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by one she let her problems go, releasing them like helium balloons into the winter air. She continued east on Greene Street, all the way to Fourteenth Street, and there, less than a hundred yards away, sat Hannah, her engine in idle. The blue Pinto was parked away from the crowd.
    Cautious, Cameryn approached the car.
    “What are you doing?” she asked, knocking her knuckle against the driver’s window.
    The noise startled the girl inside, who’d been deep in conversation with Hannah, gesturing as she spoke. Cameryn thought the girl looked no more than fourteen years old. Her strawberry-blonde hair hung in a long braid, and she had on a too-thin blue jacket without a hood. With eyes so pale blue they seemed almost colorless, she gaped at Cameryn.
    Suddenly the window glided down. Hannah cried out, “Cammie, this is Mariah. Mariah, this is my daughter Cameryn.” The storm that had wracked her mother only an hour before had calmed. She was smiling, laughing, her voice almost giddy.
    “Hi,” Cameryn said to Mariah. There was something odd about Hannah—her eyes shone too bright, her voice brimmed with false cheer. “Mom, are you okay?”
    “I’m fine. Wonderful.”
    “After you ran out of the Wingate I was worried,” Cameryn said, remaining vague because of Mariah. “I don’t think you heard me when I said I—I understand.”
    Tears of gratitude welled in Hannah’s eyes. “You do? ”
    “Mom, it was an accident. It doesn’t change anything. All of it happened a long time ago. You should have told me right away.”
    “Say it again.”
    “What?”
    Hannah’s face pinched with emotion. “‘Mom.’ You just called me ‘Mom.’”
    “Mom,” Cameryn said, surprised how easily it flowed. “So—who is this?” Cameryn’s eyes flicked toward Mariah.
    Speckles of paint still clung to the back of her mother’s hands as she clutched the steering wheel tight. “I saw her at the gas station and I thought, That girl needs me .”
    “Do you need help?” Cameryn aimed this at Mariah.
    There was a tremor in Mariah’s voice as she said, “Yeah. I’ve got to get to Ouray. Your mom said she’d take me, but I’m still waitin’.”
    “And I will,” Hannah explained, each word as shiny as a freshly minted penny, “but when I saw her I knew something was wrong. I wanted to help.” Hannah smiled again, like something bursting. “I’m making sure Mariah is safe. It’s a dangerous world out there.”
    By maneuvering forward, Cameryn got her first really good look at the girl. Mariah’s nose, small and upturned, reminded her of the pretty dolls she used to line up on her windowsill, the kind with too-big eyes and lips the color of pink roses. Gingersnap freckles sprayed across Mariah’s entire face like a honey-colored constellation, and her brows, although unplucked, were perfect arches. She didn’t seem like a girl in danger. But then again, Cameryn wasn’t sure what a girl in danger looked like.
    Mariah bent forward so that she could look directly into Cameryn’s eyes. “Your mother said she was goin’ to Ouray.” It was as though all of Hannah’s earlier agitation had siphoned into the girl. Clutching her knees so hard her fingertips blanched white, Mariah said, “We need to be leavin’.” She seemed coiled up, ready to spring at the least provocation. In a way, Cameryn could understand why her mother did not want to turn this girl loose. Behind those pale eyes she could sense Mariah’s synapses firing wildly as the girl looked from Cameryn to Hannah and then back again. “Please.”
    It was clear Mariah wanted to leave and equally clear Hannah didn’t want her to go. The girl’s head turned like a ratchet when a group of men, snowboarders by the look of them, walked by, jostling each other, laughing. A truck, followed by a red sedan, slowed before moving on.
    Once they passed, Mariah’s eyes grew wider. “You know what? I can’t stay here.” Muttering something Cameryn couldn’t