Slipping Through My Fingers | John B Little Sister

Chapter 4

"Good morning Lucy." 

Lu's body jolted harshly at the unexpected voice and the chicken that she had been cradling squawked loudly and burst out of her hold in surprise. 

"How about you come on out of there so we can have a chat, alright?"

Lu's bare feet shuffled around apprehensively until she was facing the entrance of the chicken coop.  But she kept her gaze focused on the ground. 

It was familiar ground to Lu. Cracked dirt scattered with chicken shit and old feed, and five little clucking creatures scuttling happily about. The tips of those shoes were familiar too. Sharp, smart leather points of two stern feet were perched, out of place, at the edge of the coop.

Lu knew that voice. And she knew those shoes.

"Hi Cheryl." Lu greeted quietly. 

"Hi Lucy." Came her social workers patient reply.

Lu's eyes strayed from the shoes to one of her chickens. The one she had just been holding. She was now pecking contentedly at some seeds dangerously close to her toes. Lu liked that chicken. She was always hungry, but never loud. 

"Why don't you come inside with me?" Cheryl suggested reasonably. 

Lu stared at her chicken.

"Let's go Lucy."

Lucy went. 

Cheryl spoke as they walked. She was never one to waste time. 

"Is John B home?"

"No." Lu answered truthfully. 

"Do you know where he is?"

"No." Lu answered truthfully. 

"What about your Uncle T? Is he home?"

Lu paused. She didn't mean to, but she'd never been particularly skilled at thinking on her feet. But Lu should've known better than to pause around Cheryl.

Cheryl was a bloodhound for the wounds of child endangerment. Constantly sniffing about for her next probable cause to tear an innocent child from the comfort of their beds.

Well that was how Johnny described her anyway.

"When was the last time you saw your uncle Lucy?" Cheryl probed, taking a couple of steps up the Chateau porch and staring down at the girl. 

Last week. Lu wanted to lie. Not since last March. She wanted to admit. 

I call him everyday. He never picks up. I saw him at Easter? He's just out at the store. He'll be back in an hour. I saw him this morning.  He's at work. Do I even have an Uncle T?

Lu didn't know what to say. 

So she didn't say anything.

Cheryl sighed in that 'I expected more from you' way that adults often sigh when they want you to feel bad. And it worked. Lu felt bad. She felt worse than bad. She felt sick.

She wished John B would come home.

Cheryl made it to the door. She opened it and trotted on in without hesitation. She held it open for Lucy, and tapped her sharp, smart shoes expectantly as Lu hovered nervously at the threshold.

Lu glanced back over her shoulder. Taking in her kingdom. Her jetty, her trees, her rope swing, her garden, her shed. She wanted to stay out there. 

"Come inside Lucy." 

Lu walked inside instinctively at the command. She ignored the slight smirk of triumph upon Cheryl's mouth and headed swiftly for the seat at the table which faced the window.