buddy,” I said. Soft as I’ve ever made my voice. Softer than I knew I had in me. “Hey now. You’re alright. Nobody’s gonna hurt you. Not while I’m here. I promise you that.”
He opened one eye. Just one. Looked at my gray beard and my leather and waited to find out if I was another bad thing.
I turned to the girl. She was crying now. Full crying, the kind that’s been dammed up for hours and finally found the crack.
“Who is this,” I said. It wasn’t a question.
“He’s my brother.” She dragged her sleeve across her face. “His name’s Eli. He’s four. Please don’t call the police, please, you don’t understand, they’ll—”
“Start at the top,” I said. “And talk fast.”
And it all came pouring out of her standing there on the side of that black highway.
Her name was Tasha. Eighteen, not nineteen.
