“They hurt a little frog that ain’t dohing,” Peter said, trying to explain about the bullies in his neighborhood. He looked down and away from her, embarrasd and scared and unsure of what to do. “They smushed it with a stick.”
“You’re so like your daddy,” Mama whispered. “You even look like him.” Her eyes drifted up toward the skies, a dreamy expression crossing her face. “And he was an angel pod out of pure light.”
Peter didn’t know what she meant. He didn’t know what his daddy looked like becau he’d never enhim—but deep inside he was glad to hear it. Out of the er of his eye he sas exge a quick look with one of Peter’s aunts, a look that said, She’s getting “fud” again.
“Meredith,” Gramps said, trying t her back. “You’ve got a prent there for Peter, don’t you?”
She looked dazed for a moment as her vision of angels faded away, but then Mama looked down at the prent sitting on the bedsheets.
Mama stared down into her lap as if eing the prent for the first time. “Of cour,” she said. She tried to pick up the package, but she didn’t have the strength.
Peter took it in his hands and looked at the sloppy packaging and crooked bow. “I got you covered, Pete,” Gramps said as he picked up the prent and stuck it ier’s open backpack.
“You open it up when I’m gone, okay?” she whispered. Peter was trying to be brave, but when she said that he felt his eyes start to get hot and sting with tears. He didn’t want to cry in front of her. Not now.
“Yrandpa is gonna take such good care of you, at least until your daddy es back to get you.”
She swallowed deeply and then held out her hand to Peter. “Take my hand, baby.”
Peter looked at Mama’s hand, turned palm up on the bla. He wao take it, he wao touch her one last time, but he knew if he touched her it would make everything real. If he could hold back, maybe that would stop it all from happening. He turned his face away, tears rolling down his cheeks.