Bridget wouldn’t watch Effie leaving; Effie walking away the same as had Pappy and Mum. E-F-F-I-E. Walking away the same as Grandma Teegan.
She waited a minute. Ten. An hour.
The sun set, and as shadows spread like a dark fog to cloak Effie’s rocker and the bed where she slept, Bridget went out and sat on the back landing. This time, she wasn’t the one stealing. Effie’s leaving stole the colors from the sky. It stole the back and forth hoots of the owls. It stole crickets’ songs and the throated honk of bullfrogs. It stole clear back a year and took Grandma Teegan again.
Where was Effie now that it was getting dark? Huddled in a ditch? Trembling beneath a bridge? She’d needed to go, but how could she? Wasn’t she too sorry over her lye mixture? Too sorry over the blisters on Bridget’s to
