At first, leaving home in the middle of the night seemed exciting to Sarah Jane, an adventure. It also seemed necessary. Sarah Jane had heard the arguments between her mother and father. She had seen the bruises shadowing Mama's perfectly made-up face. And when Daddy finally turned his anger on Sarah Jane, Mama seemed to wake up and decide that enough was enough. Now they're living at the Sweetwater Motel in Ohio, "The Heart of It All." For Sarah Jane, the adventure is over and reality has set in. Money is tight, nerves are frayed. Sarah Jane misses her best friend, her books, her grandma, the horse she always rode. She even misses her daddy, although she'd never dare tell Mama. As life becomes more difficult, Sarah Jane begins to regret their escape. Can a motel ever really be home? Can they be a family without Daddy?

Praying at the Sweetwater Motel

By April Young Fritz

Hyperion Books

Copyright © 2005 April Young Fritz
All right reserved.
ISBN: 9780786854950

Chapter One

Red Boots

The day we left, Mama woke me a few hours before dawn. She leaned down, touched her lips to my forehead, and whispered, "Time to go, Sarah Jane."

I nuzzled against her warm skin and smelled the sweetness of her bath powder.

"We're leaving now," she said. "Don't dawdle."

I rolled over in my bed to peer across at my sister, Alice, sound asleep, wrapped like an eggroll in her Barbie bedspread, her thumb jammed in her mouth.

Mama looked beautiful that night, her long blond hair tied back with a ribbon. She wore her pink cotton sundress, her shoulders covered by a baby-blue cardigan embroidered with pink roses. I noticed she had on her Keds instead of the white leather ballet slippers she usually wore with that outfit.

"Better for driving," she told me when she saw me looking at her feet. Her straw satchel, the one she bought on our vacation at Virginia Beach, sat on the floor, its sides bulging with her treasures.

The moon-shaped night-light washed the walls with a soft glow. I studied my room, with its wallpaper border of horses galloping across a pasture, the tieback curtains Mama sewed on her old Singer, and the bookcases filled with favorite stories. The rocker where my baby sister and I once sat crushed against Mama as she read to us sat still and empty in the corner.

I held the image in my mind, willing it to stay in place the way I hold Coca-Cola in my mouth when I come to the bottom of the glass, believing if I savor the last drops, later I'll be able to sweep my tongue against the roof of my mouth and taste the sweetness once more.

Mama unwrapped Alice from her bedspread. Alice whimpered, caught in the hazy place between sleep and wakefulness.

"We need to hurry," Mama said as she perched on the edge of the bed, peeling Alice's nightgown over her head, replacing it with a T-shirt. Alice wiggled as Mama tugged white shorts over her skinny legs, snapping the elastic waistband in place.

I removed my own nightgown and tossed it on the floor. Underneath, I was already dressed in my red tank top with the purple stripes and denim shorts soft from wear. I pulled on a pair of white tube socks and the red cowboy boots my daddy gave me for my birthday in March. He said they were real cowboy boots from Texas, hand-tooled with oak leaves and acorns, and heels thick enough to hang on to stirrups no matter how wild the horse.

I knew he felt bad because he couldn't afford to buy me the horse I wanted. Next year, he promised, next year I'd have my horse. Mama said sometimes Daddy made promises he couldn't keep.

It would have broken my heart to leave the red boots behind. Mama agreed it was smart to wear them on our trip since they'd take up the space of three pairs of shoes in my suitcase; leaving home under special circumstances forced us to make hard decisions about what was really important, what we couldn't live without.

Four-year-old Alice, eight years younger than me and a miniature version of Mama, was not included in the planning of our adventure, as Mama referred to the trip that would take us far from the only home I had ever known. Alice could not be trusted to keep our secret even if she crossed her heart and hoped to die that she wouldn't tell a single soul, especially our Daddy.

The week before we ran away, Mama settled Alice on the living room couch with her blankie and a bag of chocolate-chip cookies. She popped a video into the VCR, ensuring we'd have some peace and quiet to make our plans.

I brewed a pot of tea, and we sipped from china cups usually saved for company as we made a list of what to take. Mama had already gone to the school and retrieved copies of my school records. She put them into a special folder, along with our birth certificates and the medical records we might need.

"Don't forget to write down 'Cat food for Mabel.'"

I added it to the list, which grew so long, I worried we might have trouble fitting everything into our car.

I wished we could rent a giant truck so we wouldn't have to leave anything behind. Mama said renting a truck would leave a paper trail that would lead Daddy to us.

She hid the folder and the lists I made in the car beneath the spare tire. She'd been cutting coupons for months to use at the grocery store and putting aside the money she saved. The thick stack of bills waited in an envelope taped to the bottom of my dresser drawer.

After months of anticipation, we were finally putting our plans into action. It made me feel important, being included, like the time Mama said I could stay in the living room when the social worker came, after Daddy beat her real bad and she had to go to the hospital for stitches.

"He may kill you the next time," the social worker warned Mama. "I wish you'd file a police report against him. He should be in jail for what he did to you."

The social worker's name was Kim, and she seemed to forget about me as I sat cross-legged in front of the TV watching I Love Lucy with the sound turned down. She had silky blond hair like Mama's, and skin so perfect I couldn't imagine anyone covering it with angry purple bruises.

Mama was afraid to send Daddy to jail. And I think she was ashamed for people to find out what went on inside our house, as if she was to blame. It made me wonder if I might be at fault for making Daddy angry.

Mama hid the bruises on her arms under long-sleeved blouses and the ones on her face with pancake makeup. If she got a black eye, she wore sunglasses, even on rainy days. When I told her it looked strange for her to wear sunglasses when there was no sun, she said maybe people would think she was a movie star.

"Let's go," said Mama, rousing me from my reverie. I carted her satchel through the dark house, careful not to let it bump against a wall and sound a warning.

Mama carried Alice pressed against the length of her. In the dim hallway it was difficult to see where one began and the other ended, the way it was before Alice was born. We eased ourselves out the front door, with me inching the screen door closed for fear the slightest sound might wake our daddy, asleep in the back bedroom.

"Hush now," Mama whispered to Alice when she complained she had to pee. "You can go at the Dunkin' Donuts. I'll buy you some Munchkins if you're good. Be a quiet little mouse for Mama."

Daddy's Buick straddled the driveway, its right tires on the lawn. Just hours before, too keyed-up to sleep, I'd kept watch from my bedroom window. He came home past midnight and staggered to the house. I heard him cussing a stream of words that didn't amount to a sentence when he couldn't get his key to work the lock. Mama let him in and helped him into bed. She couldn't allow him to fall asleep on the couch and ruin our plans.

Once outside, Mama set Alice on the curb. She walked over to the Buick, the driver's door left ajar, reached in, and pulled the knob for the headlights.

"A dead battery will buy us more time," she said.

Our other car, an old Chevy wagon, was nowhere to be seen. Mama'd stashed it while Daddy was out, knowing he'd think she'd parked it in the garage. Daddy never attempted to park his car in the garage after a night of drinking; the one time he had, he crumpled the right fender and ripped a piece of aluminum siding from the house.

Mama struggled with Alice, who had managed to rewrap...