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head.
    “Don’t you understand?” Dicey asked. “Momma’s not coming back, not here.”
    Sammy didn’t answer her. Sammy’s stubbornness was beyond measure. When he made his
     mind up, there was nothing you could do to move him. Threats didn’t work. He didn’t
     mind being spanked or slapped. Explaining was no good; it was as if he didn’t even
     hear what you were saying to him. Even Mommacouldn’t bully him into doing something. Even James couldn’t trick him into it.
    But you couldn’t go off and leave a six-year-old alone, in the woods, in a strange
     place.
    Dicey crouched down beside him. The other two stood silent behind her. “Sammy? Momma’s
     not coming back here. That’s what I think. I think she’s forgotten.”
    “Momma wouldn’t forget me.”
    “No, she wouldn’t. But she’s forgotten where we are, I think. So if we go to Aunt
     Cilla’s that’s where she’ll probably be. We have to go find her.”
    “I don’t want to,” Sammy said. But he was thinking about what she’d said.
    “I don’t want to, either,” Dicey said. “But we have to.”
    “No, we don’t,” Sammy said.
    Dicey stood up in frustration and stamped her foot on the ground. “Then I’ll carry
     you,” she announced.
    “I’ll kick you.” He stood up.
    Maybeth stepped forward. “No, you won’t,” she said to Sammy. “Momma said to do as
     Dicey tells us. You heard her.”
    The two stared at one another. They were both sturdy little blond figures, with round
     bellies. Sammy shorter than Maybeth, but almost as heavy.
    “Please, Sammy,” Maybeth said.
    “Okay,” Sammy said.
    At the edge of the woods, where the grassy roadside banked above the macadam, they
     stopped to wait for an opening in the traffic. It was Sunday morning. People were
     driving to church, or to the beach. The children could look back and see their own
     car, green and lonely, in the middle of the parking lot.
    It was kind of like a home, the car, Dicey thought. She understood why Sammy wanted
     to stay there.
    They crossed the road, but stopped at the edge of the parking lot. A blue police car
     was driving around the lot. It stopped by their car. A policeman got out and opened
     the door. He stuck his head in. He opened the glove compartment and went through the
     maps, as if he was looking for something. He walked all around the car. He wrote something
     down in a little notebook. Then he looked toward the mall.
    “Walk.” Dicey gave the order. She took Sammy’s hand. “Don’t anybody look at our car.”
    They walked on, away from the mall and the parking lot and the car. Dicey led them
     back to Route 1. There they turned south. They dumped the three grocery bags in the
     first trash can they saw. Nobody said a word.
    Route 1 was mostly garages and small shopping centers and discount stores and quick
     food places. There were no green patches and few sidewalks. They walked along concrete
     or asphalt, or on roadside gravel. Soon their feet hurt. Dicey walked at half her
     normal speed, because of Sammy’s short legs. Trucks roared by and the sun grew hotter.
     The air smelled of oil and gas and nothing else. After an hour and a half, Sammy began
     to complain. It was the first time any of them had spoken.
    At the next McDonald’s that had outside tables, Dicey let them sit down. One at a
     time, they went inside to the bathroom. They had to go through a room that smelled
     of hamburgers and french fries, and they all became aware of how hungry they were.
     Dicey ordered two large Cokes, which they all four shared.
    That refreshed them. Sitting still also refreshed them.
    “How much longer is it?” Sammy asked.
    “A long way,” Dicey said. “We’ll have to sleep outside tonight.”
    “Good-o,” Sammy said. “Can we have a fire?”
    “I don’t know. It depends on where we get to. This road is awful.”
    “That’s for sure,” James agreed. “Dicey? When do we get lunch?”
    “I’ve been thinking,” she