THE BOXCAR
I CAME DOWN THE NEXT MORNING and found Diego, Madeline, and Grampa around the big kitchen table. Sunlight slanted in and bounced off the wooden floor. On the stove, a black iron skillet held a couple of fried eggs, and the place smelled like bacon. Madeline had her briefcase open on a neighboring chair, and Grampa was working a crossword puzzle from the paper.
“I’m going to take a little road trip with Tom,” I said. “We should be gone three or four days, I expect.”
Diego set his coffee mug down with a thud. “Unbelievable.”
“It’s important,” I said. “I need to go see my other family back in Arizona. I need to do it now, before I have the baby. Before things get more complicated.”
“Did you talk to them?” Madeline asked.
“No. They won’t listen to me. I have to see them face to face,” I said. “I’m aware that’s a problem, but I still have to go.”
“Enough,” Diego said. “As long as you live under my roof, you’ll do as I say, and I say you’re not going.”
“Then I guess I’m moving out,” I said.
Madeline broke into a laugh. “Would you listen to yourself? You can’t move out. Don’t be ridiculous.”
Grampa wasn’t laughing. I looked at him. “You understand, don’t you?”
He sat back and set his pen down on the crossword. “No, I don’t. You belong here with us.”
“I’m supposed to have eighteen million dollars,” I said. “Where’s that?”
“In a trust fund,” Madeline said. “You don’t get a cent unless your trustees agree.”
“And who are my trustees?” I asked.
“Your mother, Grampa, and me,” Diego said.
I should have guessed. “So the money isn’t really mine?”
“It is for anything reasonable,” Madeline said.
Which a road trip was not. I got it. This actually made things simpler. Fortunately, I hadn’t gotten used to having money, so giving it up wouldn’t be hard. I might have to lean on Tom financially for a while, but I could pay him back eventually. Once I got to Doli, if I stayed there, my parents would help. I could probably work at McLellens’ Pot Bar and Sundries for awhile. I would figure it out.
“Okay, then,” I said. “I’ll let you know how I’m doing.”
Diego set both his hands on the table. “Get that smirk off your face. I said you’re not leaving.”
“I heard you just fine,” I said. “I’m still going. I don’t need your money. Tom’s giving me a ride, and if my real parents won’t help me out, I’ll ask him to support me just until I’m on my feet.”
“We’re your real parents,” Madeline said. “I know you’re confused, but you’re still our daughter.”
“Then treat me with the respect I deserve,” I said.
Diego rose to his feet and glared at me with barely checked fury. “I’d like to say something, and I’d like you to listen to me good and hard,” he said.
I twisted my fingers together. “Go ahead.”
“Your mother and I, we’ve been through hell for you,” he said. “You can’t imagine what it’s like. You won’t know until you have that baby of your own and you agonize over every breath it takes. Quit acting like a selfish, self-destructive idiot.”
“Diego,” Madeline said.
He held up a hand. “Cut him loose, Althea,” he said. “Don’t waste yourself on some Podunk slob who can’t even tie his own shoes.” He stood stiff with pride and anger. “Don’t waste your second chance.”
“This isn’t about Tom,” I said.
“Isn’t it?” Diego asked. “Do you think I’m blind? We know he’s constantly calling and texting you. It’s only a matter of time before he sneaks in past security.” His expression hardened. “He already did, didn’t he?”
I cleared my throat. “Yes. But that isn’t what matters,” I said. “We can’t keep pretending I’m just going to go on with Althea’s life. I don’t have her memories or her scars. I never knew Daniel or lost Gizmo. I never dreamed of being a psychiatrist. I have my own roots as Rosie Sinclair, and now’s my chance to go home and face what that means.”
Diego and Madeline stared at me.
“She’s getting worse,” Madeline said in a tight voice.
“No, I’m not,” I said. “You’re not listening. I’m just trying to be myself.”
“By taking a road trip?” Diego asked, his voice contemptuous. He crossed his arms. “I’ll tell you who you are. You’re Althea Maria Flores, and you’re not going anywhere.”
“What are you going to do?” I asked. “Lock me up? Shoot me?”
Diego started yelling in earnest. Madeline wasn’t much better. Grampa looked at me sadly, shaking his head, and of all of them, he was the one I was most sorry about. But I was done arguing and done trying to explain. I walked down the hall, picked up a bag I’d left by the stairs, and went out to the front porch, where Tom was just pulling up in his truck. I got in without a word and didn’t look back.
*
We drove west. A slew of country songs, some heartsick, some peppy, made a soundtrack for the passing hills. I shucked off my shoes, tilted my seat back, and pushed my feet up on the dashboard. The sky was a huge pewter plate above us, and the road was as straight as murder between acres of grit and sage bush. The holomap on the windshield was an old one, with a faulty glitch of a blank on my side, and the voice had a British accent that reminded me of Linus.
My first false contraction came, tightening the outer surface of my basketball belly in a slow wave of tension. It held for a long moment, focusing me inward. I ran a hand slowly down my shirt and stared absently out the windshield until it passed, releasing me. The baby stretched inside me as if to say what on earth was that? My midwife had told me about Braxton-Hicks contractions. They didn’t mean labor, but they were a kind of practice. I was excited. Nervous, too. It was March 26th. I still had four weeks to go, but that was shorter all the time.
“I’ll have to stop for coffee soon,” Tom said.
“I can drive some,” I said.
“Have you driven since the accident?” he asked.
“I wasn’t there, remember?”
“Do you have your license in your old life?”
“No, but I’ve been driving since I was fourteen.”
“How old are you in your old life?” he asked.
“Sixteen.”
His eyebrows shot up and he glanced over briefly. “Are you serious?” he said. “That explains a few things.”
“Like what?”
He waved a hand vaguely. “You’re kind of nice. Sweet.”
In my head, I wasn’t sweet. “Wasn’t Althea?”
“She was nice, but in a different way. She was more wound up.” He pulled his phone out of his pocket, glanced at it, and nudged it up on the dashboard. It had been making ding noises on and off all morning.
“Who’s calling?” I asked.
“Bunch of journalists. Not Linus.”
I hadn’t talked to him in the last day or so. I wondered what he’d think of my road trip. “Let me drive,” I said.
We changed it up. It felt good to be in charge. A vibration in the steering wheel registered in the bones of my fingers, and I smiled.
“This is a little freaky for me,” he said. “I never expected to see you driving again.”