First period was the time to be without her, as she was consumed with some before-school activity as Lucy barely made it to her first class in time for the bell. “Yes. ‘I don’t know that I dare. I am going to make a fresh start. The bump was coarse and didn’t feel right. It was the blood she found that cemented her decision that her foster daughter was a criminal. One only. A sound sleeper, she was not roused by the creaky openings and closings of drawers as Lucy packed a single duffle bag with underwear and soap that was pilfered from a multipack of Zest in the Beck’s downstairs bathroom. His arm entered the round window of the white haze of her vision, his wrist spouting blood in currents, dripping on the stone floor. She closed the book that she had been pretending to read and gathered her black umbrella and her backpack, a childish accoutrement she despised. We’ll run away together, we’ll elope. Wood, meantime, had not remained idle. I made the pies. You'll be along next spring?" "If the old tub will float.
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