Saving Sky Page 9

  “Isn’t it obvious?” She hung the wet towel on a hook and got a brush out of the grooming bucket.

  “No.”

  “We aren’t allowed to use our phones in school. They’re for emergencies only. And my mom knows that perfectly well, so when I saw that she’d called, I figured it had to be something, you know, really serious. Maybe another terrorist strike, or an accident, or a heart attack, or—”

  “You couldn’t just tell the teacher that?”

  “Yeah, and then whatever my mom was calling about, I’d have to stand there in front of the whole class and take the call. You don’t have kids, do you?”

  “My personal life is—”

  “That’s what I thought.”

  “Sky!” A warning from Luke.

  “Sorry.” She moved over to Blanca’s other side, brushing away. The agent followed, keeping her in sight.

  “How did your mother sound when she called?”

  “I don’t know what you mean.”

  “Was she calm? Agitated? Upset?”

  “Irritated, I guess.”

  “Irritated?”

  “I’m supposed to be responsible for my own stuff. She was annoyed.”

  “And she didn’t mention anything that had happened at the hospital?”

  “Like what?”

  “Like Kareem’s father being taken into custody.”

  “No! Our parents never tell us bad stuff like that. They’re trying to protect us.” She grinned at Luke, but he just stood there stone-faced.

  The agent cleared his throat. “All right,” he said, “let’s move on. So you went out to take the call, heard about this paper you’d left in the car, then ran into the woman on the way back.”

  “Right.”

  “Did she say she was Kareem’s mother?”

  “No. I assumed that’s who she was. Didn’t I tell you this at school?”

  “Just answer the question.”

  “I already did.”

  “Can we wrap this up soon?” Luke said.

  “We’ll finish when we’re finished, Mr. Brightman.” The agent shot Luke a hostile look.

  “So after you called Kareem out of class, you saw him leave with the woman?”

  “No. She said she’d wait for him out front. I was going in the other direction.”

  “All right. So then you went for your unusually long visit to the bathroom, after which you returned to class.”

  “No.”

  “No?” He was clearly exasperated now.

  “I went for my extremely short visit to the bathroom, then I went outside to wait for my mom.”

  “To wait for your mom.”

  “She was bringing my arts paper over. The one that counted for a third of my grade and was very, very good. Remember?”

  “So that’s it? The whole story?”

  “Unless you want to know what I had for lunch.”

  He looked at her with ice in his eyes. Sky turned away.

  “That’s all for now,” he said. “But we’ll need to search the property.”

  “You have a warrant?”

  “I do.” The agent handed it to Luke. “You know, we’re not the enemy, Mr. Brightman. They’re the ones who go around blowing things up.”

  Luke didn’t respond to that, just studied the warrant quietly for a minute. “Can you tell me exactly what we’re suspected of?”

  “Hiding a fugitive,” the agent said. “Which is a criminal offense, in case you weren’t aware of that.”

  “I see. And the fugitive you’re referring to—that would be the child who is missing from my daughter’s school?”

  “You know who we’re looking for, Mr. Brightman.” He stared down at his feet then, just for a second. Was he maybe a little embarrassed?

  Luke handed the warrant back to the agent. “Have at it,” he said.

  “Any of those outbuildings locked?”

  “The casita.”

  “The key, please?”

  Luke reluctantly took a ring of keys out of his pocket, and removed one, and handed it to the agent.

  “Please don’t handle any of the paintings. Or the art materials.”

  “We’ll be careful. Now, why don’t you both just go on inside and wait? We’ll let you know as soon as we’re done.”

  “I’m not finished yet,” Sky said.

  The agent sighed. “Fine. Just keep out of my way.”

  “I will. You can go inside, Daddy. I’m okay. Really.”

  Luke was about to say something when Blanca, bless her heart, lifted her tail. Plop, plop, she did what horses do, barely missing the agent’s shoes.

  For a moment he just stood there, staring in disgust.

  “Oops,” Sky said.

  23

  Hunted

  SKY WAS DETERMINED TO STAY in the feed room with Kareem as long as the agent was there. The horses needed to be fed, but that wouldn’t take very long. She’d just have to invent some other chores. The agent would never know the difference.

  He had started his search in the tack room. Sky joined him there briefly, throwing the towel into the laundry basket and putting away the grooming bucket. She watched for a few seconds as he nosed around—opening cupboards, looking under the saddle stands—then left and went to the feed room.

  She coughed theatrically a couple of times, popped another cough drop into her mouth, and got busy preparing dinner for the horses.

  She set three plastic buckets on the counter and filled each one with alfalfa pellets, adding a splash of oats. Then she measured out the salt and trace minerals and added them to the mix. The whole time, she pointedly made a lot of noise—opening and closing bins (thump!), unscrewing lids (cherk-cherk-cherk), setting jars back on the shelves (clump). That way, she figured, if Kareem sneezed, or rustled, or breathed too heavily, the agent wouldn’t hear.

  She grabbed the red pail and carried it off to Blanca’s stall. Normally she would have taken Prince’s bucket at the same time. Saved herself a trip. But efficiency wasn’t her goal just then. She was running out the clock.

  When she came back to the feed room for the last bucket, the agent was in there, searching. Sky sniffed, and coughed, and sucked loudly on her cherry drop; but he ignored her. He was too busy peering into feed bins, running his hands through the alfalfa pellets, feeling around in the oats. Could he possibly imagine that someone would hide in there?

  Sky grabbed the green bucket, took it to Peanut, and was back in less than a minute. The agent had finished with the bins by then. He was squatting down now, the chest open, pulling out blankets and setting them on the floor.

  Her heart began to race. In order to open the lid all the way, he’d pulled the chest away from the wall. And they’d moved it in there for a reason—they wanted to cover that particular section of the molding that ran along the bottom of the wall, fixing the panels firmly and neatly to the floor. But of course it wasn’t attached to the half panel—that was the door to the hiding space. It had to be free to move. And so someone with an eagle eye just might notice that there was a slight gap between the smaller panel and the molding.

  “Hey!” Sky said, hoping to distract the agent. “We just washed all those blankets.” She made a show of brushing them off and piling them up neatly on the counter.

  “Sorry,” he said. He lifted the last blanket, saw nothing beneath it but the bottom of the chest, and didn’t bother to remove it. “You can put them back now if you want.”

  Sky worked quickly, tossing the blankets into the box, two or three at a time. Then, shutting the lid, she slid the chest firmly back against the wall.

  The agent hadn’t moved. He was standing in the middle of the room, rubbing his chin, studying the space around him with squinty eyes. It was as if he sensed there was something about the room that wasn’t quite right.

  And there was, of course. It wasn’t square anymore. It was one and a half panels deep but only one and a quarter panels wide. A foot and a half too narrow.

  Wors
e, he seemed especially interested in that one particular wall. His eyes kept shifting back and forth across it. Finally he went over to the far corner and started knocking on the panels, all along the wall. He leaned his head forward, at an angle, listening for the regularly spaced clunk of the beams and the hollow thunk of the spaces between them.

  He was nearing the spot where Kareem would be standing. It would sound different when he knocked there—not as hollow. Sky coughed loudly several times.

  “Shhhh,” the agent said. But he had passed the danger spot by then and kept on going—Thuhk, thuhk, thunk, clunk! Thunk, thunk, thunk, clunk!—all the way to the other end. He stepped back, unconsciously massaging the knuckles of his right hand.

  Sky took a deep breath and let it out slowly. It was going to be all right, she told herself. It was going to be all right.

  But now the agent went over to the blanket box again, slid it into the middle of the room, then leaned over and looked where the molding met the wall.

  Sky was afraid she was going to puke. She’d just thought of yet another flaw in their wonderful hiding place. The panel was secured by a single latch, three feet off the ground. One good kick at floor level and it would bounce in, a quarter of an inch at least. Enough to make him really suspicious.

  The agent nudged the panel with the toe of his shoe. He must have felt it give a little because now he adjusted his stance—bending his left knee and bringing his right foot back.

  Sky’s mind raced helplessly in circles. What should she do? What should she do? What should she do?

  Then, bam! The agent let loose with a mighty kick—and the panel didn’t budge.

  It didn’t budge!

  She was slack-jawed at the wonder of it. Kareem, after that first tentative probe, must have known what was coming next. He’d had time to move his foot there, set it firmly against the panel. And it had worked. A genuine, certified miracle!

  “What are you staring at?” the agent snapped. Judging by the pained look on his face, his toes would be sore for a week.

  “I was just wondering, you know, why…” She made a kicking motion.

  He shook his head and left the room. Sky slid the blanket box back in place for—what was it now, the third time? Fourth? She listened as the agent wandered pointlessly around the barn—in the stalls, up and down the breezeway. Finally he left.

  But Sky stayed on, needlessly tidying the feed room, singing as she worked so Kareem would know she was there. Because she was so relieved, she chose her special song, the one she and Ana always used to sing together when Sky was a little girl. Back then, she’d believed her mother had written it especially for her. It had her name in it, after all.

  The song had a lovely melody, and a swaying rhythm, and was chock-full of wonderful nonsense. It started out high and loud, then came down in stair-steps, becoming gradually lower and softer. They always exaggerated it, hitting that first “Ay!” really hard. And when they came to the last one, they’d always laugh.

  “Ay, ay, ay, ay,” Sky sang. “Canta y no llores.”

  She wondered if Kareem understood the Spanish. She hoped so. The words seemed right for the occasion: Sing and don’t cry.

  “Porque cantando se alegran”—Because singing makes you happy.

  And then her favorite part: Cielito lindo—Pretty little Sky.

  24

  Farolitos

  IT WAS WARM INSIDE, AND the house was filled with good cooking smells. Luke was in the kitchen, cutting up apples and onions to roast along with the chicken. Ana and the girls were gathered at the table, making farolitos. Muddy napped by the fire.

  Sky treasured moments like this: everyone together, feeling cozy, working at happy tasks.

  But it was all just a pretense. She felt neither happy nor cozy. And they most definitely were not all together. Kareem was still out in the feed room, alone and frightened. He’d been standing there, unable to move, in a space that felt like a grave, for almost three hours now. And there was no way of telling how much longer the agents would stay. They’d already searched the house, and the barn, and the casita, and the greenhouse, and the toolshed. What was left? The pump house? The chicken coop? Or were they out there stalking the property, peering behind chamisas and under piñons, craning their necks to check the highest branches of the apple trees?

  How did you search sixty acres anyway? They could be there all night.

  Sky had always loved the winter solstice. She looked forward to it every year—and not only because of the feast and the farolitos. Solstice was all about hope, and hope was a precious commodity just then. And so that morning when she’d awakened to the first snowfall of the season, long overdue and so incredibly beautiful, she’d declared it was going to be a perfect day. And it had been, right up to those last few seconds of the sled ride as they sped down the drive toward the gate. Until that moment, every single bit of it had been positively blissful!

  Then the agents came and spoiled it, knocking all the happiness and hope right out of her.

  The three of them worked in silence, Ana opening a paper bag, mechanically folding down the top a couple of inches to make it sturdier, then passing the bag on to Mouse, who filled it with sand—two cups each, carefully measured—and finally on to Sky, who put a candle in it and set it on a tray with all the others.

  It was chilling, somehow, to perform this festive ritual so joylessly.

  Sky heard the sound of footsteps on the portal. Then a couple of quick knocks and the door opened, bringing in a blast of frigid air. It wasn’t the agent with the mustache. It was the other one, with the shaved head.

  “I need the keys to your vehicles, please,” he said.

  Luke wiped his hands on a dishcloth. He looked, Sky thought, a good ten years older. Greenish, haggard. “I’ll come with you,” he said.

  Ana got up and went over to her purse, took out her keys, and handed them to Luke.

  Then they left, and she sat back down at the table and picked up another bag. They worked and waited.

  By the time the men returned, maybe twenty minutes later, it was almost dark and the farolitos were finished. Sky had moved the trays to the coffee table, put the extra candles away, and set the bucket of sand in the corner by the stove. Now she was setting the table—for only four people, of course—while her mom put the finishing touches on their special solstice dinner.

  The men came in together, Luke and both of the agents. Wordlessly, Luke put the keys to the Toyota back in Ana’s purse.

  “All right,” Other Man said. “We’re finished. Thank you for your cooperation.”

  Ana nodded.

  “I hope you understand. This is no fun for us either. We’re just doing our jobs, trying to keep you safe.”

  Luke turned his head away. Sky thought any minute he was going to lose it. “I need to go with you,” he said. “To let you out and lock the gate after you drive through.”

  Sky went on putting silverware down, hoping they wouldn’t notice that her hands were shaking.

  “All right,” Mustache Man said. “Good night, ma’am.”

  They heard the motor start, then the crunch of tires in the snow.

  Sky looked up at her mom. She was desperate to run to the feed room, right that minute, and let Kareem out. Bring him in where it was warm and make sure he was okay. Ana made a subtle gesture with her hand and shook her head. Don’t.

  Even now, Sky thought, with the agents driving away, they were afraid to speak out loud in their own house. She finished setting the table.

  Luke would probably ride to the gate in the agents’ van. Then he’d have to unlock it, let them through, lock up again, and walk all the way back. Seven minutes, maybe.

  Sky kept checking her watch. It was taking too long. Ten minutes already.

  And then the door opened and Kareem walked in.

  25

  A Light in the Darkness

  HE WAS DIFFERENT. SKY NOTICED it right away.

  He didn’t respond normally,
even when they asked him questions. He just went over to the stove and knelt there, still in his hat and parka, trembling with cold. His face was ashen. He looked haunted.

  Sky sat down beside him, but he didn’t acknowledge her. He just gazed hungrily into the fire.

  Mouse came over and hovered, too. She watched him curiously for a bit, then looked at her sister with knitted brows. Sky shrugged. She didn’t know what to think, or what to do.

  Finally Mouse just asked, “Are you okay, Kareem?”

  It was like he hadn’t heard her.

  “Kareem?” Mouse leaned over and gave him a close-up stare. He recoiled. “Are you all right?”

  They were always asking him that, Sky thought. Are you all right? Are you okay? It must drive him crazy. “Leave him alone, Mouse.”

  “No,” she said. “He doesn’t look good.”

  “Hush.”

  But he was out of his daze now. He turned and looked at Mouse.

  “Sorry.” His voice was odd. “I was just…really…scared.”

  “Of course you were,” Sky said. “We were all scared. You can’t possibly be embarrassed about that!”

  “No,” he said. He spoke so softly she could scarcely hear him. “I just…it’s taking me a while to feel safe again.”

  “I know.”

  “When he knocked on the wall…”

  “That was awful! And then when he kicked the panel and you moved your…”

  “Yeah.”

  Sky desperately wanted to hug him. That’s what her family always did when one of them was frightened or sad—they hugged. But she was afraid he’d think it was weird.

  “It helped when you were in there,” he said. “Thanks for the song.”

  “Kind of silly, I know. I’m glad you liked it.”

  “But then after you left, I remembered about the paintings, and I knew they’d be back, and they’d find me for sure.” He gave a little shudder, just thinking of it.

  “The paintings?” She was confused. Then, with a rush of horror, she remembered. They were right there in the casita, leaning against the wall—pictures of people with brown skin and dark hair, clearly done by a young artist.