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  For my mother, Barbara Yauch Zulick, who taught me how to be brave

  CHAPTER

  1

  Sometimes people disappear. One minute they’re there, then poof, like a magic trick, they’re gone.

  On that first Saturday after we moved to Fortin, Vermont, when I watched my mom get handcuffed and placed in the back of a police cruiser, that’s what I thought about. People disappearing.

  I’d just handed Mom the tape to seal the drafty windows of our latest “forever home” when Bob Van Doodle barked. We peered outside as the cruiser fishtailed up our unplowed driveway. Mom dropped the tape.

  “He must be here about my complaint,” she said. “He must have questions. Or paperwork. Remember how Dad hated paperwork?” She pressed her necklace’s moon charm against her lips.

  The officer raised his hand to knock, but Mom had already opened the door. A blast of frosted air propelled him inside. The door shut. The window rattled. I hugged myself.

  “Dahlia Hayes,” he said.

  “Yes?” Mom said.

  “Ma’am, you have the right to remain silent.” He handed her a piece of paper.

  She glanced at it. “But this isn’t right,” she said in a small voice I’d only heard once before. “I was the one who made the complaint. I’m the victim. I spoke with Detective Doyle. Did you talk to her?”

  “You have the right to an attorney. If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be provided to you by the court.” He removed handcuffs from his belt. “I’m going to need you to come to the station for booking.” His hand rested on his holster. “Put your hands behind your back.”

  “Booking? For what?” She crossed her arms. “You are not putting those on me.”

  “Simple Assault. It’s all in the arrest warrant,” he said. “You’re facing up to a year in jail.” He jangled the handcuffs. “I prefer we not do this in front of the girl.”

  Mom’s laugh was high-pitched and forced. “We’re not going to do anything in front of the girl. I’m not going with you.”

  “Ma’am, if you make this difficult, I’ll add a charge of resisting arrest. Your choice.”

  The officer turned toward me. I read the name tag on his uniform: OFFICER PRATTLE.

  “How old are you?” he said.

  I felt the lump in my throat grow, the way it always did when I had to talk to strangers. It felt like a peach pit, scratchy and tight and blocking my words from escape. I nodded my long black hair forward. My bangs were like my own personal invisibility cloak; I could disappear inside it whenever I wanted to.

  “Ruby’s twelve,” Mom said. “And she’s staying right here.”

  Officer Prattle took a deep breath. “Do you have something else to put on?” he asked her. She was wearing Dad’s old Tim McGraw T-shirt and the sweatpants she’d slept in last night.

  “Ruby, hand me my coat.”

  My body wouldn’t move.

  “Ruby,” she whispered.

  I grabbed her coat from the couch and held it out. She slipped her goose-bumped arms into its sleeves.

  “You need to put your hands behind your back,” the officer said.

  Mom made tight fists and, for a second, I worried she’d slug the guy. Instead, her hands fell to her sides. The handcuffs clicked. Bob barked.

  “What’s your dog’s name?” the officer asked me.

  “Bob Van Doodle,” Mom said. “My husband named him.”

  “Is there a neighbor who can stay with your daughter, or is she coming with us to the police station?”

  Mom shook her head violently, then turned toward me, her eyes wide and unfocused. “The phone’s in my bathrobe, Ruby,” she said. “Call Cecy.”

  * * *

  When they were gone, I lifted Mom’s bathrobe from the chair where she’d tossed it earlier. I buried my face in it, breathing her mango-scented shampoo. I swallowed hard. Do not cry. Do not cry. Do not cry. Bob retrieved the tape with his teeth and dropped it at my feet. Mom’s words from just before the officer showed up echoed in my brain.

  This is it, Ruby, she had said. Our true forever home. I can feel it in my bones. She had given me a tight smile. We hit a few bumps when we first moved to Myrtle Beach, and Avalon, and, well, Orlando, too, but everything worked out in the end.

  Only it hadn’t.

  Call Cecy.

  Cecy had lived in Fortin her whole life. Although she was Mom’s older cousin, she acted more like her mother. No matter where we had moved over the last two years, Cecy visited. I’m your only living relative, Dahlia. I need to make sure you and Ruby are safe, she’d say. Then she’d look at me with a face like she’d just drunk sour milk. Your mother would have you living in a barn, Ruby, if it wasn’t for me.

  Later when I’d complain about Cecy, Mom would laugh. That’s Cecy for you, she’d say.

  When things fell apart in Orlando, Cecy put her foot down. It’s time to come home to Fortin, Dahlia, she had said. Even though Mom hadn’t lived in Vermont since she was six, we packed our bags that night.

  Now, as I shivered against the chill of our newest “forever home,” I couldn’t help but think that maybe we had finally landed in that barn Cecy was always talking about.

  Bob whined and scratched at the door.

  I dug Mom’s TracFone out of her robe’s pocket.

  Cecy answered on the first ring. “I found more warm clothes at Family Thrift,” she said.

  I closed my eyes and breathed deeply, willing my throat to open.

  “Dahlia?” Cecy said.

  “It’s me.”

  “Ruby? You sound like you just woke up. Tell your mom I’ll drop off the clothes later or I can meet her at Frank’s—”

  “Cecy, the police were—Mom got arrested.”

  Silence.

  “Mom said to call you.”

  “You’ve been in Fortin for less than a week. How—” Cecy swore under her breath. “And it’s New Year’s Day for Pete’s sake. They have nothing better to do?”

  I could almost see her sour-milk face.

  “I’ll go to the police station,” she said. “I’ll get to the bottom of this.”

  As I lowered the phone, I heard Cecy’s voice screech, “Rubyyyyy!”

  I put the phone to my ear.

  “Stay in the house. I’ll call you.”

  “But Bob. He’ll need to—”

  “Well, if you have to go out, keep him on a leash and don’t go in the woods.”

  After I hung up, I hugged myself against the stillness of the house. Garbage bags, stuffed with whatever we could fit from our last forever home, leaned against the wobbly kitchen table and spilled off the lumpy couch. Cecy had stacked old newspapers, kindling, and logs next to a woodstove, but Mom couldn’t figure out how to work it. Now it glared at me like a caged animal, its four iron legs ready to pounce.

  Bob leaped up, placing his front paws on the table. He snagged his leash and dra
gged it clanging across the uneven floorboards toward the front door and scratched again. But I didn’t want to go outside. I wanted to hide under the comforter on my air mattress.

  Don’t let me down, Ruby. I’m trusting you to take good care of Bob.

  Bob whined.

  I frowned. It couldn’t be much colder outside than it was in this freezer-box. Plus, I knew I’d go crazy sitting here waiting for Cecy to call back.

  I dug through my own garbage-bag suitcase until I found a pair of jeans and Dad’s old Air and Space Museum sweatshirt. I grabbed my jacket from the couch. But as soon as I stepped outside, it was clear that my Florida clothes were no match for Vermont’s frozen air. It hit me like it was something solid and alive, pinching my face and making my eyes water. Each breath cut my lungs.

  Bob pulled me down Specter Hill Road. Dirt and ice crunched beneath my feet. The smell of wood smoke scratched my throat. It had taken Mom and me two days to drive here from Orlando, but we might as well have traveled to the moon. I could describe Fortin in one word: gray. Gray sky, gray road, gray smells. Even Aunt Cecy with her short gray hair and glasses. Even Officer Prattle with his tight gray uniform and handcuffs.

  Images of Mom getting arrested flashed through my brain. The officer pushing her head down into the back of the cruiser. The cruiser kicking up snow and dirt as it disappeared onto the road. Of course, with my dad being a cop, it wasn’t like I’d never seen a police car before. Sometimes, Dad would pick me up from school in one. Sitting in its backseat, I felt safe and scared at the same time. I’ve always liked holing up in small spaces, like Bob Van Doodle’s puppy crate. But the back of a police car is separated from the front by wire and glass and has no inside door handles. You can’t get out unless someone lets you.

  It must be a mistake, I thought. Mom had done a lot of weird stuff over the last couple years, but she’d never commit a crime.

  I studied the dark forest on either side of me. Cecy didn’t need to tell me to keep out. With each frozen gust, skeleton trees shivered their own warning: Stay out, stay out, stay out.

  At the bottom of the hill, a rusted gate gaped open in the snow. A wooden sign hung on it. NO TRESPASSING, it must have once said, but now its words were faded and caked in dirt and ice. The branches of a giant pine tree reached over it like an umbrella. That’s when I noticed the bunny sitting in a nest of pine needles. It was as silent as the snow itself. And still. So still, I worried it had frozen there. Only the quiver of its whiskers gave it away. Fortunately, Bob was too busy sniffing every inch of snow to notice.

  I watched the bunny’s fur ruffle in the breeze. Eyes wide, seeing nothing. Afraid to move, like the slightest twitch might give it away. I wanted that bunny to know she was okay with me. I longed to scoop her into my arms and bring her back to the house, where she wouldn’t have to stand so still and scared by the side of the road.

  Then, in a flash, the rabbit tore off. Bob ripped the leash from my frostbitten fingers and shot after her, past the NO TRESPASSING sign. I started to follow, but my sneaker stuck in the snow. After I’d hopped back to put it on, Bob was gone.

  I squeezed past the gate, chasing Bob’s paw prints up an unplowed driveway. Icy shivers crawled up my spine.

  That’s when I noticed the other set of footprints.

  Then, as I turned a bend, I almost ran into a burning campfire. There was also an old farmhouse, set back, and I scanned it, searching for some sign of the person who’d built the fire. But boards covered the house’s windows like bandages and snow barricaded its front door. A thick center chimney and peeling white paint made me think it was once someone’s cozy home, but now it looked as tired and abandoned as the woods surrounding it.

  Flames shot from the fire, licking a bright red teapot that dangled from a metal bar. A cast-iron pot steamed on a large flat rock. Nearby there was a gray shed, its front door rattling in the wind. An old quilt had been crammed inside its broken window and a shabby piece of the fabric flapped in the breeze.

  “Stay out!” a sandpaper voice rasped.

  I spun in dizzy confusion as the door to the shed banged open. A person dressed in a patched wool coat stepped out. A blizzard of scarves wrapped around the face so tight and thick, all I could see were two dark eyes squinting against the dim afternoon light. Every cell in my brain screamed, Run! Go! Hide! But my legs had frozen in place.

  “Looking for something?” the voice croaked.

  I scanned the woods for a sign of Bob.

  “A dog shot through here. He belong to you?” It was an old lady’s voice, as cracked and shaky as the shed behind her. “There are leash laws, you know. You can’t let your dog run loose bothering my pets.”

  I blinked. I didn’t see any pets. I thought about the bunny and wondered if she was okay.

  The lady’s eyes narrowed on me. The pit inside my throat grew. I nodded my bangs forward.

  “Where’d you learn to dress?” she said. “Don’t you know it’s twenty-five degrees out here?”

  A tiny black-and-white bird suddenly flew between us. Its flight wasn’t smooth, but all crazy up and down, the way my stomach felt. I recognized the bird as a chickadee. Winter birds, my mom called them. I wished she was here. She’d know what to say to get me away from this lady.

  The chickadee landed on a wire that ran from above the door of the boarded-up house, across the driveway, and then was attached to the roof of the rickety shed. Items dangled from the wire—a bright yellow coffee can, smaller tin cans, and a boot. The tiny bird took a seed and flew away.

  “Who are you?” the lady asked.

  I stared at my feet wishing they would move. The lady stepped closer. She smelled like black licorice. “Look at me, girl. I asked you a question.”

  I peeked through my bangs, feeling like the rabbit. Eyes wide, seeing nothing. I swallowed hard. My throat itched. “Ruby,” I whispered.

  “Where’d you come from?”

  I pointed in the direction of our newest “forever home.”

  “Old man Specter’s farm?” She squinted at me, her forehead wrinkling. “No one’s lived there since he died.”

  I hugged myself.

  The lady sniffed. “You need to keep a better handle on your dog. He can’t be roaming around here.”

  I heard a sharp bark from behind the boarded-up house. Bob! I took a step toward it, then felt a tug on my hood. I turned, realizing the lady had snatched it with her claw-like hand.

  “You’re trying to get inside!” she hissed.

  I tried to scream, but only air came out. The lady let go. I was about to run when Bob appeared, steaming and panting and grinning as if this had all been part of some fantastic game.

  I grabbed his icy leash, wanting to strangle and hug him at the same time.

  “You got your dog, now stay away!” the lady said as she retreated into the gray shed. The door banged shut behind her. I heard a latch click. I sure wasn’t going to wait around for her to come back out. I tore out of there, Bob at my heels. As we reached Specter Hill Road, the wind picked up.

  When I got to our icy driveway, all I was thinking about was getting inside and hiding under my comforter. But as I neared the house, I froze. Someone was sitting on the front porch swing, wrapped in a blanket and shivering.

  Mom was back.

  CHAPTER

  2

  Bob pulled free of my grasp and galloped toward Mom. I jammed my numb fingers into my jeans and stepped onto the porch.

  Mom slowly rocked the swing as she stared into the sky. “It gets dark so early here, doesn’t it?” she whispered. “Darker than anywhere else we’ve lived.”

  She scratched Bob’s head as I squeezed in next to her on the seat. She adjusted her blanket to cover me. Her face looked even paler against the darkening sky. Bob got distracted by a scent in the snow and bounded off, tracking it behind the house.

  “Remember when Dad used to work the overnight shift,” Mom said, “and you two played your Moon Game?”

 
Goose bumps ran up my arms. I did not want to talk about the Moon Game with Mom. I did not want to talk about Dad.

  The Moon Game began when Dad started working nights and we hardly saw each other. Dad and I had a deal. Each night at exactly eight o’clock, no matter where we were or what we were doing, we had to find the moon.

  Since we’re both looking at the moon at the same time, Ruby, he’d say, it’ll be like we’re sitting right next to each other. If Dad was gone before I got home from school, he’d leave a note. I’ll see you on the moon tonight, he’d write.

  One rainy night, I cried when I couldn’t find the moon. Mom rubbed my back and sang to me until I fell asleep. The next morning Dad came into my room. The important part is the trying, he’d said. Just because you can’t see it doesn’t mean it’s not there.

  Mom slowly rocked the porch swing. “I was thinking you and I could start doing that. Most of the job openings I’m finding are for the night shift.”

  I didn’t want to hurt her feelings, but the Moon Game belonged to Dad and me.

  “There’s no moon in Vermont,” I said. Stars had begun to pop out in the darkening night sky. But the moon seemed to have overslept.

  “Just because you can’t see it doesn’t mean it’s not there,” she whispered, lifting the charm of her crescent moon necklace to her lips. Dad had given her the necklace before I was born and I couldn’t remember her ever not having it on. Sometimes I’d ask her if I could wear it, but she always said no.

  Mom kissed the top of my head and for a moment I felt like the old mom was back. The one who used to rub my back and sing.

  “What happened, Mom? Why did that cop arrest you?”

  She let the charm fall against her neck. “It’s … it’s all a mistake.”

  But I knew it wasn’t. I knew it as much as I knew I’d hate Fortin as much as I’d hated Myrtle Beach and Avalon and Orlando. Even though those places had been vacation spots we’d visited with Dad, they weren’t home. And neither was Fortin.