“I know you don’t really remember your grandmother,” Mom said. “She died when you were only a toddler, and because her mind had gone, she wasn’t much fun to be around before that. But she did love you. She would’ve loved to have known you.”
She set the picture down on the table and pushed it toward me. I recognized my mom right away, much younger but unmistakably her, and she was holding me on her lap. I was only about a year or two old with wild black hair. And the little old woman sitting beside my mom, her gray hair pulled back in a smooth bun.
“I don’t remember much of what your grandma Basima used to say to me when I was a child, but one phrase does stand out, because of how often she yelled it at me when I got in her way or when she was having a particularly rough day with the spirits,” Mom explained as I looked at the picture.
“Idhhabee min honaa,” Mom spoke clearly and slowly, letting her words sink in. “It means ‘get out of here.’”
I tapped the picture in front of me, of the smiling old woman with my mother’s eyes and wrinkled skin. “This is her? You think this is the woman from my dreams?”
“You tell me,” Mom replied simply.
I stared down at it, trying to see the reanimated corpse from my nightmares in my grandma in the picture. Then I began to see bits of it—the cheekbones, the long fingers, even something in her smile.
“Why would she do that?” I asked, still looking down at the photograph. “Why would she come to me in such a horrific way and screaming at me in a language that I didn’t understand?”
“She was trying to scare you,” Mom explained. “She wanted to protect you, and she probably thought the best way to do it was to terrify you so much you’d run away and never look back.”
Then Mom let out a heavy sigh. “She most likely tried to come to me first, but everything has been so … messy here. I can’t get my thoughts straight, and the spirits come and go as they please.”
I looked up at my mom. “But that means Grandma Basima knows things are bad here. If she went through all the trouble of contacting me, of opening my mind when it’s always been closed, then that means things are bad.”
“I know.” Mom reached across the table and took my hand in hers. The black tattoos of vines wove up her arm, and they seemed to dance on her light brown skin as her arm flexed and she squeezed my hand tightly. “You should leave, qamari.”
“We all have to leave,” I insisted. “I know we need the money, but it’s not worth getting hurt over, or maybe even dying for.”
“You’re not listening, Mara.” She shook her head. “I can’t leave. There isn’t enough money for us all to get to Houston. Some of us have to stay so we can get paid, so we can pay for the gas to drive away.”
The pain in her eyes and the grip of her hand told me she was telling the truth, that she would pack us up in an instant if she could.
Everything we had in the world was in this Winnebago, and it had been our home on wheels for the past five years. It may not have been much, but it was everything we had. We couldn’t just leave it behind. Especially if we left before we got paid. We’d never be able to afford to replace it.
And everyone was in that same boat. All my friends and family—my mom, Gideon, Roxie, Luka, Hutch—they were all trapped in Caudry until they had enough cash to fuel up and escape.
“If you stay, I stay,” I told my mom finally, and squeezed her hand back.
Mom opened her mouth, probably to offer up futile protests, but a knock rattled the metal screen door. I couldn’t see who it was from where I was sitting, and Mom shouted for them to come in, rubbing her temple as she did.
Slowly, almost timidly, the door opened, and when I saw Gabe stepping inside my motorhome, I understood the anxiety on her face.
“I hope I’m not interrupting anything,” he said with a sheepish smile.
40. truce
“I told you I’d find you when I was ready,” I said.
My mom had left to help Gideon, giving Gabe and me privacy that I wasn’t sure I wanted. He stood in front of me with big hopeful eyes, so I stared down at his feet, at his expensive Nikes on the balding avocado carpet, and folded my arms over my chest.
“I know, but I heard that someone was hurt this morning,” Gabe said, his voice tight with worry. “I wanted to make sure you were okay.”
I softened a bit, allowing my arms to fall to my sides, and looked up at him. The devilish glint in his eyes and on his lips had fallen away, leaving only a beautiful boy with concern crinkling the corners of his eyes and creasing his forehead.
“I’m okay,” I said. “Lots of people are leaving, and I’m trying to convince my mom to do the same.”
“You’re leaving today?”
“Maybe. I don’t know.” I shrugged. “But we’ll be leaving as soon as we can.”
He leaned back against the counter beside me, letting his broad shoulders slump forward. With his head bowed, his pompadour of rich chestnut hair wilted down.
“You weren’t even going to say good-bye, were you?” he asked softly.