Читать книгу The Top Gun's Return - Kathleen Creighton - Страница 8

Sammi June stared at the shadows on her ceiling cast by the soccer-ball-shaped night-light beside her bed. Under the covers her knee stung and throbbed where she’d picked the scab off it too soon, and she thought about that while tears tickled their way down the sides of her face and ran into her ears. The tears came from the achy, lonely place inside her, but if she concentrated hard enough she could make herself believe that her skinned knee was to blame for that, too.

Stupid knee. She’d had skinned knees before. It was no big deal. Except, why did it have to happen now?

Tomorrow was supposed to be her big day. She was so excited she couldn’t fall sleep. It was the most important part, and the teacher had picked her, the new kid. The new kid—wasn’t she always? New place, new school, new friends. She’d wanted so much for them to like her, to be amazed at how smart she was, and how pretty. She even had a dress to wear—a pink one, brand-new, Momma had bought it for her last week at J.C. Penny—and new shoes to go with it, and socks with lace around the tops. And now it was all going to be ruined, because of a stupid skinned knee. It was going to show, and look ugly and tacky, and everyone would think she was just a tomboy hick from Georgia.

I wish my daddy was here. If Daddy was here, I wouldn’t care if I have a skinned knee. Daddy would find a way to make it be all right.

Sammi June sniffed and wiped her cheeks with her hands, then listened to the darkness as hard as she could. She thought sometimes if she listened hard enough she could make herself hear the sounds she wanted so badly to hear: the front door opening, footsteps on the stairs, Momma’s voice, trying to whisper but bubbling brightly with happiness. Daddy’s voice whispering back, low and gruff and growly.

After a moment she pushed back the covers and got out of bed and walked over to the window. In the daytime in this new place, there wasn’t much to see from the bedroom window except for other people’s houses. But at night, if she knelt down and pressed her face close to the glass and looked up…way up…just above the rooftop of the house next door, she could see it. One star, all by itself, so big and bright it didn’t seem real. But it was real; Momma said so. She said it was the Evening Star, the one everyone sings to you about when you’re real little: “Twinkle twinkle little star, how I wonder what you are….” Momma said if you make a wish on the Evening Star it will come true, and there was a poem for that, too.

Kneeling on the hard floor—on one knee, because the skinned one was sore—Sammi June closed her eyes and whispered the poem:

“Starlight, star bright,

First star I’ve seen tonight,

I wish I may I wish I might

Have the wish I wish tonight.”

Then, staring at the Evening Star until her eyes burned and made new tears, she silently added the wish she’d wished so many times before: I wish my daddy would come home.