The hundred yards might feel like a thousand. It doesn’t matter. If someone needs to save Mama from the wolves, it might as well be me.
I gather courage like the Mayor gathers con-stitch-you-wants, and make my way to Scooter’s house. He sees me first and runs toward me, his arms wide. “Emmy! Emmy!” I hug him back and glance at Frank who raises his hand a few inches.
“Frank’s my tutor!”
“That’s good, Scoot,” I say, as we get closer to the porch. “Are you learning anything?”
“Tons and tons and tons. Blow the harmonica. Blow like a hurricane.”
I’ve crossed the chancy line into risky Territory.