Exposure - By Brandilyn Collins Page 0,2

and could laugh like in the photo, with her head thrown back and eyes half squinted.

Hannah hugged the frame to her chest. If only she could press her mom inside her heart so she could fill the big hole that ached and ached there.

She heard laughter from the den. The sound wrenched Hannah’s insides. Weren’t they just one happy family. Laughing at a TV show. Like they didn’t even care she was in here by herself, crying.

Truth was, they didn’t.

She might as well face it: this wasn’t going to change. Her mom was never coming back. Looking through the house, except for this bedroom, you’d never know Hannah’s mom had even lived here. All pictures of her on the fireplace mantel, in the master bedroom — gone. All her clothes cleaned out. Everything in the house she loved, even the color of the den and kitchen — gone. The walls had been repainted, their old couch traded for a new one. All because Gail thought the colors were “too blue.” The plates Hannah’s mom had loved, and her silverware — gone. Gail had brought her own.

Hannah set her mom’s picture on the dresser and pressed her palm against the glass. She closed her eyes, remembering the feel of her mother’s hugs. Her smell. Her voice. Hannah’s heart ripped at the memories. She backed away from the picture, pressing fists to her chest. And now she didn’t have her father either. He kept telling her they had to “build a new life.” She didn’t want to build a new life. She just wanted her old one back.

“Can you see me from heaven?” Hannah whispered to the photo. “Please tell God to make Dad send Gail away.”

A loud cackle from the den. Gail, laughing.

Hannah’s teeth clenched. She stared toward the den, picturing Gail with her bleached blonde hair, the red, red lipstick. Hannah knew the truth about her and Hannah’s dad. He’d started hanging around with Gail before Hannah’s mom even died. He didn’t think Hannah knew that. Well, she did.

In the picture, Hannah’s mom smiled on. Had she known when she was sick and dying? Had she known she’d already been pushed aside?

The terrible thought swept Hannah into motion. She swiveled toward her closet and threw open the door.

She yanked out her small pink roller suitcase and dragged it to her dresser. Out of a drawer she pulled a couple pair of jeans and three tops. Threw them into the suitcase. Her hands worked feverishly, her breath hitching on little sobs as she opened her top drawer and scraped through underwear and socks. Hannah tossed some of each into the case. Then added her pajamas. She ran to her bed, picked up the small white pillow she’d had since a baby, and pressed it inside. Then stood in the middle of her room, turning in a frantic circle, thinking, What else, what else?

Only then did it hit her. She really was running away.

Hannah picked up her mother’s picture and placed it on top of her small pillow.

Tears rolling down her cheeks, she zipped the suitcase. She turned it upright and pulled out the handle.

A note. Shouldn’t she say something to her dad?

Hannah fumbled in the middle drawer of her little desk and pulled out a piece of paper and pen. She wrote the first thing that came to her mind and stuffed the note under her pillow. The paper and pen went back in the drawer.

Her eyes roamed to the window. It was dark out there.

She gazed into the night, courage flagging. Where would she go? In her mind’s eye she saw herself hurrying down her street and through her neighborhood. At Main she’d turn right and go over the railroad tracks, past the downtown area to South Maple. Kaycee lived at the very end of that street. Of course. Hannah would go to Kaycee’s. She’d convince Kaycee to let her stay there.

It would be a long, scary walk.

Hannah gazed at her bed — where she’d cried countless tears — and knew she couldn’t sleep there again. If she stayed in this house another night, she would drown. Hannah looked back to the window. She could do this. Didn’t Kaycee always write about fighting your fears?

Hannah swiped at her cheeks. No one here would miss her anyway.

She returned to her dresser, grabbed a sweatshirt, and put it on.

Quietly she opened the door to her room. The sound of the TV grew louder. She could hear Becky giggling. Hannah’s mouth tightened. Pulling