Free Gone South by Meg Moseley

did, she’d make the best of it.
    She edged past her mom, across the sunroom, and into the kitchen. She flipped the light switch. The crystal fruit bowl sat in the center of thetable, holding apples, oranges, and ripe bananas. She lowered her bedroll to the floor beside the table. Trying to move slowly, as if she didn’t really care, she pulled a banana off the bunch, peeled it halfway down, and took a small, ladylike bite. It was heaven. She’d never appreciated bananas before.
    “Where’s Dad?” she asked.
    “In the shower.”
    “What time is it, anyway?”
    “About ten.”
    “That’s all? I thought it was about midnight.” Mel couldn’t stop herself. She wolfed the rest of the banana like a half-starved bum.
    She crossed to the fridge and stared at the new school photos held up by the same old magnets. Her nephews still had their sweet smiles and big, dark eyes, but she couldn’t believe how much they’d changed.
    She loved her brother’s boys so much. Especially Nicky. She shouldn’t have a favorite, of course, so she tried hard not to let it show. She knew how it felt to be the un-favorite one.
    “Nicky and Jamie look so grown up,” she said. “How are they? And Stu and Janice?”
    “Fine,” her mom said. “They’ll be staying with us for a week or two while they have their kitchen remodeled. It’s a huge, messy project.”
    “Is Stu still working at the dealership?”
    “He’s practically running it himself, these days.”
    Mel nodded. When her dad retired, Stu would be in charge of all those shiny new vehicles. All those salesmen in their matching polo shirts. All that money.
    She opened the fridge. Milk, juice, cans of soda. Half a ruby-red grapefruit covered with plastic wrap. An unopened package of all-beef hot dogs. A clear plastic container of … chili?
    Her mouth watered at the idea of chomping into a chili dog. She didn’t want to tick anybody off, though, so she’d keep it simple. She found the grape jelly on the door and set the jar on the counter. “You don’t mind if I make myself a PBJ, do you?”
    “Of course not.” Her mom didn’t come any closer, though. It was like she was afraid she might catch something.
    Everything was exactly where it had always been—honey-wheat bread in a basket on the counter, the peanut butter in the cupboard by the fridge, and the paper plates in the next cupboard. Mel pulled a knife from the drawer and started slapping the sandwich together. A hot meal would have been great, but she was too hungry to care.
    She should have washed her hands and scrubbed her chipped and dirty fingernails. Too late now. She probably smelled like a homeless person too. If they’d let her, she’d take a shower and wash her hair. And she’d raid her closet for all those great clothes she’d left behind.
    Not bothering to cut the sandwich in half, she bit into it, rolling her eyes at the sweet, soft goodness. She started to put the lid back on the peanut butter jar, one-handed, then reconsidered. She took two more slices of bread from the bag and made a second sandwich.
    “My, you’re hungry,” her mom said.
    “Yeah.” Mel put away the peanut butter and the jelly. She pulled out the milk. Tempted to drink straight from the plastic jug, she slowed down long enough to find a glass and fill it. She drained half of it and wiped her mouth. “Oh, wow. Everything tastes so good.”
    “I take it you haven’t been eating well.”
    “Not lately.”
    Mel took the glass and the paper plate to the table and sat in the chair closest to her bedroll. If she had to, she could stuff her pockets with fruit and be out the door in seconds. But maybe she wouldn’t have to.
    Finished with the first sandwich, she started the second. “You think Dad will let me stay?”
    “Ask him.” Her mom nodded toward the family room.
    Afraid to breathe, Mel turned her head slowly. Her father stood six feet away, arms folded across his chest. He’d gone gray, making him look like a