Laurel sniffled and squeezed my hand as we followed the cop up the steps to the porch of the big house. Even though it was dark, and I couldn’t see a thing, I knew it was nothing like our house. Our house didn’t have a porch. And it was on wheels. Mama always said that one day we’d live in a house with no wheels. An apartment, maybe.

But not now.

Laurel squeezed my fingers. “Logan?”

I wiped my nose on the shoulder of my T-shirt before looking down at my little sister. “Yeah?”

Big blue eyes locked onto mine. “I’m scared,” she whispered. “Where’s Mama?”

Gone.

But I couldn’t tell her that. Laurel was only four. She wouldn’t understand. She wasn’t big like me.

“Be a big boy. Watch your sister.”

That’s the last thing Mama had said before she jumped out of the car.

And then …

The bang exploded inside my head, and I shuddered, blinking hard to hold back the tears. Because eight-year-olds didn’t cry. I wouldn’t let anyone see me cry. Not even Laurel.

“She’ll be back soon,” I lied, pulling her closer when the porch light flickered on. “Just … be quiet, ’kay?”

Laurel nodded, turning those frightened eyes to the big man in front of us. With his hand on the butt of his gun, the cop leaned forward, whispering to the lady in the fluffy robe who answered the door. I only caught a few words.

Tragic.

No suspects.

Deceased.

“I really appreciate this, Tessa,” I heard him say before glancing over his shoulder and motioning for us to enter.

I stubbornly held my ground, but not my sister. Laurel moved blindly, drawn to the lady with the kind smile and the smell of cookies that wafted onto the porch. Our trailer never smelled like cookies. Not even when Mama went to the store and bought one of those plastic tubes of dough and cooked it in the tiny oven.

“Please, Lo,” Laurel whined, looking back at me as she tugged my arm. “Maybe she got some food in there.”

My stomach turned, but I nodded at my sister. And then I hung my head and followed her into the house. Past the policeman with the sad eyes and the blood on his shoes. My mother’s blood.

Sitting up with a start, I blinked and looked around the dark room. “Mama?”

And then it came back in a rush, and I knew she wouldn’t answer. That she couldn’t answer.

Squeezing my eyes shut, I gripped my hair, willing away the image of her lying on the asphalt. When the mattress dipped, I expected to find that Tessa lady, so I blinked in surprise when a girl swam into focus.

From her spot at the end of the bed, she stared at me with a crinkled-up brow. “Are you okay?”

I pressed my back against the headboard. “Get out of here,” I growled. “Leave me alone.”

I used my fiercest voice. The one that made all the other kids run. But she didn’t move. Just tucked a strand of long, dark hair behind her ear and replied softly, “You were crying. I could hear you all the way from the guest room.”

As my eyes adjusted, I could make out the shape of her face. It was like a little heart. She had a pointy chin. But I didn’t tell her that. She probably knew.

Folding my arms over my chest, I tried not to sniffle. “I wasn’t crying.”

She sighed, running her hand over the flowered comforter. “Yeah, you were. It’s okay. Lots of kids cry when they get here.”

Since I wasn’t sure where here was, I didn’t acknowledge her comment. The last thing I remembered was Tessa tucking Laurel and me into bed after cooking us macaroni and cheese. Glancing at the empty spot beside me where Laurel should’ve been, my heart leapt into my throat.

“Where’s my sister?” I hopped to my feet. “Where did you take her?”

The girl grabbed my arm. And for some reason I didn’t knock her hand away.

“My dad works at night, so Mama let her sleep in her bed.”

Suspicious, I narrowed my eyes and sank down next to her. “Why would she do that? Laurel’s not kin to y’all.”

She shrugged. “That’s just how Mama is. My daddy’s a cop, so whenever they need a place for kids to stay after an, um … accident or something, they bring them here.”

A tiny flicker of hope sparked in my chest. “Do the kids get to stay here?”

She smiled. “Sometimes. For a while at least.”

I cocked my head. “Where do you sleep?”

Even in the dim light I saw her cheeks turn pink. “Here. This is my room. The bulb burned out in the guest room and Mama didn’t want you to get scared if you woke up and couldn’t turn on the light.”

“I’m not afraid of the dark,” I scoffed. “I’m eight. How old are you?”

“Almost ten.” We stared at each other for a moment and then she asked, “So what happened?”

My heart stalled, because for the last few minutes while we were talking, I didn’t think about it. But then it was there, and I could feel the sting at the back of my eyes. “None of your business.”

Her shoulders straightened, and an apology crawled up my throat. But I didn’t want to tell her what happened. Because then I would cry.

“Okay,” she said as she pushed to her feet. “I’ll leave you alone then.”

“No!” I swallowed hard and looked down at my hands. “You don’t have to go.”

Please don’t go.

I slumped when she walked toward the door. But instead of leaving, she stopped at the tall dresser. Levering up to her tiptoes, she opened a little box and music floated through the air.

Shuffling back to my side, she held out her hand. “Here.”

I took the penny she pressed into my palm. “What is this?”

She lifted a shoulder. “My lucky penny. I think you need it more than I do.”

I ran my thumb over the grooves, examining the coin. When I looked up she was gone.

As it turned out the penny wasn’t so lucky after all. Because the next morning my dad showed up to collect us.

And nothing was ever the same again.