“What does he have?”
“A picture.”
“Oh.” We walked another block in silence. There was little traffic. Most everyone was in church.
“How long do you think Mom will be gone this time?” Junie asked, breaking the quiet. She was wearing a gingham dress, ribbons in her hair. Despite the girlish clothes, Ed had been right. She looked a whole lot older than she was, sixteen at least.
“As long as it takes her to get well.”
Junie screwed up her face. “You always say that.”
“Because it’s true.”
She was quiet a little bit longer. I could see Ant’s house at the end of the street, the driveway empty.
“Can I tell you a secret?” Junie said quietly.
I’d almost forgotten she was next to me. I’d been rehearsing in my head what I was going to say to get that photo back.
“Sometimes I wish she’d never come home,” Junie finished.
My head whipped toward her. “What?”
She jutted out her chin, staring at me with a challenge in her eyes. “Mom. Sometimes I wish when she went to the hospital, she’d stay there and not come back. The house feels so much bigger without her in it. Dad whistles more. You even smile sometimes.”
I scowled. “I smile all the time.”
“You used to,” she said, blinking slowly. Her green eyes were enormous and long lashed, almost cartoonlike. “When I was real little. Like, before I could walk. I know because there’s pictures.”
“Where?” I was the one who cleaned the house. We had photos out where people could see them, family photos, most of them from beforeJunie was born. A couple of Mom and Dad graduating. Their parents. None of me smiling.
“Dad’s office.”
I stopped in my tracks. “You’re not supposed to go in there!”
“It’s where all the good stuff is.” She shrugged, then pointed. “Ant’s out front.”
I looked where she was indicating. Sure enough, Ant stood on his porch, like he’d been expecting me.
“Wait here,” I told Junie. “Better yet, I’ll meet you at home.”
She gave me one last curious glance before she took off down the street. I marched toward Ant, my anger returning, building with every step, until it grew like a shield around me.
“What’s up, Heather?”
“Your parents home?”
He shook his head.
“Good. I want that picture back.” Guess I’d decided to take the direct route.
He leaned against the railing, his face mostly in shadow. “Which one?”
I charged up the porch stairs and shoved him so hard he fell back a few steps. “You know which one. The one you took at the cabin. Of me in my bra.”
He caught his balance and came at me, thrusting his face in mine, his breath smelling eggy. “That’smypicture. I ain’t giving it back.”
“But it’s of me!”
