By Andrea Renae

“Florence. Florence! I’m sorry. Please come back.”

The shouts ricochet between the chimney-like hoodoo rocks, making it seem like Aunt Junie is everywhere at once. I huff. If anyone could master that superpower, it’d be her.

“Leave me alone! I hate you.”

Smearing my damp hair away with my wrist, I clamber over a sandstone boulder and slide down the other side. Something crunches. Holding my breath, I dig the phone out of my back pocket.

The screen is covered in a fresh web of cracks.

My heart cannonballs to my stomach. No slipping the phone back into my aunt’s bag and acting like nothing happened.

I’m definitely grounded.

“It isn’t safe to run off alone here, sweetie.” Her voice has gotten higher, like she’s five seconds from either crying or screaming. Baby Albie mimics her with a delighted shriek.

I walk faster.

“Florence Lane, come back here this minute!”

Yep, there she goes.

Shoving the phone in my pocket, I decide I don’t care. I don’t care about the phone or her feelings or that I’m probably gonna miss History Club for weeks. Let someone else lose her cool for once. She deserves it after accusing my mom of never caring for anything or anyone in her life.

Besides, Mom’s coming back for me. I know it.

I outrun Aunt Junie’s calls by slipping through every gap I can find in these weird rock formations. I told her how I’d felt about coming to this dumb place, but she’d insisted on getting out of the house and doing something fun for a change.

Hasn’t she heard of a museum?

After a few minutes, I start to feel like I’m in some ancient, creepy labyrinth. My skin prickles, and I sprint when I come to the sunbathed hiking path. But what if I round a corner and run into a band of robbers or a minotaur? This seems like the right place for something like that.

Aunt Junie said it isn’t safe to be alone here.

My sneakers send up dust when I skid to a stop. This is far enough. Making sure nothing’s stalking me, I pull out the phone again and tap my mom’s number. Sweat stings my eyes and I bite my lip and wait for the ringing tone.

“The number you have dialed is no longer in service.”

Teeth grinding, I hang up and pound out the number again. And again.

Same fake voice each time.

Screaming, I hurl the phone against the rocks, sink down to the ground, and press my burning face against my kneecaps.

She’s gone. She’s really… gone.

I can’t hear Aunt Junie anymore. She’s probably gone, too.

The warmth of the afternoon sun and the rocks envelopes me, kind of like a hug. I can’t remember the last time I had one of those.

My chest twists tighter.

I thought I could at least count on my brother, but he didn’t help any. As soon as Roderick could, he bolted, and I’m pretty sure he’s been sleeping on his buddy’s gross couch ever since. My aunt didn’t try to stop him, either. I guess that’s because he’s big and eighteen. He does what he wants.

Not me. I’m stuck lugging my fat baby cousin around and keeping him from shoving cereal up his nose.

And wondering why no one cares about me.

Jumping to my feet, I kick a rock as hard as I can and watch it bounce and clack between the sandstone pillars. It disappears, but I can still hear it smacking into things as gravity speeds it downhill.

Ch-ch-ch-ch-ch-ch-ch-ch.

My insides do a double bounce. I spin around, and my stupid ankle catches on a jagged rock. I fall forward and barely avoid knocking out my pearly whites. Pain licks up my shin, but I can’t take time to assess the damage.

Because I’m being stared down by a rattler.

It’s enormous, coiled into a scaly carpet with its tail held high. A shiny, black tongue flicks out of its snout, getting a taste for a scrawny eleven-year-old girl.

I open my mouth, and when that terrible tail rattles again, my molten fury turns to rock-hard fear.

If I call for Aunt Junie, it’ll bite me. If I move an inch more, it’ll bite me.

I take it all back. I care. I care! I squeeze my eyes shut and hold my breath. I’m sorry… I’m sorry… I’m sorry…

“There you are!”

My aunt’s voice is the most beautiful and the most terrifying thing I’ve ever heard in my life. I open my eyes—I need to warn her!—but the rattlesnake is gone.

Pebbles skitter against my legs as Aunt Junie scrambles down the gully, Albie’s cherub face bouncing over her shoulder.

“I thought I lost you,” she says between hitching breaths, clutching her side.

I roll off my stomach and sit forward, watching her expression to work out just how much she hates me. She lifts a shaking hand to her forehead and closes her eyes, her stern mouth breaking into the tiniest smile. The kind that’s real, that says she also wants to take it all back. The kind adults make when they care. Then, she looks at me, tightens her baby sling, and kneels to dab at my scraped ankle with a diaper wipe.

As she helps me up and brushes dirt from my t-shirt, I feel another big old rattlesnake uncoil and slither away deep inside my ribcage.

“Why did… Why did she… leave?” I ask, my tight throat rudely clutching the words.

Aunt Junie gathers me into her arms, hugging me so hard my lungs feel small. “Some people can’t see the good that’s right in front of them. But I’m here. I see you. And I’m not going anywhere.”

Oh.

She’s genuine, safe, and when I feel the pudgy fingers of my baby cousin tangle in my hair, I do something I haven’t been able to do since Mom left.

Cry.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Andrea Renae grew up on the Canadian prairies alongside a cat companion, thrilling in tales of all kinds. She processes life’s wonders, hardships and oddities through words while deepening her hope in the Author of it all. A lover of the beautiful as well as humorous, she believes in the power of a good story to bring hope, truth, and light in the most unexpected ways.

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