge of meth could lead to a deep crash, folks sleeping for days.
Who was taking care of Sally? She'd only just turned four.
The master bedroom was at the end of the trailer. He couldn't see anyone through the window there except a rumpled bed and clothing thrown everywhere like someone had gone through a frenzy and emptied every drawer and closet. He walked around to the front of the trailer, keeping his footsteps silent despite the gravel coated with frost.
And then he saw her. Sally sat on the cement block steps leading up to the trailer's front door, her knees drawn to her chest, arms hugging them to her body. She wore a pink nightgown, a pink fleece bathrobe, and pink fuzzy fake fur slippers.
"Sally," he said.
She didn't respond at first. Her eyes were open but not focused. He shook her gently. She was freezing. Her face was white, lips dusky, teeth chattering.
Adam sat down beside her. The cold from the cement blocks burned through his jeans. He took off his jacket, then his sweatshirt and bundled Sally inside them both before gathering her onto his lap. A bedraggled stuffed cat that once was white fell from her arms. She'd been hugging it tight to her body as if more worried about it getting cold than herself.
Between the cold bundle in his arms and the night air surrounding him, he was shivering as well. Without moving her, he reached behind him, up to the doorknob and tried to turn it. Locked. "What are you doing out here so late?"
She pointed to the stuffed cat at her feet, her hands lost in the sleeves of his sweatshirt. Adam scooped up the cat. One of its glass eyes was missing, the space left behind colored in with blue marker to match the remaining eye. He handed it to her.
"I woke up," she said, not looking at him but focused on the cat. "Miss Priss was gone. I went to look for her. She was hiding in Mommy's car." She nodded to a Chevy Impala parked beside a black Ford F-150. The truck was shiny, even in the moonlight. Chrome accents, fancy toolbox. The Chevy listed to one side, its front tire flat, and had more primer than paint holding it together.
"You got locked out?"
She nodded. It couldn't have been too long ago or, dressed the way she was, she'd be dead.
"Didn't you knock?"
"No one answered. I hit it as loud as I could, rang the doorbell. Mommy and Bert are asleep. They didn't wake up." She looked up at him with wide eyes so big they could have swallowed the moon reflected in them. "Do you think they're okay?"
Something stung Adam's cheek. He reached a hand up and realized it was a tear. Just the cold, he told himself. He stood up, taking Sally and Miss Priss with him, and carried them to the truck. The doors were open. He slid Sally into the passenger seat. It was a little warmer in here and she was out of the wind.
A few seconds later he had the engine running and heat blasting from the vents.
"How would you and Miss Priss like to come home with me?" he asked, tickling the cat under its chin. Sally giggled at that, the color already returning to her face. "My name is Adam. I'm kinda your big brother."
She yawned, covering her mouth after the fact, and curled up with her head resting against the back of the seat. "What about Mommy?"
"I'll leave her a note so she won't worry."
"No. I mean, who's going to take care of her?"
"Don't
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