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it, the whole idea sounded stupid. How could she come right out and say something like, “Can’t I just live with you?” It seemed like such a simple question, and Kate probably had a dozen kids a day ask her the same thing.
    On the other hand, Kate seemed to truly care about her—she’d visitedher in the hospital a lot more often than she had to, and most of those times didn’t seem to have any real reason to be there at all. And she’d brought her little things to help her through the rehab, too. Did she do that with a dozen other kids? Sarah wasn’t sure she wanted to know the answer to that; besides, she’d already been enough of a burden on Kate.
    Sarah opened her door, but when she tried to put her right leg on the sidewalk, nothing happened; all the walking at the prison had stiffened not only her leg, but her hip as well. Using both hands, she lifted her right leg and swung it out and to the ground, then—with Kate’s help—hoisted herself to her feet. A moment later she stood unsteadily on the sidewalk, her hip aching.
    “Want your crutches?” Kate asked in an anxious voice.
    Sarah looked through the rear window at the two metal sticks she’d already grown to hate and shook her head. “No. I’m done with them.”
    Kate seemed about to argue, then appeared to change her mind. “Tell you what,” she finally said. “I’ll take them in and leave them with Angie Garvey, just in case. Okay?”
    Not wanting to argue—and knowing that Kate was right to insist on leaving the crutches—Sarah slowly limped up the front walk. Then, as Kate pressed the doorbell, she suddenly felt the hair on the back of her neck start to prickle, and a shiver ran through her.
    She was being watched.
    “You all right?” Kate asked.
    Sarah nodded, but the unmistakable feeling that someone was watching her grew stronger, and she glanced both ways down the row of houses facing the street.
    No one.
    But the feeling was still there. Steadying herself on the black wrought-iron railing that guarded the Garveys’ porch, she turned around.
    Across the street a boy wearing a parka and a backpack was staring directly at her, but before she could get a clear look at his face, he lowered his head and hurried down the sidewalk and around the corner.
    “Already turning heads?” Kate asked, following Sarah’s gaze in time to see the boy scurry away.
    Before Sarah could answer, the door opened and a tall blondish woman wearing a denim skirt and a bulky sweater opened the door.“Hello,” she said, nervously wiping her hands on the apron tied around her waist. “You must be Sarah.”
    “Yes, ma’am,” Sarah said.
    “Well, come right in.” She held the storm door open. “I’m Angie Garvey.”
    Sarah’s right foot caught on the threshold as she stepped into the house and Kate caught her arm, steadying her before she fell to the floor.
    The glimmer of hope that Sarah had nurtured as they drove through the little Vermont village began to evaporate as she took in the Garveys’ living room. Though it was at least as large as the living room of the farmhouse—maybe even a little larger—it both looked and felt completely different. No art hung on the walls, the furniture was worn, and the carpet was badly stained. Where the living room at home had been filled with books and magazines, here there was only one small stack of books, and they were being used to prop up a corner of the sofa.
    A huge television took up one whole corner, and the furniture had been arranged so every seat had a view of the screen.
    Nothing—not one single thing—felt anything like what she’d grown up with, and a wave of homesickness threatened to crash through the thin wall of courage she’d been constructing to get her through the day. But just as she felt herself losing the struggle not to start crying, a small brown and white spaniel came skittering out of the kitchen and jumped up on her, almost knocking her over.
    “No, Pepper!” Angie snapped,