Free Goodbye Stranger by Rebecca Stead Page B

And then she feels terrible, she’s a mess. She takes care of him for a year and then this god feels sorry for her and makes him better.”
    “I heard he died,” Tab said. “And the queen takes care of his dead body for a year. And that’s when the god feels sorry for her. So the god brings him back to life.”
    “Girls!” Tab’s mom stood in the doorway in her socks, holding her briefcase. She looked at Bridge. “That’s only one story—there are others. Less gruesome ones.”
    Celeste popped a whole cracker into her mouth. “Yeah, Ma, but this is the only one I can ever remember.”
    Mrs. Patel put her briefcase on the floor and bent to massage one stockinged foot. “Part of what Karva Chauth celebrates is friendship. Between women. And the smell of that soup is driving me crazy. A bit of sensitivity, please!”

    “Sorry!” They all put their hands flat over their bowls.
    “When Daddy gets here we’ll go look for the moon. Bridge, do you want a lift home?”
    “Sure,” Bridge said. “That’d be great.”
    “I’ll come too!” Tab said. “I love moon hunting.”
    —
    Half an hour later, they trailed down the block after Tab’s parents, who walked arm in arm to their car. Tab’s father carried a plate covered with foil. It had been one of those weird chilly days that gets warmer as it goes on, and it was now just a tiny bit cool out.
    “Your parents are really in love, aren’t they?” Bridge asked Tab.
    “I guess so,” Tab said. “Sure.”
    “It’s nice.”
    Tab looked at her. “Well, yours are too, right?”
    “Sure. But you know that stuff Emily said last year, about her parents and the nine thousand things? It doesn’t seem like that could happen to your parents.”
    “You think it could happen to yours?”
    “I guess not. I don’t know.” She was thinking of Sherm’s grandparents. How many of the nine thousand things could be waiting to surprise you after fifty years?
    “Well, nobody knows, ” Tab said.
    —
    The car was small and the backseat smelled like nail polish remover. Tab’s father put the plate down carefully between the two front seats. Bridge and Tab each took a window so they could look out for the moon.

    “High ground or low buildings,” Tab’s mother said firmly. “That’s what we need.”
    Her father turned the key in the ignition. “I know a place.”
    They drove with the windows open, stopping for lights, making slow turns, until Tab’s father said “There!” and Bridge leaned out her window and saw the moon, a pale white sliver.
    They pulled into an empty spot next to a fire hydrant. They were on a narrow street of low brownstones, with the moon sitting just above them. Bridge felt quiet pour into the car through the open windows, along with the smell of a fire from someone’s backyard.
    Tab looked at Bridge and scrunched up her nose. “I smell burnt marshmallows,” she whispered.
    Bridge inhaled, then smiled. “I love that smell.” She heard laughter through the window of the nearest brownstone, and what sounded like a metal spoon scraping a pot, getting the last little bit from the bottom.
    Tab’s father looked at her mom. “Ready?” He picked up the plate and carefully began to take the foil off.
    “Wait!” Tab’s mom grabbed her purse from between her feet, unzipped it, and pulled out a small metal sieve. She held the sieve up to her face and looked at the moon through it. Then, with the sieve still to her eye, she turned and looked at Tab’s father. She spoke a few words to him in French.
    He answered her in French. Then he leaned over, pulled her hand down from her face, kissed her quickly, and held a water bottle out to her. She drank. And drank. And drank. Then she took a deep breath and said, “Food!”
    Bridge and Tab were silent while he fed her with his fingers—a piece of bread and then a piece of meat from the foil-covered plate. Darkness was falling quickly, and their faces blurred into silhouette.

    After a minute,