“I'm an American.” Max knew that much.
“Well, don't you have a mom?”
“I never had a mom.”
“How can that be?”
“Lucy… I don't even know what a mom is.”
The girl in the cap began to laugh.
“Did I say something funny?” Max asked, a little irritated, but not knowing why.
Lucy's laughter caught in her throat. “You're… you're serious? You don't know what moms are?”
Suddenly feeling very ignorant, Max said, “Uh, no.”
“Well… how do you think you got here?”
Max wanted to say,
But she didn't say that; she might be unschooled in the ways of the outside world, but Max nonetheless knew that this wasn't what Lucy meant.
Lucy had another question, faintly mocking: “You were
weren't you?”
Another question Max had no answer for.
Now Lucy stepped forward, patting the snow, smoothing the statue. “Is that why you're dressed like that? 'Cause you got nobody to take care of you?”
Max wondered how she could have received so much training in the last nine years, learned so much, studied so hard, and yet still this girl in the red cap could come up with all these questions, the answers to which Max had no idea.
They moved to the shoveled cement front steps of the house and sat down. Lucy asked, “You aren't from around here, are you?”
Finally, a question she knew the answer to. “No.”
“Me neither. My mom's inside visiting with my aunt. We've been here since yesterday. I like it here, 'cause Dad isn't along… But we'll be leaving for home soon.”
Max said, “An ant is an insect.”
Lucy laughed. “Not that kind of ant! Are you kidding?… Aunt Vicki is my mom's sister.” Again the laughter was replaced by a look of concerned curiosity. “Max— did you run away?”
“Uh… yeah. I ran away.” The questions seemed to be getting easier now.
Lucy pulled off her mittens. “Here— you take these.”
Gratefully, Max tugged on the mittens. They were wet from the snow, but they still were better than nothing, and she appreciated the warmth of Lucy's gesture, even more. “Thanks.”
“So, Max… you don't have a home.” It was a statement, not a question.
“No, Lucy.”
“And I don't have a sister.”
“I have sisters. And brothers.”
“Really? Where?”
“We… we're all split up.”
“Broken home, huh… I know a lotta kids in your situation.”
Somehow Max doubted that.
Lucy was looking toward the house, a split-level with a large picture window in the living room upstairs; then her eyes returned to Max, and a new excitement was glittering there. “You don't have any clothes, or anywhere to stay, or anything to eat, right?”
Again Max found herself at a loss for words. But now that her hands were warmer, she started to realize how cold the rest of her had become. She started shivering and had to work to keep her teeth from chattering.
“Max, my mom is a real softie. She wanted me to have a sister, but she and Dad couldn't.”
“Why?”
“I don't know. But I do know one thing: my mom could help you.”
Frustrated, Max said, “Lucy, I still don't know what a ‘mom'
,” shaking her head, not liking where this seemed to be going.
Looking confused now herself, Lucy pondered that for a moment. Absently, she rose from the steps and went back to work on the snowman, smoothing it as she considered the problem. Max joined her, standing as silent as Frosty.
Finally, still filling in gaps in the snowman, Lucy said, “Mom is the person who gave birth to me, and you, too.”
“Yours mom gave birth to me?”
Lucy laughed again, stopped herself, shook her head. “No, not my mom…
mom, whoever she is, or maybe…
… gave birth to you. You have a belly button, don't you?”
“I don't know.”
“A navel?”
“Of course I have a navel.”
“Well, that's where you used to be connected to your mom, when you were born. That proves it. Whether you know her or not, you had a mom, all right.” Lucy shrugged. “Everybody does.”
“So… moms are always girls?”
“Women,” Lucy said seriously, seeming to take this teacherly responsibility to heart. “When we're older, we'll be women, and moms, too.”
Max didn't like the sound of that much. “Do we have to?”
“Well… why do you have to ask such hard questions, Max?”
That there were things Lucy
know seemed oddly comforting to Max; made her feel less ignorant.
“Anyway,” Lucy was saying, as she appraised Frosty one last time, “my mom can help. She can give you food and maybe Aunt Vicki's got some old clothes… ”
More people— that was bad… wasn't it? Suddenly, Max feared she never should have stopped, never should have spoken to this little girl.
“No,” Max said. “That's okay. I fend for myself. I adapt and survive.”
“Huh?”
“Don't tell anyone you saw me, okay?”
Lucy seemed perplexed.
“Lucy, please. Don't make me… ”
“Make you what?”
Max thought.
Lucy's eyes brightened with realization. “It's 'cause you ran away, isn't it? You're afraid Mom would send you back!”
Slowly, Max nodded. She touched the girl's arm; held it firmly. “Promise me, Lucy?”
Lucy's bare hand touched Max's mittened one. “Max— were they mean to you? I mean, where you ran away from… were they strict?”
“They were strict,” Max said.
“They were mean to you there?”
“Very mean.”
