and gesture to Ana’s room with my thumb. “Can I?”
“Of course. She’ll be pleasantly surprised, I assure you.” Pastor Lincourt flashes me a warm smile and drags my heavy bags over to the side. I thank him quietly and tiptoe up the stairs to Ana’s room, my heart pounding with excitement.
I twist Ana’s doorknob silently and push the door open. I smile at her beautiful sleeping face. She always manages to look like an angel while she’s sleeping, while I more closely resemble a slaughtered possum in the middle of a two-lane highway. I sneak over to the side of the bed closest to the door and kneel beside her, grinning as I shake her awake.
“Morning, Sleeping Beauty,” I whisper.
Ana groans and shifts in her sleep. “Mom, it’s not even light yet.”
“I’m not your mom. Don’t ever call me that again.”
Ana’s eyes fly open and promptly water up with tears. “Mads?”
“Hey, girl.”
“Mads!” Ana shrieks and throws her arms around me. “Oh my God, I missed you so much!”
“I missed you too.”
“Are you really here? Am I dreaming?”
“You are not dreaming.” I grunt against her vise grip around my neck. “But you’re really crushing me right now.”
“Sorry.” Ana releases my neck and grips my shoulders. “What are you doing here? Aren’t you supposed to be in London for a month?”
“Yeah, that definitely didn’t work out. Did you see the latest headlines?”
Horror contorts her face. “Yeah…I saw everything. Are you okay?”
I squeeze my eyes shut in an attempt to stop the tears, but it’s hopeless. “No. I really need an Ana hug.”
“Here.” Ana scoots over on the bed to give me room to join her. I pull off my Converses and settle into bed beside her. Ana wraps her arms around me and lets me blubber out the whole story—beginning to end—of how much my life has sucked for the past two weeks. She doesn’t interrupt, doesn’t shush me, just hands me tissues from her nightstand and listens like the amazing friend she is. After fifteen minutes of venting, she squeezes me tightly against her and tells me it’s all going to be okay. My phone rings for the tenth time since I touched down in the U.S., but I ignore it again, needing nothing right now more than I need some BFF therapy and to be left alone.
***
After a gorgeous breakfast spread courtesy of Mrs. Lincourt, I head outside with Ana and her siblings to play a makeshift game of baseball. The only team sports I’ve ever played or needed to play were with the Lincourts. There are so many of them they could form their own basketball team, and they often do at home. I’ve never been that great at any organized sport, but they’re gracious and let me stand in the outfield as if I’m actually good for something anyway. I have to admit, my throwing arm isn’t too bad. If only I could aim…
Ana’s little brother Andrew pitches a slow ball to their little sister Abigail, and she swings her stubby arms and misses. I chuckle at the cute scrunched up angry face Abigail makes whenever she misses the ball. She’s only nine, but she thinks she has what it takes to play with the big dogs. Hate to tell her, but I think she’s going to end up joining me in the outfield pretty soon.
She gets one more strike, and then on the next pitch—miracle of miracles—she smacks the ball hard with a ferocious swing and it soars up into the air in my direction. As she darts to first base, I lift my glove to shield my eyes from the sun and another miracle occurs. I actually catch the ball.
I start to celebrate my little victory, but then I notice Abigail’s horrified expression and the tears that are welling up in her eyes. Before it’s too late, I loosen my grip and let the ball fall to the ground. The others cheer her on to run to second base. I “scramble” for the ball and wait just long enough to throw it so that Ana’s brother Aaron can’t tag her out.
As the others cheer for Abigail, Andrew glares
“Of course. She’ll be pleasantly surprised, I assure you.” Pastor Lincourt flashes me a warm smile and drags my heavy bags over to the side. I thank him quietly and tiptoe up the stairs to Ana’s room, my heart pounding with excitement.
I twist Ana’s doorknob silently and push the door open. I smile at her beautiful sleeping face. She always manages to look like an angel while she’s sleeping, while I more closely resemble a slaughtered possum in the middle of a two-lane highway. I sneak over to the side of the bed closest to the door and kneel beside her, grinning as I shake her awake.
“Morning, Sleeping Beauty,” I whisper.
Ana groans and shifts in her sleep. “Mom, it’s not even light yet.”
“I’m not your mom. Don’t ever call me that again.”
Ana’s eyes fly open and promptly water up with tears. “Mads?”
“Hey, girl.”
“Mads!” Ana shrieks and throws her arms around me. “Oh my God, I missed you so much!”
“I missed you too.”
“Are you really here? Am I dreaming?”
“You are not dreaming.” I grunt against her vise grip around my neck. “But you’re really crushing me right now.”
“Sorry.” Ana releases my neck and grips my shoulders. “What are you doing here? Aren’t you supposed to be in London for a month?”
“Yeah, that definitely didn’t work out. Did you see the latest headlines?”
Horror contorts her face. “Yeah…I saw everything. Are you okay?”
I squeeze my eyes shut in an attempt to stop the tears, but it’s hopeless. “No. I really need an Ana hug.”
“Here.” Ana scoots over on the bed to give me room to join her. I pull off my Converses and settle into bed beside her. Ana wraps her arms around me and lets me blubber out the whole story—beginning to end—of how much my life has sucked for the past two weeks. She doesn’t interrupt, doesn’t shush me, just hands me tissues from her nightstand and listens like the amazing friend she is. After fifteen minutes of venting, she squeezes me tightly against her and tells me it’s all going to be okay. My phone rings for the tenth time since I touched down in the U.S., but I ignore it again, needing nothing right now more than I need some BFF therapy and to be left alone.
***
After a gorgeous breakfast spread courtesy of Mrs. Lincourt, I head outside with Ana and her siblings to play a makeshift game of baseball. The only team sports I’ve ever played or needed to play were with the Lincourts. There are so many of them they could form their own basketball team, and they often do at home. I’ve never been that great at any organized sport, but they’re gracious and let me stand in the outfield as if I’m actually good for something anyway. I have to admit, my throwing arm isn’t too bad. If only I could aim…
Ana’s little brother Andrew pitches a slow ball to their little sister Abigail, and she swings her stubby arms and misses. I chuckle at the cute scrunched up angry face Abigail makes whenever she misses the ball. She’s only nine, but she thinks she has what it takes to play with the big dogs. Hate to tell her, but I think she’s going to end up joining me in the outfield pretty soon.
She gets one more strike, and then on the next pitch—miracle of miracles—she smacks the ball hard with a ferocious swing and it soars up into the air in my direction. As she darts to first base, I lift my glove to shield my eyes from the sun and another miracle occurs. I actually catch the ball.
I start to celebrate my little victory, but then I notice Abigail’s horrified expression and the tears that are welling up in her eyes. Before it’s too late, I loosen my grip and let the ball fall to the ground. The others cheer her on to run to second base. I “scramble” for the ball and wait just long enough to throw it so that Ana’s brother Aaron can’t tag her out.
As the others cheer for Abigail, Andrew glares
Similar Books
