Free Sister Mine by Tawni O’Dell

about thirty miles south of here.”
    I get up from my crouch to get the spare tire.
    â€œActually, I’m not exactly meeting her. I’m trapping her.”
    â€œTrapping her?” I almost laugh. “What did she do?”
    â€œShe stole my baby.”
    The seriousness of the words stop me in my tracks. I lean the tire against the car.
    â€œSomeone kidnapped your child?” I ask her.
    â€œSomething like that.”
    â€œIsn’t that something the police should be handling?”
    â€œNo, no. It’s very important that I don’t involve the police. That’s why I didn’t tell the deputy, even though it occurred to me that he might be helpful since he knows a lot of people around here. You’re not going to tell the police, are you?”
    â€œNo.” I shake my head. “It’s none of my business.”
    I don’t know what else to say to her. I can’t read her eyes, since they’re safely concealed behind sunglasses and I can’t read her face, since it’s no longer capable of showing any emotion.
    â€œMaybe you could help me?” she says suddenly. “Do you know a woman who lives around here named Jamie Ruddock?”
    The name gives me a start. Shannon rode the school bus with a girl named Jamie Ruddock. If I remember correctly, they hated each other. They were both kicked off the bus for awhile after they got into a fight in the middle of the aisle and the driver had to pull over and separate them. Shannon never did give me a good explanation for their animosity. Only that Jamie Ruddock thought she was better than us, and I understood that reason.
    â€œJamie Ruddock stole your baby?” I ask her.
    â€œDo you know her?”
    â€œI know a Jamie Ruddock, only she’s Jamie Wetzler now. She’s married with four kids of her own. Lives in a double-wide near Jolly Mount, and I’m willing to bet she’s never been to Connecticut. I doubt she’s ever been farther than the mall.”
    Pamela Jameson considers this information, then walks back to her car and returns with a photograph. She hands it to me.
    My heart starts pounding heavily in my chest exactly the way it did when I heard Gerald Kozlowski say Shannon’s name.
    I haven’t seen her since she was sixteen but the face is exactly the same. Maybe a little fuller. The eyes are mine. The smirk is hers. In her teens she wore her shoulder-length hair chopped up in a feathered cut like 90 percent of the other girls and inflicted so many boxed highlights on it, it was difficult to tell its true color. Now it’s all one length and a shiny natural chestnut. In the photo she has it skinned back from her face with a headband.
    â€œIs that Jamie Ruddock?” I hear Pamela ask me.
    â€œNo.” I shake my head. “Do you know this woman?” I ask her.
    â€œI know her very well. Or at least I thought I did.”
    â€œYou say she’s in Centresburg?”
    â€œMaybe. Do you know her?”
    Once again, my gut tells me to lie.
    â€œNo,” I reply.
    I stare at the photo again.
    Shannon’s standing on a city street holding a big Macy’s shopping bag. She’s wearing a coat, and a pair of red cowboy boots peek out from the cuffs of her jeans.
    â€œThis is the woman who stole your baby?” I ask, holding out the photo of my sister.
    â€œYes.”
    â€œWhen are you trapping her?”
    She takes the picture back from me.
    â€œI think maybe I’ve said too much.”
    She walks away from me and doesn’t return. I finish changing the tire amidst welcome external silence while my brain is filled with the clanging of a hundred unanswered questions about my little sister.
    When I’m done, I assume I’m going to be offered some money and I decide to just take whatever she gives me.
    I watch her get back in the SUV and turn on the engine, then I realize she’s about to leave.
    I walk over to her window and stand