3
“She’ll be all right?” immediately followed my exclamation and awkward embrace. I pretended I hadn’t buried my head in his black coat and that he hadn’t stroked my hair. But his lemony smell was still in my nostrils.
“Do you want to make sure?” he said. I nodded, and a few more tears blurred his image.
He disentangled himself and stood; I sprang to his side, unwilling to be alone for another second.
“Jess,” he said rather quietly, but his voice carried. She turned to look at him, at us together, and he waved.

I don't know you
but I see your face, in black and white
and brown and grey
and yellowed paper,
torn, frayed
I don't know your name
But your pen has etched words between pages,
half-read, half-wondered,
smoothly curlicued
Hello there!
and Muskaka Avenue

I don't know you,
but there are weddings, deaths
communion, baptism,
flowers

I don't know your name
but there's someone smiling
up from brittle pages,
and a tiny television set, brand new
and black and white,

After my bath, I dress back into my messy clothes and walk out to the humongous kitchen. I didn't realize how hungry I am until now.
"Do you want something to eat?" Angi asks, appearing out from the gorgeous spiral staircase beside the pantry.
"Please," I reply, feeling my stomache growl loudly.
Angi walks to the fridge and jerks in open.
"Here, I have some kiesh left from last night's dinner with the kids-"
"Wait, the kids?" I say, startled. I didn't even guess that she has kids.

"Let's get you a bath, Emily," Angi says once we are inside. The house is huge. There are arched ceilings, and beautiful worksmanship engraved on every piece of furniture. Even the supersized flat-screen tv is beautiful.
I run my hands over the wooden lion on the couch.
"Emily! Don't you dare touch that without my permission!" Angi shouts in my ear.
I jerk my pale hand away immediately.
"Sorry, An-"
"Don't you 'sorry Angi' me! You take one fast bath, or you are in deep trouble," Angi snaps.
"Yes, ma'am," I say, glad to get away from her.

When I awake the rain has stopped falling.
Morning dew has covered my face, making my shirt even wetter than it was in the first place. I sit up. It must be early, for it is still slightly foggy and the sun is still rising some.
I feel wet leaves and sticks cling to my hair, but it doesn't matter.
I'll get a home soon. I mean, who wouldn't want to take in an innocent ten year old?
Well, better start getting a move on now, I think to myself.
I stand up and dust off my too-tight kapris.