Dream With Little Angels by Michael Hiebert

you.” There was a sniffle or two from my mother. “Now you need to get some control,” Uncle Henry continued. “And you need to separate your emotions from your job.”
    â€œI . . . I can’t. You know what I told Mrs. Dailey two days ago? I told her I’d find her daughter. I promised her I’d find her. And the minute I said it, it was like a rock fell straight into my stomach, because it all came back to me, and right then I knew I was gonna end up breakin’ my promise just like I did with the Vickers. I still can’t look Sally Vickers in the eye. When I see her at church, I . . .” She drifted off, then: “And this is gonna be just the same. Just like—”
    Uncle Henry shushed her. “You need to take a step back. If you really wanna find this girl, you can’t do it with Ruby Mae lyin’ there in your head. You have to focus. Right now you ain’t no good to nobody. You’re not bein’ fair to the Daileys and you sure as hell ain’t bein’ fair to yourself.”
    My mother stifled back another tear.
    â€œLeah, I know you don’t need me to tell you how to run your life. God knows you’ve managed to get this far on your own. But I remember how you were those first few years after the Ruby Mae case, and I don’t wanna ever see you like that ever again. And, if having another girl now missing barely a day’s already got you like this? Well—I don’t know how you’re gonna do it, but you need to put what happened twelve years ago into a box and squirrel it away somewhere for now so you can concentrate on doin’ what needs doin’ today,” Uncle Henry said. “You think you can do that?”
    I didn’t hear any more crying, and a few seconds later Uncle Henry said, “Good. That’s good. Now, don’t you worry ’bout those kids of yours none, I’ll keep a close eye on ’em. You just worry ’bout findin’ that girl. And don’t you dare give up on her already. You hear me? Don’t you goddamn dare.”

C HAPTER 5
    A fter that Sunday, my and Dewey’s walks to school came to an abrupt end. My mother drove us, picking up Dewey along the way, even though it wasn’t along the way at all. It was, in fact, exactly eight houses down Cottonwood Lane the complete wrong direction, but my mother insisted on Dewey not walking even that far by himself first thing in the morning.
    â€œIt’s only eight houses,” I said. “What can happen in eight houses?”
    Even Dewey’s own mother thought he could manage eight houses and stay alive. When my mother called her and offered to drive, she thanked my mother and said she’d make sure Dewey was at our house in plenty of time so I wouldn’t be late. “No, Francine,” my mother said, “I think it best if I just come pick your boy up. Until this Mary Ann Dailey affair is behind us, I feel we should make a point of knowin’ exactly where our kids are at all times.” I didn’t actually hear the call, but I heard my mother tell Uncle Henry about it afterward.
    You probably think being driven to school got us there a lot faster, but it actually had the opposite effect, resulting in us being late more often than not.
    Because my mother was a police officer and because all of Alvin was kind of sitting on red-alert status due to Mary Ann Dailey disappearing, my mother’s cell phone was going off like Lady Fingers on the Fourth of July. And just like not letting Dewey walk eight houses, my mother refused to talk on her phone and drive at the same time. So, many mornings found us just a half block from where Hunter Road met Pine Street (which put us maybe a block away from the school) sitting on the side of the road, listening while my mother chattered away, and watching all the other kids walk past us carrying their knapsacks and their lunch pails. Their numbers would slowly thin