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he came.
    â€œYou just better hurry,” Verna said, throwing the truck into gear and starting into the road. “Before those folks catch you peeing in their yard.”
    Bernie tried desperately to pull the door shut after him, but it wouldn’t close. Angel leaned across him and grabbed the handle. “Mama, slow down. Please. The door’s not shut, and Bernie’s not buckled in either.”
    Verna stopped the truck with a jerk. She sat there, her hands drumming on the steering wheel, while Angel first helped Bernie get his pants up all the way to his belly button, buckled his seat belt, and then yanked the door shut hard. At the sound, Verna turned to look at her. “You’re quite the little mother, Angel.” Angel wasn’t sure whether it was a compliment or not, so she just nodded.
    They drove past the place on the road where Verna had made the U-turn, a long way past, so that Angel was afraid they would be lost again, but Verna was slowing the car at every corner, looking for signs. She must have spotted the missing sign she’d been looking for, because now they were turning right onto a dirt road she hadn’t tried earlier.
    In the gathering dusk Angel could just make out the white lettering. “Morgan Farm Road! That’s our name.”
    â€œYour daddy’s people’s name. Yeah.”
    â€œDid you see that sign, Bernie? This road has our name on it!” Bernie just looked at her. He was still mad at Mama, breaking her promises and almost leaving him behind at least twice, but Angel couldn’t help being excited. Morgan Farm Road. It was hard to imagine relatives so important that a whole road would be named after them. That was like Washington Street or Ethan Allen Boulevard. She wanted to ask Mama if they were going to the actual Morgan Farm that the road was named after, but Verna was leaning out of the window, looking for a left-hand turn. Better not to bother her with questions right now.
    â€œOkay, this is it,” Verna said.
    The mailbox with MORGAN in faded blue paint was almost hidden by bushes. You’d wonder how the mailman would get to it and put mail in it. Angel’s tummy began to tighten up. She wanted to grab Bernie’s hand, but she grabbed her own instead. This was the place, she knew it. Their new home. The dirt driveway was shorter than the one in Burlington. Almost at once they were sitting in front of a house that—was it possible?—that Angel knew she had seen before.
    â€œHave I ever been here?” she asked.
    â€œBoth you kids been here, but Bernie wouldn’t remember. You ought to, though.”
    â€œYeah,” said Angel. This was where that trailer was. She was sure of it. Instinctively, she looked to the right. Yes, on the other side of the junk-filled front yard, just beyond what was left of the fence, there was the trailer, paint peeling, with weeds all around its base, but there it was. The house didn’t look in much better condition than the trailer. It had been white once, or gray. It wasn’t much of anything now but bare wood. There were panes broken in several of the windows. Someone had taped newspaper to cover the holes.
    â€œIt looks like a haunted house,” said Bernie, and it did look spooky in the twilight.
    â€œOkay, kids. Wait here a minute. I’ll be right back, but first I got to talk to Grandma.” Verna jumped out of the cab but slowed as she climbed the steps to the porch and approached the door. Angel could see her, her fist in the air, just holding it back, as though trying to get up the nerve to knock.
I bet she didn’t even say we were coming. I bet this Grandma person doesn’t even know we’re coming to live with her.
    â€œI don’t want to live here, Angel.” Bernie had jammed himself against her, and although Verna had by now disappeared behind the shabby door, he was whispering, “I don’t like it