Chasing the Milky Way (11 page)

“I
COULDN'T STOP ON TIME.
H
E
came out of nowhere!” Mama screams. Her hands wave and then crumple into fists as she starts hitting the steering wheel.

“Did we hit someone?” I lift myself up and look out the window. My blood roars through my veins as everything jumps into hyperspeed.

Mama brings her hand over her mouth and starts crying.

I slide past Izzy's legs and open the passenger-side door, jumping down to the ground. My heart slams against my chest as I run to the front of the RV. Cam is right behind me.

“You stay right here,” I hear him say to Izzy. “Don't move.”

I slide across the dirt road and look at the bumper. Is it some kid? Is it a dog? Was it a biker?

Nothing is there. I lean over, check in the shadows beneath the RV. Cam and I are shoulder to shoulder, looking all around. I stare off into the trees, wondering if what we hit may have wandered. But nothing. As I come full circle I see Mama through the windshield. I look at her face. It can't be nothing. Not with the fear in her eyes. A terror so real I can feel it from here. I look again. There has got to be something there. But all I see is empty air, all I smell is pine trees, and all I hear is birdsong.

Mama grasps the door handle and falls out of the driver's seat.

“Do you see anything?” Cam whispers.

“No. There's nothing here.” I scan the Park and Sit across the road. Just a picnic table and parking spots.

Mama runs to the front. Covers her mouth with her hand and screams again.

“Shhhh, shhh, shhh,” I say, going toward her as she drops to her knees. Her hands up by her head.

“Mama,” I say. Afraid she is way out beyond me. “What is it?”

She looks up at me. “I think he was already dead. Did you see the bugs? He must have already been dead.”

Chills climb up my spine and Cam comes in closer.

“Do you think we're dealing with ghosts?” he whispers. I slap his arm.

“I highly doubt i—”

“Oh, Robert, oh, Robert. Oh. Oh.” Mama covers her mouth again and crawls backward. “Do you see him or not, do you see him?”

My tongue is stuck still and Cam and I exchange a look. He shrugs. I don't know what to say. I don't see anything. I follow Mama's gaze, but the spot where it lands is empty. I manage to shake my head just slightly.

“I need to get some help. I need some help.” She closes her eyes hard and teardrops fall out of the sides of them.

I go to her. Kneel in front of her. “Mama. Let's get back in the RV.”

“He looked so yellow,” Mama says. “Jesus, did you see how yellow?”

I reach toward her, and as I do she pulls away from me, like my hand has teeth in it. “Oh god, no. Doesn't make sense,” she says. Scrambling up. She presses against the front of the RV.

The air around us feels like it's filled with electricity. I wouldn't be surprised if my hair is standing straight up on end. I swallow. “Maybe—”

“Not you, too.” She looks at Cam's hand. Grabbing it and flipping it over, turning it to examine his wrist.

“Mrs. Peeve—” he starts, but then she drops his hand and runs into the camper. I follow her up the steps. She rushes into the back.

“No, no, no. 1874 to 1963, 1874 to 1963. It's not real.” She slams a cupboard open and then another and finally comes up with a bottle that has some brown liquid in it. She drinks it like lemonade, but that's not what it is. I can tell from the shape of the bottle that it's not lemonade at all. She sucks it down her throat. It's empty before the second gulp. She drops it into the sink. I blink once. Twice. I don't know how to make this better. It's like she's having a nightmare, but she's awake.

I grab her purse from its spot on the floor. “Did you take your—”

“Move out of my way,” she says as she storms past me, down the steps, and toward the woods.

“Mama, where are you going?” I ask, dropping the strap and following her.

She stops when she gets to the picnic table. She places both her palms flat down on the table and takes three long breaths. But she's shaking from head to toe like there's a thunderstorm under her skin. She sits down and slumps onto the table, closes her eyes. Her head quivers just slightly.

“She won't move, not for a while,” I say. I hear Cam and Izzy talking on the other side of the RV. Cam helps her down and they come over to the Park and Sit. As soon as they see Mama crumpled on the picnic table, they both mirror her. Cam's mouth slides into a frown, matches my own, matches Izzy's eyes and shoulders.

“Do we have a protocol for this one?” Cam pulls the notebook from under his arm.

I reach over and press the pages closed. “No one has a protocol for this one.”

I hear Izzy sniffle next to me and I open up my arm like a wing, and wonder what we're going to do now.

“W
E GOTTA MOVE THE CAMPER,”
C
AM
whispers. “Can you drive it off the road?”

“I can try.” I unlatch Izzy from my side. “Can I see that notebook?”

Cam hands it to me. I hold it out to Izzy. “Queen Nomony,” I say with my best Captain Juniper Ray voice. “We have a Vintage Carrier problem and need to conduct maintenance. I need you to review the plans and design new ones for the next phase.” I watch her eye the notebook, hoping she'll bite. She doesn't use her queen Nomony voice, but she does wipe her eyes and take the book from me.

“Keep an eye on the mother ship, too,” I say, looking at Mama.

Izzy nods and I hope turning this into a game makes it a little bit better. Dr. Vincent calls it a coping mechanism. I'm not sure it's really working, but Izzy sits down at the end of the table, opens the notebook, and pulls the pencil from the side.

“All right, let's move this camper,” I say. I wipe my hands and notice they're shaking badly. I jump in the driver's side and climb in, pulling the door closed behind me.

Cam goes around and gets into the passenger seat. I pull my seat forward.

“It's just like driving the Mustang,” I say out loud to help convince myself, “but a whole lot bigger.” I push my feet down to put the brake pedal to the floor, but my foot swings into empty air.

“Crap.”

“What?”

“My foot doesn't reach the pedals.” I try again, but again my foot swipes through air. I scooch down, but as it is, I can barely see over the steering wheel.

“This is a nightmare,” I say, sitting back up. “This is a real nightmare.”

I see Izzy jump off the picnic table and come over. She waves.

“What is it?” I stick my head out.

“I think there's a car coming!” she says, waving toward the back of the RV. My hands tighten on the steering wheel and my eyes find the sideview mirror. I hear a rumble off in the distance.

Worse than a nightmare. “We gotta move now. If they stop—if they put two and two together—we're in trouble.”

My mouth feels like it's filled with moondust. I run my tongue over the insides of my cheeks but nothing helps.

“Maybe, uh.” Cam snaps his fingers over and over like that will help him think faster. “Maybe . . .”

“Maybe?” I say. “Maybe?!” I squeeze the steering wheel.

Cam takes a deep breath. Closes his eyes. Then exhales very slowly. His eyes flutter open. “I can do the pedals?”

“Ohhh.” I don't like the sound of that, but I don't think we have any other choice. “All right, let's do it. We better go now.”

Cam scrambles to me. I wedge my feet over to the side and he climbs in wheelbarrow style to work the pedals.

“What do I do?” he shouts.

“Press the brake in!” I brace myself against the seat and grab the key in the ignition.

“Right. Cap'n, locked and loaded!” Cam shouts.

“Starting engine!” I press the key away from me. The key chain jingles on Cam's shoulders as he adjusts his position below them. The engine roars to life. I check my hands. Ten o'clock and two o'clock. Then I check the sideview mirror. There's a definitely a car and it's coming in hot.

“All right, now take your hand slowly off the brake.”

I feel Cam shift to the left, pushing against my leg. I try to make room for him, but the RV jerks forward hard. “SLOWLY!” I shout. I turn the wheel to the left and aim for the tire tracks that are traced in the dust next to the picnic tables.

“All right, press very slowly onto the gas,” I say.

“Affirmative,” Cam mutters and the RV lurches off the road, toward the trees. I spin the wheel a little to the right to straighten it out.

“Brake, brake, brake!” I shout as we sail past the picnic table. We slam to a halt and I hit the steering wheel, but recover just in time to push the gearshift into park. I take a deep breath. The dust filters up around the windshield. The music in the oncoming car gets louder and louder.

“Let's go!” I throw the door open and jump out. Cam crawls out behind me and we plant ourselves around Mama like fence posts.

“Act natural,” Cam says. The car crests the hill and sails past us, music thumping, windows open. A cloud of dust billows out behind it as it passes, and I take a deep, sandy breath.

“That was close, Cap'n,” Cam says, licking his lips. “I mean, nothing we couldn't handle, of course.”

“Right,” I say as I look over at Izzy. “We did it. Thanks for the warning, Queen Nomony.”

She gives me a halfhearted smile. A fly flits around Mama's head, and I wave it away. Izzy comes and climbs onto my lap and shows me the picture that she has drawn. Big house, white picket fence, a tree that looks more like a flagpole with antlers on it. A pile of apples.

I glance over at Mama. The only movement I can detect is her jaw working. I glance from her to the notebook to the RV and I wonder if anything in our Mission Control book will ever have a chance of coming true. I look up at the sky, wishing Gram's face were there telling me what exactly we should do now.

C
AM PUFFS HIS CHEEKS OUT AND
I wonder if, even for someone who loves action, this is too much. Out here, unknown territory. Astronauts stranded on Mars. Cam gets up and starts wandering around the picnic tables. Occasionally jumping up onto a bench and then back down.

“Uh, Mama?” I say real quiet. She shakes her head and doesn't look at me. Her eyes flick around under her eyelids. A car comes rolling by and my heart plummets into my jeans. This is bad news, but then it keeps on rolling. I glance at its taillights as it heads down the road.

“Maybe we should get back into the RV,” I say, thinking it's always safer under cover.

Mama shakes her head.

“We
are
running from the law, after all,” Cam says, picking up a few pine needles from a tabletop. He releases them, watching them spin to the ground.

“Yeah, less people around, less people noticing us.” I check the road for another car.

“I'm hungry,” Izzy says, jumping off of the bench.

I ignore her and keep looking at Mama. She seems like she is fighting to open her eyes. Finally she pulls her lids apart and nods. She gets up real fast and hurries over to the RV. I follow her in the door and up the steps.

“You should probably take your medication,” I say as we get up the stairs. I pick up her purse from the pile of upturned belongings behind the passenger seat, but before I get a good handle on it, Mama turns on me. As soon as she does, her face is telling me that she is trying not to lose her temper.

“Leave it alone. Leave me alone,” she says, grabbing the strap. It comes free of the pile and whips toward her; the paint can with our BotBlock fund gets caught and tips hard onto its side. I watch as the lid comes loose and lands flat, the ball of cash rolling to the edge. I kick it back in and try to block the opening with my foot. She just turns and heads to the back of the RV. She goes past the kitchenette and into the tiny room, slamming the door behind her.

“Do you think she noticed it?” I ask, pulling the can up.

Cam shakes his head. “I don't think she noticed anything,” he says.

“You're probably right.” I push the lid onto the can and wedge it far into the shadows between my duffel bag and Cam's bag.

“I'm really, really hungry.” Izzy's climbing onto the seat now.

“Okay,” I say, thinking it would be good for all of us to get something into our bellies. “Reconnaissance mission.”

I head to the back of the RV.

“While you're doing that, I'm going to try and figure out where we are,” Cam says, sliding past Izzy. “I saw a GPS while we were trying to get the car off the road.”

“Good thinking,” I say as I open a cupboard above the sink.

Izzy settles at the table with a huff as I work my way from top to bottom opening and closing doors. Glasses, dishes. Cereal, Ramen noodles. Forks, spoons, knives. They nearly blind me with their sparkle. I pull out the trash bin. Even the trash smells like lavender.

“Houston,” I say quietly, “we are on another planet.” I reach to the right and open a cupboard. Jackpot. Canned chili, beans, vegetables. They're all on these racks that keep them held into the shelf. I pull one can out and hold it up so I can see the lettering. Big Mama's Gourmet Organic Black Bean Chili. No Market Basket ninety-nine-cent junk. This is the real deal. I put it up on the counter, thinking that it will make a heck of a lunch. I open the fridge, too. There are cans of Diet Coke lined up in the back and in a little drawer near the front there are all sorts of cheeses. They say havarti and smoked gouda and Vermont Cabot cheddar and Tipperary cheddar. I run my fingers across the green label that circles the “Tipperary.” For a second I imagine standing out in front of the cheese case at the store, trying to figure out which cheeses would be the best to buy. Those are the choices I'd like to be stuck with. Not “When should we run away.” Not “What should I say to Mama when she looks like this.” Not “How are we going to keep away from the cops” or “How are we going to make it to BotBlock.” But “What type of fancy cheese am I gonna buy today.” What type of creamy delicious cheese am I gonna to try? Maybe this one, maybe this one, maybe all of them. I'll have that, and that, and that! How much does this one cost? Oh, who cares? That's nothing! I'll take the whole case.

That's exactly the kind of choice I want to make.

I pull out the Vermont Cabot cheddar. People talk about Vermont Cabot cheddar all the time. If we get cheese, it's the orange kind. Velveeta. Good, but not real. I pull the wrapping back and then slide the silverware drawer open. I slice a big hunk of it off the top and split it into three pieces. I drop the knife into the sink and go over to the dining room table. I hand a piece of cheese to Izzy.

“Queen Nomony, we've got a specimen, here.” She rolls her eyes but takes the cheese. “It appears to be some sort of organic material. Believed to be native food.”

She bites into it and then takes another bite before swallowing the first. I go up to the front and hand Cam a couple of pieces of cheese. He has the key half turned in the ignition.

“Do you know how to run this?” I ask, seeing the digital map in the console.

Cam nods, examining it. “Richie Frank had one that we used when we carpooled to away games.”

Richie Frank's name is actually Dan. He just happens to be rich, too, so Cam and I have always called him Richie.

“Okay.” I take a bite of the cheese as I make my way back to the kitchenette. It's smooth, sharp, and creamy. A burst of flavor that lingers on my tongue.

“What was the last town we went through?” Cam says.

I can't remember any of the names except for one a long time ago. “We passed Laconia about forty-five minutes ago,” I say.

“Okay. If I could just zoom out,” Cam mutters. I hear a
blip-blip-blip
as he tries different buttons.

I pull the tab on the top of the chili can and then dig around for a pot. I empty the chili into it. It hits the bottom of the pan with a loud
schluuup
sound. I put it onto the stovetop and flick the knob to high. Then I get a spoon out of the drawer and stir.

It's getting dark and I hear the patter of rain, which has taken up residence on the roof. Otherwise, it's mostly quiet here in the back of the RV. Spooky, tummy-churning quiet. Over the simmer, the only other sound I can hear is Mama softly whispering and crying in the back room. And despite the other noises, it fills my ears. I watch the chili swirl and the beans separate from one another, and I wonder if it's like going into space. If you go out far enough, you don't ever come back, not even if you want to. Is it worth not going to foster scare for this?

• • •

My ninth birthday was the one I realized the truth about moon shells. It started out nice. We spent the day walking the beach. Mama didn't seem happy, but she didn't seem angry either, and Gram was there, too. We got ice cream and shaved ice. Then we walked the beach and stumbled upon the BotBlock competition. I was chasing Izzy over a sand dune and once I reached the top, three robots with caterpillar bases rolled toward us, then turned as they crested the hill and headed between a set of flags, going back the way they'd come. I watched them until they disappeared into little dots in the distance. When I pointed them out to Gram, we headed over to the green at the center of town to see what was going on. Turns out a lot. There were tons of kids. Robots were battling in every corner. On the beach they were racing each other. Some were going alone through a roped-off obstacle course.

Mama sat down off to the side to write while we had sausages with peppers on top from a vendor in the food tent. After that, we headed back to the hotel. I was getting excited to stay up till midnight. And since we were at the beach I was expecting midnight singing and dancing in the sand, just like last year. But when we got into the hotel, Gram started getting Izzy all ready for bed, and Mama just lay down.

“You want popcorn, Mama?” I asked, grabbing the remote from its spot next to the television.

“No, thanks,” Mama said quietly. I bounced on the end of the bed.

“Starbursts?” I said, not getting why she was feeling so blue on such a bright day. I squirmed up the bed and gave her a squeeze around her shoulders.

“No, thanks,” she said again. When I leaned over to look at her, she didn't meet my eyes. She was looking out past me. Almost like she was in the middle of a daydream. A real sad one.

I got up and flipped the TV on and pulled
Star Wars Episode IV: A New Hope
from my bag and put it into the DVD player. I watched it but that didn't even get me to ten thirty, so I put in the
The Empire Strikes Back.
Izzy snugged into Gram's side and fell right to sleep. Gram gave me a wink.

“Why don't you grab my purse right there and you can go on down to the vending machine and get yourself a few snacks?”

I shook my head. I was too into the movie, and anyway, I would be having cupcakes soon.

As the clock reached 11:40, I looked over at Mama. She was staring out at the moon and the stars, but not in a way that made me think she wanted to go out there. Gram must have seen me look over at her.

“I'll bring you down to the beach, baby girl,” she said. Gram got up and picked up Izzy. Izzy was just three then, and she would sleep through anything. Gram started tucking her into the stroller.

“What's wrong with Mama?” I asked, getting my sneakers.

“She just had a bad week,” Gram said. “She needs to sleep. Maybe she'll feel better tomorrow.” The way Gram said “maybe” made me think that
maybe
that wasn't true.

I Velcroed up my shoes and followed her gaze again. “Maybe she just needs some moon shells,” I said.

“What's that?” Gram said.

“Moon shells. They suck up the moonlight at night. They have magic in them.”

Gram tucked the blanket around Izzy. “Well, let's go get some, then,” she said.

We went out to the beach and we kicked the waves, but Gram didn't make the wave-smashing sound. And Gram didn't bring a birthday surprise. And actually, Gram didn't bring any poetry to say at the stars. Izzy woke up halfway through and started bawling and I was feeling more tired than usual. I pulled a few moon shells from the shore and tucked them in my pockets.

“We can go back, now,” I told Gram as she tried to shush Izzy.

We made our way inside and I ran into the hotel room and around the edge of the bed. “I got you moon shells, Mama,” I said, uncurling her fingers and pressing one into her hand. Her fingers moved and touched the smooth surface on the inside of the shell, and for a minute she stopped staring out into space and locked eyes with me.

“Thank you,” she whispered, taking my fingers. She bent them and kissed my knuckles. Right then, I thought the moon shells had cured her. But later that night, I woke up to her sniffling and crying. The week after that, she went to Kensington and Gram came to Sunnyside. The week after that, I realized that moon shells were just hocus-pocus.

“Moon shells have lots of magic,” Gram had said. “But Mama needs more than magic. She needs a plan. The hospital will help her make a—”

• • •

“I think we're in northern New Hampshire!” Cam hollers. Just as the room filters back to life in front of me I notice a thick line of smoke rising from the pan.

“Crap!” I shout and toss the smoking pan quickly into the sink. I hit the tap, but nothing comes out. Of course, broken water pump. I forgot. I turn the faucet to the off position, waving at the burned mess.

Cam comes over. “Not goin' so good?”

“I just got to thinking,” I say. I grab a towel and wipe the chili off my thumb.

“I can help,” Cam says. I appreciate Cam trying to be a hero of sorts, even if it is just about making lunch.

“We're in the land of plenty.” He shrugs. “We'll open another one.”

“Thanks,” I say. “I'll—I'm going to go and check on Mama.”

Cam nods and presses the can opener to a new can of chili. I pull the block of cheese back out and cut a bunch of slices, spreading them out on a plate. I also find a sleeve of Club crackers and put them in the middle. I bring the tray over to Izzy first and she pulls three off. Then I head to the door in the back.

“You need any help?” I ask as I pass Cam.

He looks at me with a smirk and pulls a dish towel off the mini-fridge handle. “Cap'n, I've been cooking myself lunch since I was four. Hate to brag.”

“Right,” I say, tabling the plate on one palm. I open the door to the bunk very slowly and step into the yawning darkness.