Page 17 of Dreaming Dante


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I’m ready for sleep too, but first Dante and I have to get some things straight. When I go back out into the living room, he’s waiting for me, sitting on one end of the couch with his legs stretched out in front of him. I curl up in a nearby armchair that’s angled toward the couch and try to order my thoughts.

Dante beats me to it. “I think you’d better tell me what’s goingon.”

“What?” I say, caught off guard. That is not on my agenda atall.

“You’re a good mom. You wouldn’t be taking your daughter on the road with no money and a car that’s on its last legs if you had any choice. Which means you’re running from something.”

Damn him and his brain. “I can’t talk aboutit.”

“Heather.” He waits until, reluctantly, I raise my eyes to his. “Whatever it is, I’ll help you. But you gotta trust me, and I say that because you gotta trust someone.

“Disappearing takes money. Travel takes money, plus decent transportation. Without resources, you’re a sitting duck, and so’s yourgirl.”

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