Free Until She Comes Home by Lori Roy Page A

loud. It rushes down into her lungs and back up again. She cups one hand over her mouth and wraps the other around her knees. The garage digs into the knobs of her backbone.
    The man who was a shadow stands at the Richardsons’ garage. Mrs. Richardson is Aunt Julia’s best friend. Her blond hair is almost white and always smooth no matter what the weather is like, and in a few months, she’s going to have a baby. Izzy and Arie both agree: if they could look like someone, anyone, they would look like Mrs. Richardson. The man leans into the garage again, tilts his head in Arie’s direction, and when he straightens, two more men walk out. One of them is the same size as the man who waved Arie away, and the third is taller—taller even than Uncle Bill.
    When the men have taken a few steps in Arie’s direction, she tucks her head and hides her eyes. Air races through her body, much too loudly, so loudly they’ll hear her. Count to twenty. Count to twenty and they’ll be gone. But the counting makes her dizzy. She holds her breath. Gravel crunches and tiny rocks bounce across the hard dirt path as they’re kicked about. The footsteps stop. Arie lifts her eyes. The group stands a few feet beyond her hiding place. One of them, the largest, stoops and picks up something from the ground near his feet. The other two walk on down the alley while the largest rears back and throws. Glass shatters and the three men take off running.
    Izzy will be back soon. After fifteen minutes, she’ll come back and she’ll press herself against Uncle Bill’s garage where they started out, where she’ll be hidden from the men. Arie tries to count again, but her hot breath and the garage digging into her back and the stalks poking and scratching her arms make her want to cry and she can’t count when she’s crying. Somewhere close by, a door opens and heavy boots hit a wooden porch. Arie cups both hands over her mouth.
    At the far end of the alley, where it meets up with Woodward, the men run around the corner. They’re gone. Arie unfolds her legs, rubs her hands over the scratches on her arms, and lifts one foot and then the next up and over the tall grass. Inside the Richardsons’ garage, something bangs about, not loudly, but quietly, as if someone is trying not to bang about at all. There is a thin, soft groan. Someone standing. Arie backs away from Mrs. Richardson’s garage, swings around, and runs for home.
    •   •   •
    Most on the block are not yet home from the church. Malina would have normally stayed until the last dish was washed and packed and the tables folded and stowed in the storage closet, but when Mr. Herze said he’d be making a final run through a neighborhood north of Alder and that one of the men would drop him at the house, Malina had said she’d be happy to drive the car home. She had taken the keys, smiled, and only then noticed how closely Mr. Herze watched her.
    “You’re not concerned about the glare?” he had asked.
    “How can I be concerned with my own fears when our poor Elizabeth has yet to be found?”
    Mr. Herze had stared down on her for so long that the ladies standing nearby drifted away. When finally he left with the other men, Malina excused herself, trusting the rest of the ladies to do the cleaning.
    She drops her keys and the large brown handbag on the entry table. The house is dark. Leaning to peek outside, she sees one of those twins running up the street toward Julia Wagner’s house. It’s the first Malina has seen of either one of them this summer. She leans out the door, looking for the other one and thinking she might scold them for running about at this inappropriate hour, but she hasn’t time for such matters.
    Checking the street one last time and seeing no sign of Mr. Herze, Malina closes the door and opens her handbag. It was a terrible embarrassment to be carrying this monstrosity at the church, being out-of-season as it is, but she had needed the large bag again if