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Authors: Miranda Beverly-Whittemore
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too complex, too confusing. So the two friends counted out coins and rumpled bills the way they’d always
done, leaving a jumble of cash on the table.
Mission accomplished.
Chapter Four
W ILLA
New Milford, Connecticut
Wednesday, May 7, 1997
Y ou even brought Ariel.” Disappointment skated the edge of Willa’s voice. She noticed the ancient cat immediately, curled into
a sleeping ball on a pillow on the front seat. Nat was reminded of how much he admired Willa in the moments before their departures.
She never threw fits. She never cried. She made observations.
Nat put his hand over her fingers, where they perched on the ledge of his rolled-down window. “I thought…” he said, then faltered.
He had planned it all on the drive over, and now he couldn’t locate the right phrasing. It was so strange to think of leaving
her behind. “I thought it would be easier for me to take care of Ariel.”
“Than who?”
He smiled. “Than you.”
Willa stepped back from the car. Just a fraction of an inch, but to her, it was miles. “You’re leaving me here?”
Nat patted her hand and tried to look reassuring.“You’ll be fine. I’ll be back soon.”
Miss Finlay emerged from the art building, a stack of papers in her hand. “Good morning, Mr. Llewelyn,” she chirped. As Willa
watched her walking off toward Tully Hall, she remembered all those times she’d nearly run after an adult like Miss Finlay
andbegged her for help. Begged her to make time stop. In North Conway, New Hampshire, it had been Willa’s third-grade math teacher,
Mr. Wilson, who’d sauntered obliviously by the idling car. In Chapel Hill, North Carolina, it had been the kindly Mrs. Sims,
who lived next door and was on her way to buy groceries. But when it came down to it, Willa always let her intercessor carry
on, unknowing. There was nothing to tell that third party. What could Willa say? “My dad makes me move when I don’t want to”?
“My dad keeps ruining my social life”? It wasn’t as if he were kidnapping her. Willa knew it was dangerous for a little girl
in America to accuse her single father of anything inappropriate, because of what people would decide to believe. The very
idea that someone would think her father was capable of hurting her the way other girls were hurt, well, that was preposterous.
He would never
abuse
her. And whenever he came and got her, she understood it was only because he believed something had changed that was threatening
their safety. As if he could see an invisible army mounting against them both, and there were only a few moments in which
rescuing was possible. Really, it was just in the seconds before they left a place for good, when it felt as if they were
being scattered together into the world, that Willa felt a strange, searing pain inside, as if Nat were asking her to remove
pieces of herself willingly, for a reason he would not name.
“Look, kiddo,” Nat said, adopting a no-nonsense dad voice. “I’m just going on a little trip—”
“This is not a little trip, Dad, okay? I’m not fucking blind. The car is packed.”
“Two suitcases. A cooler. The tent. A sleeping bag or two. Ariel’s medicine. A bunch of chips. Some paperbacks. You know how
I travel. I need my things.”
“So this is some kind of vacation?”
“Not exactly.” He wasn’t going to lie.
“Dad,” she said, all business, “my art show’s next Friday. You’ll be back by then, right?”
Nat knew to play this carefully. “I hope so.” He looked away. It was worth risking her wrath.
“Where are you
going?”
“Oregon.”
Willa couldn’t believe her ears. They’d never been west of the Mississippi. He had instructed her of this once, but she knew
exactly where they’d been. Driving away from Rochester. Willa had been ten and bold and begging Nat—if they were just moving
random places, please could they move somewhere with something interesting near it, like the
done, leaving a jumble of cash on the table.
Mission accomplished.
Chapter Four
W ILLA
New Milford, Connecticut
Wednesday, May 7, 1997
Y ou even brought Ariel.” Disappointment skated the edge of Willa’s voice. She noticed the ancient cat immediately, curled into
a sleeping ball on a pillow on the front seat. Nat was reminded of how much he admired Willa in the moments before their departures.
She never threw fits. She never cried. She made observations.
Nat put his hand over her fingers, where they perched on the ledge of his rolled-down window. “I thought…” he said, then faltered.
He had planned it all on the drive over, and now he couldn’t locate the right phrasing. It was so strange to think of leaving
her behind. “I thought it would be easier for me to take care of Ariel.”
“Than who?”
He smiled. “Than you.”
Willa stepped back from the car. Just a fraction of an inch, but to her, it was miles. “You’re leaving me here?”
Nat patted her hand and tried to look reassuring.“You’ll be fine. I’ll be back soon.”
Miss Finlay emerged from the art building, a stack of papers in her hand. “Good morning, Mr. Llewelyn,” she chirped. As Willa
watched her walking off toward Tully Hall, she remembered all those times she’d nearly run after an adult like Miss Finlay
andbegged her for help. Begged her to make time stop. In North Conway, New Hampshire, it had been Willa’s third-grade math teacher,
Mr. Wilson, who’d sauntered obliviously by the idling car. In Chapel Hill, North Carolina, it had been the kindly Mrs. Sims,
who lived next door and was on her way to buy groceries. But when it came down to it, Willa always let her intercessor carry
on, unknowing. There was nothing to tell that third party. What could Willa say? “My dad makes me move when I don’t want to”?
“My dad keeps ruining my social life”? It wasn’t as if he were kidnapping her. Willa knew it was dangerous for a little girl
in America to accuse her single father of anything inappropriate, because of what people would decide to believe. The very
idea that someone would think her father was capable of hurting her the way other girls were hurt, well, that was preposterous.
He would never
abuse
her. And whenever he came and got her, she understood it was only because he believed something had changed that was threatening
their safety. As if he could see an invisible army mounting against them both, and there were only a few moments in which
rescuing was possible. Really, it was just in the seconds before they left a place for good, when it felt as if they were
being scattered together into the world, that Willa felt a strange, searing pain inside, as if Nat were asking her to remove
pieces of herself willingly, for a reason he would not name.
“Look, kiddo,” Nat said, adopting a no-nonsense dad voice. “I’m just going on a little trip—”
“This is not a little trip, Dad, okay? I’m not fucking blind. The car is packed.”
“Two suitcases. A cooler. The tent. A sleeping bag or two. Ariel’s medicine. A bunch of chips. Some paperbacks. You know how
I travel. I need my things.”
“So this is some kind of vacation?”
“Not exactly.” He wasn’t going to lie.
“Dad,” she said, all business, “my art show’s next Friday. You’ll be back by then, right?”
Nat knew to play this carefully. “I hope so.” He looked away. It was worth risking her wrath.
“Where are you
going?”
“Oregon.”
Willa couldn’t believe her ears. They’d never been west of the Mississippi. He had instructed her of this once, but she knew
exactly where they’d been. Driving away from Rochester. Willa had been ten and bold and begging Nat—if they were just moving
random places, please could they move somewhere with something interesting near it, like the
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