I met George Saint James the day my mom vanished.
The night before, I fell asleep the same way I always did—wishing for something extraordinary to happen. At eight years old, I was certain of one thing: I was destined for great adventures.
In the morning, a heavy spring rain attacked the last of the snow, liberating purple and white crocus blossoms from their icy beds. My older brothers and I knelt by the window, watching tire grooves fill with heaven-sent tears. Mom's station wagon was missing.
Our dad barely spoke when we roused him, but as he sipped his first cup of coffee, he told us our mother had gone home. Only Darwin, who was twelve, seemed to understand what that meant. Moby was ten, and I could tell he was as confused as me.
This was our house. Wasn't this home?
Dad couldn't say how long Mom would be gone, but he assured us she'd come back, and we had no choice but to believe him.
As soon as the rain tapered to a drizzle, we were kicked outside. Without Mom to patiently comb out the tangles, my hair was a ratty mass. I was still wearing my nightgown, but Darwin made sure I put on my rubber boots and yellow raincoat. Moby fetched the basketball.
I wanted to play, but my brothers wouldn't pass to me. They never passed to me. I yelled and stomped in puddles, but they kept chucking the ball over my head. Fed up, I grabbed the green butterfly net from the mudroom and set about trying to capture a creature in the thicket at the edge of the field. A worm, a grasshopper, maybe even a frog.
Instead, I found something far more exciting—a pale brown rabbit sitting in the fresh blades of grass. It had long velvety ears and a twitching pink nose. I was going to catch it, and oh, how jealous Darwin and Moby would be.
But patience had always eluded me. I charged after the rabbit, twigs cracking beneath my feet, and off it went, bounding across the field. I chased it all the way to the cedar hedge that bordered the neighboring property. The rabbit didn't know what I did: The woman who lived in the Big House next door was a witch. And witches had all sorts of uses for rabbits. I had to save it.
I followed the dense wall of evergreen to a gap wide enough to slip through. I peered through the branches and gasped when I saw a pair of dark blue eyes squinting at me from the other side.
I'd never seen the boy before.