don't know. But I do know one thing: my mom could help you.”
Frustrated, Max said, “Lucy, I still don't know what a ‘mom'
is
,” shaking her head, not liking where this seemed to be going.
Looking confused now herself, Lucy pondered that for a moment. Absently, she rose from the steps and went back to work on the snowman, smoothing it as she considered the problem. Max joined her, standing as silent as Frosty.
Finally, still filling in gaps in the snowman, Lucy said, “Mom is the person who gave birth to me, and you, too.”
“Yours mom gave birth to me?”
Lucy laughed again, stopped herself, shook her head. “No, not my mom. . . .
Your
mom, whoever she is, or maybe . . .
was
. . . gave birth to you. You have a belly button, don't you?”
“I don't know.”
“A navel?”
“Of course I have a navel.”
“Well, that's where you used to be connected to your mom, when you were born. That proves it. Whether you know her or not, you had a mom, all right.” Lucy shrugged. “Everybody does.”
“So . . . moms are always girls?”
“Women,” Lucy said seriously, seeming to take this teacherly responsibility to heart. “When we're older, we'll be women, and moms, too.”
Max didn't like the sound of that much. “Do we have to?”
“Well . . . why do you have to ask such hard questions, Max?”
That there were things Lucy
didn't
know seemed oddly comforting to Max; made her feel less ignorant.
“Anyway,” Lucy was saying, as she appraised Frosty one last time, “my mom can help. She can give you food and maybe Aunt Vicki's got some old
clothes. . . .”
More people—that was bad . . . wasn't it? Suddenly, Max feared she never should have stopped, never should have spoken to this little girl.
“No,” Max said. “That's okay. I fend for myself. I adapt and survive.”
“Huh?”
“Don't tell anyone you saw me, okay?”
Lucy seemed perplexed.
“Lucy, please. Don't make me . . .”
“Make you what?”
Kill you,
Max thought.
Lucy's eyes brightened with realization. “It's 'cause you ran away, isn't it? You're afraid Mom would send you back!”
Slowly, Max nodded. She touched the girl's arm; held it firmly. “Promise me, Lucy?”
Lucy's bare hand touched Max's mittened one. “Max—were they mean to you? I mean, where you ran away from . . . were they strict?”
In her mind's eye, Max saw Eva fall dead from Lydecker's bullet.
“They were strict,” Max said.
“They were mean to you there?”
“Very mean.”
Lucy forgot about her mom as she became captivated with the notion of Max's dilemma. “Gee—what did they do?”
“They took me away from my mother,” Max said, stating her own sudden realization, “and then told me she never existed.”
“They really did that?”
A car, one block over, rolled by, Max looked up, saw the car, and ducked back behind the evergreen, Lucy hot on her heels.
“They really did that?” Lucy repeated.
“Oh yes,” Max said. “And they're chasing me now. You could be in danger, too, just being with me. . . . That's why no one can know that I'm here.”
Lucy seemed to understand, yet the danger Max had mentioned only seemed to excite the child. “Listen, Max . . . I've got an idea. We can hide you. You can go with us. We live far away,
really
far away. . . . Whoever's looking for you would never think to look there.”
A warm feeling came into Max's chest, something she'd never felt before: hope. “But if we do that, won't you have to tell your mom?”
“Trust me—she'll want to help you.”
Max shook her head vigorously; she had trusted Lydecker. . . .
“Mom likes kids, she'll help you and keep away the people chasing you. Look, she tried to adopt a sister for me and they turned her down.”
“Adopt?”
“Take in a kid whose mom was dead or something. But my dad . . . they said he wasn't ‘suitable,' or . . . anyway, she'd give anything for me to have a sister.”
Unconvinced, Max said, “Thank you, but I better get
Frustrated, Max said, “Lucy, I still don't know what a ‘mom'
is
,” shaking her head, not liking where this seemed to be going.
Looking confused now herself, Lucy pondered that for a moment. Absently, she rose from the steps and went back to work on the snowman, smoothing it as she considered the problem. Max joined her, standing as silent as Frosty.
Finally, still filling in gaps in the snowman, Lucy said, “Mom is the person who gave birth to me, and you, too.”
“Yours mom gave birth to me?”
Lucy laughed again, stopped herself, shook her head. “No, not my mom. . . .
Your
mom, whoever she is, or maybe . . .
was
. . . gave birth to you. You have a belly button, don't you?”
“I don't know.”
“A navel?”
“Of course I have a navel.”
“Well, that's where you used to be connected to your mom, when you were born. That proves it. Whether you know her or not, you had a mom, all right.” Lucy shrugged. “Everybody does.”
“So . . . moms are always girls?”
“Women,” Lucy said seriously, seeming to take this teacherly responsibility to heart. “When we're older, we'll be women, and moms, too.”
Max didn't like the sound of that much. “Do we have to?”
“Well . . . why do you have to ask such hard questions, Max?”
That there were things Lucy
didn't
know seemed oddly comforting to Max; made her feel less ignorant.
“Anyway,” Lucy was saying, as she appraised Frosty one last time, “my mom can help. She can give you food and maybe Aunt Vicki's got some old
clothes. . . .”
More people—that was bad . . . wasn't it? Suddenly, Max feared she never should have stopped, never should have spoken to this little girl.
“No,” Max said. “That's okay. I fend for myself. I adapt and survive.”
“Huh?”
“Don't tell anyone you saw me, okay?”
Lucy seemed perplexed.
“Lucy, please. Don't make me . . .”
“Make you what?”
Kill you,
Max thought.
Lucy's eyes brightened with realization. “It's 'cause you ran away, isn't it? You're afraid Mom would send you back!”
Slowly, Max nodded. She touched the girl's arm; held it firmly. “Promise me, Lucy?”
Lucy's bare hand touched Max's mittened one. “Max—were they mean to you? I mean, where you ran away from . . . were they strict?”
In her mind's eye, Max saw Eva fall dead from Lydecker's bullet.
“They were strict,” Max said.
“They were mean to you there?”
“Very mean.”
Lucy forgot about her mom as she became captivated with the notion of Max's dilemma. “Gee—what did they do?”
“They took me away from my mother,” Max said, stating her own sudden realization, “and then told me she never existed.”
“They really did that?”
A car, one block over, rolled by, Max looked up, saw the car, and ducked back behind the evergreen, Lucy hot on her heels.
“They really did that?” Lucy repeated.
“Oh yes,” Max said. “And they're chasing me now. You could be in danger, too, just being with me. . . . That's why no one can know that I'm here.”
Lucy seemed to understand, yet the danger Max had mentioned only seemed to excite the child. “Listen, Max . . . I've got an idea. We can hide you. You can go with us. We live far away,
really
far away. . . . Whoever's looking for you would never think to look there.”
A warm feeling came into Max's chest, something she'd never felt before: hope. “But if we do that, won't you have to tell your mom?”
“Trust me—she'll want to help you.”
Max shook her head vigorously; she had trusted Lydecker. . . .
“Mom likes kids, she'll help you and keep away the people chasing you. Look, she tried to adopt a sister for me and they turned her down.”
“Adopt?”
“Take in a kid whose mom was dead or something. But my dad . . . they said he wasn't ‘suitable,' or . . . anyway, she'd give anything for me to have a sister.”
Unconvinced, Max said, “Thank you, but I better get
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