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Authors: Naomi Kinsman
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kissed her on the top of her head, grabbed an apple and headed for the door, not looking at me once. I twisted my napkin, trying to keep my face neutral. He couldn’t know about the elevator, could he? I hadn’t even thought about possible security tapes. Someone could have seen Karl and said something to Dad. Was that why he was hurrying off to work?
“Wait, Matthew,” Mom said. “Who was that? What did they want?”
I couldn’t look at him, could hardly breathe.
But Dad only sighed. “I’ll tell you when I get home. It’s a mess.”
The kitchen door swung behind him and he was gone.
Grant picked up his sandwich, which, like everything, looked miniature in his huge hands. “I’ll pick up food later.”
I smoothed out my napkin. Like I could eat after all that.
“Not hungry, Sadie?” Mom asked.
“May I be excused?” I asked.
She nodded, and I went upstairs to wait for Grant to finish eating. I flopped onto my bed and closed my eyes.
I’m scared
.
The prayer, which was not much of a prayer, came out sharp and surprising. Everything had been happening so fast and I hadn’t taken time to be quiet, to pray. For me, the best way to quiet my mind and talk with God was to draw. Last year, no matter how bad things became, drawing had been my anchor. I’d begun to need to draw the way I needed to breathe. The smell of charcoal and the sound of stroke after stroke on paper calmed me until I could gather all my questions and thoughts and worries, and dump them all out on the page, so I could see them clearly. And as I did, tiny thoughts slipped into my mind, thoughts I hadn’t considered before. They calmed me and helped me see myself and even the rest of the world differently. Maybe I couldn’t hear God’s voice, exactly, but I’d begun to recognize these thoughts, the tone and feeling of them, and knew they were from God.
Drawing this way, opening up, was scary, too. I’d likely learn the truth about my feelings, even truths I had hidden from myself. Like my prayer. I’d been working too hard to cover up my secrets; I hadn’t admitted to myself that I was scared, too.
I took out my sketchbook and drew quickly, little snippets of whatever flashed to mind: Andrew throwing a stick into the creek for Sink-the-Boat, Pippa running on the beach, Ruth eating ice cream at Black Bear Java, Vivianadding ceramics to one of her sculptures. I wasn’t afraid of any of these things, so why were these images coming to mind, instead of Karl, or Dad totally furious with me? Maybe I was afraid I’d never be happy like that again. My life would continue to get worse and worse, like a bad movie, with Grant, the muscle man, shadowing me everywhere I went. Dad, in the middle of huge trouble at work. Me, hiding a million secrets that weren’t entirely my fault, while trying to fit back into my life here. Deep down, I knew I’d have to eventually tell Dad about Karl, or he’d find out on his own. He’d find out about Charlotte and camp, too. And I’d be grounded for life, locked up in my house with my sick mom and the bodyguard.
“Ready, Sadie?” Grant called up to me.
When I came downstairs, he already had Higgins leashed up and ready to go.
Mom stood in the hallway, nervously straightening the pictures on the wall. “If you see anyone suspicious, call me right away.”
“Okay, Mom,” I said. “But you’re not supposed to answer the phone.”
Mom fluttered her hand impatiently. “I can answer if it’s Grant’s number. And keep your eyes open, Sadie.”
“I will.”
Mom gave me a once over. “Maybe you shouldn’t go today. Should I call Dad and ask?”
“Mom, I need air. You can’t keep me cooped up inside all the time. And I’ll be with Grant. And Higgins.”
“We’ll be all right,” Grant said. “I promise. See you in about half an hour, Cindy.”
Higgins took off the minute Grant opened the door, and I nearly had to run to keep up with them. We turned left out of the driveway and
“Wait, Matthew,” Mom said. “Who was that? What did they want?”
I couldn’t look at him, could hardly breathe.
But Dad only sighed. “I’ll tell you when I get home. It’s a mess.”
The kitchen door swung behind him and he was gone.
Grant picked up his sandwich, which, like everything, looked miniature in his huge hands. “I’ll pick up food later.”
I smoothed out my napkin. Like I could eat after all that.
“Not hungry, Sadie?” Mom asked.
“May I be excused?” I asked.
She nodded, and I went upstairs to wait for Grant to finish eating. I flopped onto my bed and closed my eyes.
I’m scared
.
The prayer, which was not much of a prayer, came out sharp and surprising. Everything had been happening so fast and I hadn’t taken time to be quiet, to pray. For me, the best way to quiet my mind and talk with God was to draw. Last year, no matter how bad things became, drawing had been my anchor. I’d begun to need to draw the way I needed to breathe. The smell of charcoal and the sound of stroke after stroke on paper calmed me until I could gather all my questions and thoughts and worries, and dump them all out on the page, so I could see them clearly. And as I did, tiny thoughts slipped into my mind, thoughts I hadn’t considered before. They calmed me and helped me see myself and even the rest of the world differently. Maybe I couldn’t hear God’s voice, exactly, but I’d begun to recognize these thoughts, the tone and feeling of them, and knew they were from God.
Drawing this way, opening up, was scary, too. I’d likely learn the truth about my feelings, even truths I had hidden from myself. Like my prayer. I’d been working too hard to cover up my secrets; I hadn’t admitted to myself that I was scared, too.
I took out my sketchbook and drew quickly, little snippets of whatever flashed to mind: Andrew throwing a stick into the creek for Sink-the-Boat, Pippa running on the beach, Ruth eating ice cream at Black Bear Java, Vivianadding ceramics to one of her sculptures. I wasn’t afraid of any of these things, so why were these images coming to mind, instead of Karl, or Dad totally furious with me? Maybe I was afraid I’d never be happy like that again. My life would continue to get worse and worse, like a bad movie, with Grant, the muscle man, shadowing me everywhere I went. Dad, in the middle of huge trouble at work. Me, hiding a million secrets that weren’t entirely my fault, while trying to fit back into my life here. Deep down, I knew I’d have to eventually tell Dad about Karl, or he’d find out on his own. He’d find out about Charlotte and camp, too. And I’d be grounded for life, locked up in my house with my sick mom and the bodyguard.
“Ready, Sadie?” Grant called up to me.
When I came downstairs, he already had Higgins leashed up and ready to go.
Mom stood in the hallway, nervously straightening the pictures on the wall. “If you see anyone suspicious, call me right away.”
“Okay, Mom,” I said. “But you’re not supposed to answer the phone.”
Mom fluttered her hand impatiently. “I can answer if it’s Grant’s number. And keep your eyes open, Sadie.”
“I will.”
Mom gave me a once over. “Maybe you shouldn’t go today. Should I call Dad and ask?”
“Mom, I need air. You can’t keep me cooped up inside all the time. And I’ll be with Grant. And Higgins.”
“We’ll be all right,” Grant said. “I promise. See you in about half an hour, Cindy.”
Higgins took off the minute Grant opened the door, and I nearly had to run to keep up with them. We turned left out of the driveway and
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