“Izzy, listen to me, baby.”
“Mom, no,” I pleaded. “Can’t we just wait until you’re all better? We want you to get well.”
“Shhh, you worry too much, Gabby. I’m fine. I promise. There’s a blue ball cap on the picnic table next to us. Put it on and walk to the bathroom. Gabby, you pick up the duffle bag behind us and follow her. Look for anything you can put over your clothes. It doesn’t matter what it is. Go.”
The bag ended up belonging to a man or a grown boy. The shirts fit us like dresses. Even my mom’s. After directing us toward a street, she followed, never looking back. We crossed the busy road, holding her hand, and hid in a ten-story parking garage. The cops even strolled through looking for us once. We ducked behind a dumpster in the corner and waited. They didn’t even get out of the car. Even I knew they didn’t try very hard. Lucky us.
“Hey, Clydes,” my mother said while staring off into the distance, hours after our escape. It was nearly dark, and we were hungry, but neither one of us mentioned it. I hated that far-away tone. It meant something bad. Something that would get us in more trouble.
Needless to say. Izzy and I spent the next four days on a train. That’s what she saw in the distance. That and Izzy’s request that hadn’t been fulfilled yet. Once we’d made our rounds in two different gas stations, looting what we could without being caught, we set out. A long walk across an open field.
This is how crazy our mom was. We were almost there. Almost to the empty car, when it started to move. My mom ordered us to run, tossed our stolen food, and jumped in first. Izzy fell, but she was okay. She actually still made it before me. She always was the faster runner.
Those were the best four days of my life. Riding in a train car is an adventure I never thought of as fun, but it was. It was so much fun. Not only did we have stolen junk food, we had an endless supply of walnuts. Crates of nuts occupied a quarter of the car. Izzy and I occupied the rest. We played walnut baseball, danced on stage, watched shooting stars fall from the sky, and we danced some more. A lot. Even my mom danced. Actually, she danced more than Izzy and me. I didn’t care. She could be crazy all she wanted. We were together. Jonnie and her Clydes.
~~
“Gabriella, wake up. Gabriella.”
I stretched my legs, grunting as my eyes focused on Paxton. “What?” I rolled away from him. I didn’t want to wake to this. I wanted to go back to the train. Back to eating walnuts for days. Where my mom and Izzy were.
“Go make something to take to this barbeque. You’ve only got a couple of hours. Get up. We’re going to walk down to the beach. Make something good,” he ordered.
“I want to go to the beach,” I countered. I sat up when I realized how much I sounded like eight-year-old Gabby. Whiny.
“You can go to the beach when you learn how to be my wife again. Go do your wifely jobs and make us something to take.”
“Like what?”
“I don’t know. That’s your department. Figure it out.”
My eyes frowned, leaving me with small slits to see him through. “Are you the same guy who rubbed my feet right before I fell asleep?”
That pissed him off. Big time. He scowled and grunted.
My little angels saved the day. “We’re ready,” they called in unison, both carrying sand buckets and toys.
“I thought we were taking boogie-boards.”
“You carry them, Daddy,” Ophelia said. They were taking them. They just weren’t carrying them.
“Mommy, you come, too. I want to show you what I can do,” Rowan said as soon as she saw that I was awake. They both wore blue and white bathing suits, matching by color only. Rowan’s was blue and white striped. Ophelia’s was blue with white lilies. Both out-of-this-world cute.
“Mommy doesn’t feel like it yet. She’s going to stay here and get ready for the cookout that she’s too sore to go to.”
Both girls missed the sarcasm of the last remark. I did not. He wasn’t hurting me by keeping me away from my neighbors. I didn’t feel right around them anyway. Go. See if I give a shit.
I waited by the pool with the girls while Paxton retrieved three boards from the garage. I was sort of pouting about not being allowed to go, and sort of panicking about cooking. For whatever reason, that terrified me, taking precedence over my internal pout. That part of my memory was completely gone. I couldn’t recall one dish that I had made in my past. Not even one.
I made the girls grilled cheese in the waffle-iron. They loved them. Maybe I could get away with that. The iron cut them in cute little triangles. Hmmm. I pondered, liking the idea.
“We’ll be back in a couple hours. I’ve got my cell phone if you need me,” Paxton said as he stood in front of me, pink, princess boards thrown over his shoulder.
“Bye, Mommy,” the girls called over their shoulders, leaving their dad behind, ready for some beach fun.