Finding Sadie (Los Rancheros #0.5) Read Free Page B

bed that makes her look like a doll.  Well if the doll had a bald head.  But her eyes swallow the rest of her face and make me uncomfortable.
    “Robin,” I tell her before swallowing thickly.  What did I sign myself up for?  Where did Batty go?  He wasn’t in the common room when I got there and the crowd had disappeared from earlier.  Did I miss him?
    “Are you Batman’s sidekick?” the little girls asks.
    “Yeah,” I look around and lick my lips.  “Where are your parents?”
    Her eyes flick to the doors before swallowing me whole.  “Sunday is church day.  They’re gone all day to pray for me.”
    “Do you think they could pray for me too?” I ask with a smile, but the girl takes me seriously.
    “What’s wrong with you?” she asks.  Blunt little thing.
    “What’s not?” I ask rhetorically.
    “Are you dying too?”
    My breathing stops with shock.  I feel my face wipe free of its joking expression.  WTF?  Shit, when was the last time I talked to a kid?  Probably when I was a kid.  Maybe I didn’t think this through.  Shit, I know I didn’t.
    “Everybody’s dying.”
    She nods and my eyes travel to her blanket, where her fingers are moving over the blanket, pleating it over and over.
    “That’s what my parents say.”
    “They must be pretty smart,” I say, then take a deep breath and look to the door.  How long was it polite to stay before I could leave this room?
    “I like your nails.”  It’s her tone of voice that brings me back around to her.  It’s smaller than before.  Vulnerable, I guess is the word.  I look down at my hands.  To keep from biting my nails to the quick I have to keep them painted.  My eyes go to the purse I never carry.  Where I swiped everything off of the counter this morning and into it because I didn’t know what exactly was supposed to go in there.  What in the world could you possibly need besides a credit card and a driver’s license?
    I dig around, and admit while doing it that I probably look like any other girl with the action.  Devoid of my familiar black eye shadow and exposed skin I look like anyone else.  I finally find the white nail polish and hold it up tentatively.
    “Do you want to try it?”  I hold it out to her, but she pulls her hands back.
    “I don’t know how to do it?”
    My eyes move from her face to my hand holding the bottle.  “Do you want me to do it then?”
    Her small nod feels like some kind of victory.  I smile and the muscles feel weak in my face, like they don’t know what I’m asking them to do.  When was the last time I smiled?
    I shake the bottle and take her little hand in mine.  She doesn’t have an IV or anything in her chest, but I can see the small bruise peeking out of her gown, where it used to be.  I ignore it.  I go slowly.  I make sure the strokes are perfect and even.  When I finish the first hand I blow on them before moving to the other one.  Her little nails are almost impossible to keep clean of smudges, but I do my best.
    When I’m done, I sit back with a sigh and watch her inspect her nails.  I half think she’s going to tell me I screwed up.  But then it happens.  She smiles—first with her eyes and then with her mouth.  She’s missing a tooth on the side that I hadn’t noticed when she talked.  That’s when I know.  I did win.
    “You’re so pretty.”  It slips out.  A thought that didn’t go through my almost nonexistent filter.  Instantly her smile drops, and I feel bad for paying her a compliment.
    “No I’m not,” she protests as her hands fall to the blanket again.  The protest is so strong I can’t keep it in.
    “Yes you are,” I say with conviction.
    “I’m bald like an old man.  I don’t look like the kids on the TV.  I’m sick.”
    I roll my lips in and bite them, sitting back and crossing my arms.  I shrug.  “Some people are sick up here,” I point to my head, “like crazy, but look like everyone else and you don’t know