Page 7 of Come Back for Me
She shifts a bit. “I didn’t want anyone to find me.”
My gut tightens as a million answers as to why this little girl is hiding up here with her arm in pain instead of running home for help. I have to keep myself under control and remember not everyone has a shitty home life. It could be anything.
“Why not?”
She worries her bottom lip. “Daddy said I wasn’t supposed to leave the house, and I didn’t want him to be angry.” Then she wipes her nose with her arm and another tear falls. “I came here so I could wait for Mommy to come home.”
I give her a knowing nod. “Well, I’m sure your daddy is worried about you. We should get you back home and get your arm looked at.”
“He’s going to be so mad.” Her lip quivers.
Poor thing is terrified. Of her father or because she broke the rules, I’m not sure. I don’t know who she is or who her father is, but she can’t stay up here injured and scared. She’ll fall. “How about I don’t tell him where I found you if he doesn’t ask.”
She eyes me curiously. “You mean lie?”
“No, I just think that friends keep secrets, and we’re friends now, right?”
“I guess so.”
“Well, friend, you know my name is Connor, but I still don’t know yours.”
Her lips purse. “I’m Hadley.”
“It’s nice to meet you, Hadley. Can I help you down since your arm is hurt?”
Hadley’s head bobs quickly.
I instruct her how to get close, and then she wraps her arm around my neck, holding on tightly as I get us both down without jostling her too much. When we get to the ground, I set her on her feet and squat.
We’re eye to eye, and there’s something about the way she looks at me—as though I’m her savior—that makes my heart ache.
“Is your arm okay?”
“It hurts.” Her voice is small and holds a quiet tremor of pain. She moves it across the front of her body, cradling it closely.
“Can I look at it?”
Hadley is a tiny thing. Although, I have no frame of reference on how old she is, if this is a normal height for a kid, or I’m an idiot.
“Okay.”
I take a look and there’s some bruising and it’s swollen, but nothing glaringly obvious that she broke it.
“Well, it doesn’t look terrible, but I think we need to get you home so they can make sure it’s not broken. Where do you live?”
She points across the creek to where the Walcott farm is.
“Is your last name Walcott?”
“Yup.”
I smile. It’s good to know they didn’t sell off their farm. The Walcott’s were good people. My mother and Mrs. Walcott were close friends. When Mom died, Jeanie would bring us food and make sure we still had pie every now and then. I loved her and was sad when she passed. Tim died about a month after her, and my father would say it was from a broken heart. I wish my father loved my mother enough to go die alongside her, but I wasn’t that lucky.
I had no idea if someone bought it or if the property was passed down to someone. They never had kids of their own, but it seems it’s still in the family.
“I’ll walk you home and make sure you don’t get hurt again. Do you want to cut across or would you rather I drive you?”
I see her worry, but there’s no way I’m letting this kid go off on her own when she’s hurt.
