Free Flying Changes by Sara Gruen

that supposed to mean?”
    I sigh and walk back to her. “Let’s just go inside and draw up a bill of sale. I’m going to need to borrow your phone to call for a trailer. Will you take a check?”
    “Cash only,” she says quickly.
    I throw her a murderous glance.
    “I can’t do it through a bank account,” she says. “My husband would get at it.”
    “Okay. Fine. I’ll get cash. Let’s just get this over with, okay?”
    She leads the way to the house in silence. I follow, limping like Quasimodo and glancing back at the starving pony to make sure he’s staying put, although I’m not sure what, exactly, I would do about it if he didn’t.
    Once we’re inside the house’s dismal interior, Eugenie waves me at the phone and climbs the stairs with hunched shoulders.
    I glance around the living room. A single bulb is suspended from three wires in what was once an ornate ceiling fixture. The wallpaper hangs off in shreds, revealing crumbling plaster and strips of lath. There’s a couch and matching chair, with ornate woodwork and red upholstery. At one time it was glorious. Now it’s tattered and lumpy, with springs sticking through the seat. Loose garbage and stacks of newspaper tied with twine line the walls.
    The little girl sits at the very bottom of the stairs playing with her Barbie. She gives no indication of being aware of my presence. Her dark hair is greasy, and flattened at the back. I watch her for a moment, fingers pressed to my mouth in thought.
    Then I turn back to the phone and dial our number.
    Eva answers immediately, so quickly that from this end it didn’t even sound like it rang.
    “Hello?” she says breathlessly. Obviously she’s hoping I’m her boyfriend Luis.
    “Eva, it’s me,” I say. “Get Oma.”
    “Can you call back later?” Eva hisses. “I’m expecting a call.”
    “Honey, please—this is important.”
    She sighs dramatically. “Okay. Fine. But I really do need a cell phone.”
    “Point noted. Now get Oma.”
    “So I’m getting a cell phone?”
    “Get Oma!”
    She slams the receiver down and her footsteps recede. “Oma,” she calls in the distance, “it’s Mom. Says it’s…‘ important. ’” There’s a clear pause before the final word.
    Hurried footsteps approach the phone.
    “What is it? Is everything all right?” says Mutti in clipped Teutonic. She can’t help it. Her accent gets stronger when she’s worried. “Is it the mare?”
    “No. But I do need help.”
    “What? What is it? Are you all right?”
    “Not really. I need you to come out to Gum Neck with the horse trailer. And four hundred in cash. And a pony halter. And a bucket of grain.”
    There is silence at the end of the line as she takes this in. “I will come. Where are you?”
    I’m just getting to the part about the burnt maple when I hear heavy footsteps on the porch. I turn just as a huge man crashes through the front door. He throws it open with such force that its knob lodges in the wall behind it, and then he stands in the doorway, wild-eyed and panting. He’s at least six foot three, and well over two hundred pounds.
    The little girl looks up and screams. He trips over her in his rush to mount the stairs, which he takes three at a time. The child scrambles over to me on all fours and grabs me by the legs, shrieking into the back of Dan’s sweatpants.
    Eugenie appears at the top of the stairs and opens her mouth, but before she can make a sound, the man cups her throat in one hand, claps his other over her mouth, and throws her back against the wall.
    “Hey, Buddy!” I bellow. “Yo! Buddy!”
    He freezes and does a double take down the stairs.He passed right by me on his way up the stairs, but apparently failed to notice my presence.
    “I’ve got nine-one-one on the line here!” I say, still pressing the receiver to my ear.
    “ Mein Gott, Annemarie! What is going on?” cries Mutti.
    “Hang it up!” he roars. “Hang it up or so help me God—”
    “You’ll what?”