“Greyhounds don’t bark,” Wendy answers at last.Greyhound, I think. That’s what kind of dog it is. Like on the buses, big skinny leaping things. “Not unless they’re really, really scared.” She looks at me, and when she does, her eyes are shining. Her voice drops to a whisper. “She must have been so scared today.”
I feel like I’m frozen.
Because what I want to do, what the girl in me wants to do, even now, is soften and coo and open my arms to offer this little girl a hug. Stupid emotional instinct is that fucking deep.
But I can’t. I can’t, and I can’t even think about doing it.
Instead I do…I do what a guy would do. I reach out and squeeze her shoulder. Kind of like how Fox squeezed my hand, back on the bike.
Which, come to think of it, was a little weird. Not bad, but…but I’m not a kid.
I shake my head to clear it as Nana crouches and leaps up onto the bed. Immediately, Wendy looks at me.
“Is that allowed?”
I shrug. “I don’t know. I guess. She can’t be any dirtier than Blue.”
Wendy giggles, not getting the double entendre. But that’s for the best. “Nana is very clean, aren’t you?” she says, her voice taking on a tiny baby lilt as she strokes the dog’s head. Then she looks at me. “Um, thanks, Tink.”
“No problem,” I mumble. “I’ll just, uh…” I step back even further. “Uh, wake up whenever you want,” I say. “And, like, there’s food and stuff. Some up here, but mostly in big kitchen downstairs…”
I’m just sort of rambling.
Wendy’s looking around, taking in her new surroundings. “Okay,” she says, not really listening.
Then she looks at me. “Tink?”
Her voice suddenly small.
“Yeah?”
“Do you know where my brothers are?”
Goddammit. I can’t lie. I will not lie to this kid. But I also… I also don’t want to have to be the one to tell her the truth. I don’t want to be the one to rip her out of childhood. Not if I don’t have to. Not right now. I don’t want to be the bad guy in this part of someone’s story.
“I don’t know,” I say truthfully. “Haven’t heard from them.” Also not a lie.
Wendy pouts. Or more than pouts. Looks like she might even cry a little. Mutters something I’m not sure if I’m supposed to hear or not.
“What’s that?” I ask.
“They always do this,” she says, a tiny bit louder, picking at the fluff on her cheap fleece blanket, pulling fibers out of one of the kitty cat’s giant eyes. “They always do. Just going away and not telling me why and leaving me with people and—I mean, we’d only evenbeenat that stupid house for like a month, and…”
She trails off, not meeting my eyes. Her fingertips find another piece of thread, and then another.
I don’t know what to say. It had never occurred to me that maybe this was a regular thing for her. But it would explain why she’s so…chill about everything. Relatively speaking.
“I just feel like I never get tostayanywhere,” she finishes. “You know?”
Now she looks up at me.
And…I do know.
“Yeah,” I say. “I’m sorry, Wendy. That…sucks.” There’s really no better word for it. “But you’re here now, okay? As long as you need to be.”
“Yeah.” Wendy nods. And an idea hits me.
“Here, look.” I crouch a little, pointing at the greasy glass of the window. “See the sky up there?”
