I remained quiet, and thank goodness, he took the hint and didn’t ask more questions.
The security was heavy at the train station, but Wilson made it easy for us. He got a ticket to Chicago for Keisha, one to Richmond for Raisa, and one to Minneapolis for me.
Keisha’s train left before ours. We walked to her platform, and when we stopped beside it she pulled me into a hug.
“I didn’t think you were a hugger,” I teased.
“I’m not. I just want to talk to you,” she whispered. “What happens now? I’m supposed to just go back to my life and pretend those gods weren’t talking about my aura and that somehow I’m supposed to be involved in whatever this is?”
“I think so,” I whispered back. “If you’re really supposed to be involved, don’t worry. The gods can find you.”
“That sounds crazy,” she whispered, before stepping back. “All right. Take care.”
“You too.”
She patted Raisa’s shoulder, thanked Wilson, and hopped on the train. As soon as it left, Wilson walked us to Raisa’s train. This time, the hug I got was real and tight.
“I can’t believe we just went through that,” Raisa said, stifling a sob.
“Me neither, but we made it. We got through. And you’ll be all right, okay?” I kissed her cheek. “Be careful.”
“You too.” She pulled back, wiping her tears. “And please, keep in touch.”
“I will.”
With uncertain steps, she hopped on the train.
“Your turn,” Wilson said, steering me to the other terminal.
“Thanks,” I said, when we stopped beside my train.
“Good luck out there.”
I nodded and entered the train. I couldn’t believe I was actually going home, but I had to. I had to see my family and grab some of my things, the few things I had left behind when I had moved to New York, before leaving them again. I couldn’t risk staying too long with them, though I had no idea where to go.
I reclined in my seat and sighed. That was a problem for another time. Now, I needed to relax a bit and be thankful for making it out of another battle alive.
The train moved, and I watched as the streets and buildings disappeared, giving way to the dark and dead countryside.
Outside my window, a raven followed the train.
8
The taxi stopped in front of the apartment building my parents had moved to after the farm closed about two months ago. I didn’t know this new place yet, but goose bumps chilled the skin on my arms when I stepped onto the snow-covered sidewalk.
The building was downtown in one of the small towns around Minneapolis. It was four floors high, the balconies were gone as if they had just fallen off, the paint was peeling, and there was a metal security door over the wooden one, both looked old and weak. I bet I could punch and break them.
Holding my coat tighter with one hand, I rang the buzzer but nobody answered. Instead my mother showed up at the door with a huge smile.
“Nadine!” She unlocked the three thousand bolts on the metal door and pulled me into a hug. “Oh, Lord, it’s so good to see you.” Her smile turned into a sob. “I thought … I thought you had gotten stuck there. I thought I had lost you.”
I rubbed her back. It was good to see her after so long, after what happened. “I got away, and I’m here now.” I wasn’t sure for how long though.
She pulled back and looked at me. She probably thought I was too thin, with not enough clothes on in this cold, and other things every mom thought. But she didn’t say them aloud. As I didn’t say how she had lost weight, how her once full and long brown hair looked dry and thin, how her skin was pale, and how her bright green eyes had lost their usual energetic shine.
She patted my cheek before taking my hand and guiding me inside the building. The hallway was as bad as the outside. She led me past the stairs, into a short corridor on the first floor, and pushed open the last door.
“Home, sweet home,” she said in an uncomfortable voice.
The place was tiny. Too tiny. The orange fabric of the couch and the armchair was ripped and faint, as if it were fifty years old. Scratches covered the wooden center table. Worn patches stamped the brown rug. The floor looked like a second-hand toy land. It was a tiny, chaotic, falling-into-pieces place. There were three doors, besides the one we had just entered. One led to a patio, a second led to the kitchen, and the third led to a hallway.
A pang ran through my heart. Oh my God, it was worse than their previous house.
“Where’s everyone?”
She grabbed my tote and turned to the hallway. “The kids are at school. They should arrive in about two hours, and your father is doing some job, I don’t know where. I can’t keep track of all he does.”
I followed her into the hallway, noticing there were only two bedrooms and one bathroom.
“Sorry. We’re going to have to rearrange.” She entered a bedroom with a bunk bed that clearly couldn’t hold the weight of a cat, a twin bed in the corner, and a dresser squeezed between the beds. That was it. There was barely room between the furniture to turn around.
My parents’ bedroom was across the hall, and it was worse. The queen mattress was on the floor against a moldy wall. Their clothes were folded on the floor, against another moldy wall. And once more, there was no space to turn around.
It was horrible. This whole place was horrible.
“I know it’s not much, but after the farm was gone, we weren’t left with much,” she said, her voice low, embarrassed. “I’m sure things will get better though. Your father is working a lot, and I’m trying to find some other work instead of babysitting. We’ll be fine eventually.”
I didn’t know what to say. If she had told me things were this bad, I would have sent more money. I would have abstained from the black coffees I bought everyday. I would have eaten a little less and not bought so many books. I would have taken fewer classes and worked more hours. I would have done something. Anything.
Mom pushed me inside the bedroom my siblings shared. “Why don’t you rest for a while? I’m sure you’re tired, and once Nicole, Teddie, and Tommy get home, they won’t leave you alone, so you better take advantage now.”
There was so much I needed to do, think about, to decide, but I was tired after spending the entire night on a train, and then the taxi ride from Minneapolis to here. I could use a little sleep.
I nodded, and she offered me a smile before closing the door.
I looked around, but there was nothing else to see. My chest ached for them. Oh God, this was a terrible way to live, and the fact that I couldn’t help anymore hurt too much.
I sat on the twin bed, feeling exhausted and miserable.