Chasing the Milky Way (14 page)

A
S WE ROLL INTO THE STATION,
I try to line the RV up with the gas pump, starting and stopping a couple times until I think it might be close enough to reach. I push it into park and turn off the engine. My courage drains down my throat and disappears somewhere below my shoes when I look across the parking lot into the store and spot the TV up above the cash register. I can see Cam eyeing it, and despite him holding his chin up high, he is licking his lips an awful lot. He's scared, too. I scan the parking lot. One other car is parked next to the Dumpster. But it's virtually abandoned otherwise.

“Hold on,” I say as Cam unclips his buckle. “Queen Nomony, can you go and get the walkie-talkies out of my duffel bag?”

Izzy sits up, picks up the braided wire crown that must have fallen off while she was asleep, and readjusts it on her head. Then she disappears behind the curtain.

“If anything seems strange, anything at all, you let me know.”

I hear Izzy unzip the duffel.

“All right, but let's keep it under the radar. We need a code. . . .” Cam snaps, trying to think.

“Maybe ‘Mayday'?” I say, thinking that is what they use when ships are going down.

Cam scowls at me. “That doesn't sound suspicious at all.”

Izzy comes back through the curtain and hands a walkie to me and a walkie to Cam. I turn the knob so that mine is on. Cam does the same.

“How about ‘all is grand,'” he says. “That way, if someone overhears, they won't think anything of it.”

“Perfect. We'll keep watch. If something happens, I'll say ‘all is grand' and you run around and jump in. Okay?”

He clips the walkie to the top of his shorts, takes a deep breath, and opens the door. “Out into the dangerous night the bravest man ever known . . .” I hear him say as he descends the steps. I set my walkie down between my knees, and Izzy climbs into the passenger seat. Cam closes the door and we watch as he makes his way around the front of the RV.

“You keep an eye on the road,” I say, pointing out to where we came in. “Just in case there's a cop looking for us.” She leans her head against the door and looks out.

I turn back toward the convenience store. A little neon puddle in an otherwise dark frontier.

“Lucy,” Izzy says.

I glance over at her. Her ponytail has dissolved into a big knotted nest held in only by the wire crown.

“What's up?” I ask.

“When will we have the country house Mama was talking about?”

I reach over to squeeze her shoulder. “Soon,” I say. I don't want to tell her not for a long, long time. I don't want to tell her to be realistic. “You know how you have to work hard in Mrs. Sunberry's class?”

She nods.

“And what happens when you do all your hard work?” My fingers start to undo a knot poking out the side.

“She gives me a sticker on my chart,” she says.

“And . . . ,” I say, hearing a thunk. I look in the rearview, but everything seems fine. Cam's just putting the nozzle in the side of the cab. The gas pump begins to ding.

“Sometimes I get a prize,” Izzy says.

I turn back to her. “And that's exactly what is going to happen for us. We have to work hard in order to get our prize. To get what we want.”

I run my hand through her tangled curls, trying to brush out the knots as I go. She scowls at me. The trailer rocks from side to side. I glance in the rearview mirror again and see Cam has removed the nozzle.

“Just like Mrs. Sunberry's class?” Izzy asks.

“A lot like it.” I turn back to her, but I'm looking out at Cam. Something feels different.

“Why's Mama so sad?” Izzy says.

I stare out the window as Cam heads for the shop door. My mouth goes dry.

“Lucy, why is Mama so sad?” I feel Izzy tug on my arm.

I try to get my head around her question as Cam gets to the door, walks in. He has a quick conversation with the guy at the counter and hands him the money.

“Lucy?”

“She's sick in her head,” I say. “Now's not the time—hold on.”

“What?” Izzy says.

Cam starts walking back out toward the RV. The walkie crackles to life.

“Flying home, Cap'n. All clear.”

“Thanks,” I say, taking a sigh of relief. I push the walkie onto the side of my pants. A second later Cam opens the passenger-side door and jumps in. Izzy moves to the corner of the seat, giving Cam room.

“Anything weird?” I ask.

“Negative, Cap'n. We're still under the radar.”

The RV jostles and I hear a thud.

“What was that?” I say, standing up. A second later, I see Mama walking across the parking lot. Her hair is a mess, one of her shoes is tied and the other isn't. She's wearing her big jacket and she gets brighter and brighter as she gets to the store. Cam's jaw is nearly on the ground.

“What's she doing?” I hiss.

She goes through the door and straight to the back of the store, picking up a basket.

“Does she think she's going shoppi—”

“Oh no,” Cam says, climbing into the middle. I know where he's going to look before he even gets there and my blood turns to ice. He reaches down and then pulls the paint bucket into my view. I look into the interior. Empty. The money for Mission Control.

“Oh god,” I say, the air going out of me. I stand, but grab the seat as my whole world spins. I kick off the foot extension.

“She's going to blow all our money,” I gasp. All of a sudden it's like I have flashes of light going off inside my head.

I gotta go after her. I reach over my seat and grab the door handle. But just as I am about to slip out of the car, someone knocks on the RV door. I slowly slide into the front seat. My heart hammers in my throat. The knock comes again. Cam points toward the door in the back of the RV. I look across the parking lot. Mama's inside. And someone is at the door.

“Y
OU STAY RIGHT HERE, OKAY?”
I say, making sure Izzy is sitting in the passenger seat. I close the curtain. “Don't make a squeak. Cam, you stay with her.” Cam shakes his head.

“No, I gotta stop her.” He runs his hand over the top of his head. “I gotta go and get her.”

There's another knock. Cam grabs the handle of the passenger door. “Listen,” I say, “just . . . keep your head down and don't make a scene, okay?” He nods and jumps out.

I take a deep breath, go into the back, and step down the steps. I grasp the handle. Here goes nothing. I fling the door open and stop. It's not a cop. It's not a whole brigade of cops. It's just a lady holding on to a baby. The baby fusses against her chest.

“I'm so, so sorry to bother you,” the mother says, looking up at us from the bottom of the stairs. “I, this is so stupid, but, it's just, we're going back to Derry and we got delayed. I had a bottle for the baby, but he won't take it cold. I'd hate to waste it. I was wondering if I could warm it up. It won't take more than a minute.”

Don't act suspicious, Lucille,
I think, wishing my world would stop spinning.

“Oh, of course you can,” I say, stepping quickly out of the way. “Of course.”

She walks up the stairs. I go to the back and pull open the door where I found the other pan. Then stop.

“Oh, the water pump is broken,” I say. “Don't you need water for that?”

The woman lets her purse swing under her arm. “That's all right. I have a water bottle. If you don't mind.” She pulls out a Poland Spring bottle and hands it to me. I unscrew the cap, pour the water into a pan, and put it onto the stovetop. I flip the burner to medium.

“Thank you so much,” the woman says. All of a sudden there is another knock on the door and before I can say anything the lady just goes and opens it. A man appears in the doorway.

“It's all set, babe,” the woman says. “These fine folks said they'd warm up the bottle. Be out in a jiff.” The man looks around the inside of the camper and I quickly turn away from him in case he's seen my face on the news.

“Much obliged to you,” I hear him say from behind me.

“Oh, don't worry,” I say, waving to the side.

“Well, I'll run inside and grab that cuppa I was waiting for,” he tells his wife. “I'll meet you at the car, or come check if you guys aren't there when I get back.”

“Should only take five minutes,” she says. Then she pulls the bottle out of her bag and hands it to me. I set it into the water, wondering if I'm doing it right. She doesn't correct me, so I assume it's okay.

“I'm really so sorry to intrude,” the mom says. I give her my best look of nonchalance and take a towel from the mini-fridge and wipe down the counters.

The baby lets out a cry and the lady makes clicking noises at it, shifting him so he's laying his head on her chest. She kisses the side of his head and pats his back. I wonder if my mama did that. And if she did, I think, good luck, kid. You don't know what's in store for you, now.

I sit on the end of the couch and look out toward the convenience store, looking for my mama, but I can't see her, not from this angle. I wonder if Cam is having any luck getting her outside. Getting the Mission Control fund back. My heart is pounding so hard, I chance a look down to make sure there isn't an imprint of it there on my chest.

The water bubbles, steam rising around the bottle. The lady stands up and pulls the bottle from the pan. A few droplets spatter off the bottom and sizzle on the stovetop. She shakes it and tests it on her wrist. I glance out across the parking lot again.

“That feels about right,” the lady says.

“Oh, good,” I say, getting up and flipping the burner off.

She shifts the baby again and I watch as she pops the bottle into the baby's mouth. He sucks hungrily.

“Thanks so much. You're a life saver,” the lady says as she makes her way back to the door.

“Sure,” I say, trying to breathe. “Sure. Glad to help.”

She walks down the steps and out into the night. And I watch them go. That mom, so worried about something as silly as the temperature of milk. That mom fussing over her baby.

The door opens a second later. And there's my mama, and Cam rushing in behind her.

“I couldn't,” Cam says.

Mama pushes past me with a brown paper bag in her arms. A bunch of change, crumpled, falls down onto the floor at her feet. She steps over it, scattering the money as she makes her way toward the back. The trail of dollars skitter out behind her. She sets the bag down and starts pulling out bottles. Alcohol, soda. Bags of chips. Some weird moose souvenir. A gallon of maple syrup. I lean down and I pick up the change. Leaf through it. Let it drop. About fifty dollars. The rest gone. The rest of Mission Control fund . . . gone. Everything we worked hard for, all the hopes and dreams of securing a future gone in a couple of market items. I blink my eyes, wishing it weren't true. I see the crumpled bills and picture Gram's face. I can feel her fingers clutching my hand. I hear her voice telling me to promise and I hear myself replying back. I kick a bill across the room, my insides melting into magma.

“Why?” I say.

She doesn't move.

“Why?!” I shout.

Mama doesn't seem to hear me. She mutters to herself as she fills up a cup and stumbles toward the back room again.

“Listen to me. For once!” I shout. “Do you even hear me?” I feel Cam's hand on my shoulder and shrug it off.

“Why do you do this to us!? We're trying to fix . . . EVERYTHING. And you—you're so
useless.
”

Mama's eyes snap up. Filled with tears. All of a sudden her ears are working?

“You know something,” I spit. “With any other goddamned mom, we would just go to the stupid robot competition and go home and go to bed. Easy. But not with you. Not with you.” I point at her. “Nothing can be easy with
you.
Run. Steal. See things that don't exist. Do you have a brain at all? Or are you just a stupid empty shell?”

Cam's hand squeezes my shoulder. “We gotta beat it. I think—I think they know who we are.” But I can't move. My dreams are littered in front of me. Space junk, bouncing around in the void.

“The whole time, I try to help,” I say, “Why don't you do something to help for a change?” I see Mama's eyes light up with tears.

“What?” she hisses.

“You're a joke.”

Cam grabs my arm as I hear footsteps echo on the pavement outside.

“They're coming,” he says. “Please.”

A siren wails in the distance.

I drop sideways into the driver's seat. The convenience store man runs around the side of the RV. I jam my foot extension on and slam the key forward in the ignition. The engine fires to life. I hear Cam locking the door as we speed off onto the main road. I hear the sirens somewhere behind us. And I drive forward. I hear something tip over and fall in the back. Maybe it's Mama. I don't care. Not anymore. I don't care about anything. 'Cause it's useless. We're all useless. And Mr. Blinks was right. The whole time. Sunnyside is a black hole of a place. And everyone knows that if you get stuck in a black hole, you don't have a chance. You get torn to pieces.

W
E WIND OUR WAY DOWN SMALL
roads that lead farther and farther from the sirens. I take random turns. “Recalculating, recalculating,” the British lady says, but I ignore her until I can't hear sirens anymore.

She recalculates one more time and we're back on Route 101, heading to Seahook. The rain stops and a few stars start to speckle the sky in front of us. I wonder if Mama is in the back, drinking enough alcohol to kill herself. I don't pull the car over to check.

“Maybe we could get some more money when we get there?” Cam says.

“Yeah,” I say. “Yeah, right. By stealing it? I don't want to steal anything else.”

“Stealing's bad,” Izzy says, pulling her thumb out of her mouth just long enough to say it.

“No,” Cam says. “Maybe we could use PingPing to find some—”

“To find three hundred dollars?” I say through gritted teeth. “You're crazier than she is.” My throat catches and I don't mean for my sentence to come out as mean and sharp as it does. But it's there, and it hangs in the air between us.

“Please.” Cam's voice is strained. It's the wimpiest voice I've ever heard and I want to smack it out of him. It's the opposite of Mighty Hawk. It's who he is, not who he wants to be. No matter what, we're both stuck with that.

“We have to try,” Cam says.

I squeeze the steering wheel, pretty much fed up with his positive thinking. I push back the pressure that seems to be forming behind my eyes.

“I did! I tried. I always try.” I feel a tear slip down my cheek and blink it fast so I can see the road in front of us. “Why didn't you, Cam? Why didn't you hide the paint can? Why didn't you get Mama out of the store? It'll work if you try hard enough, right? If you want it hard enough? So why didn't you get her, Cam.” I wipe my face.

It's silent in the RV then. Silent besides Cam's sniffling. When I look over, I see a tear sliding down his cheek. And it makes my heart twist. But I don't care. Because we're all a bunch of losers and the sooner he realizes that, the better.

We're silent as we make our way onto Route 1A. The ocean spreads out to our left. A big, dark, rolling mass in the night. I recognize where we are now as we head into Seahook. I slam on the brakes as we get to corners and stop signs. There are a few cars out, going through town, and I figure every single person probably knows who we are. I don't care. I don't care if we get pulled over and the cops drag us all away. And I'll go to foster scare. And Mama'll go to Kensington. And I won't see her for the rest of my life. And that'll be just fine as far as I'm concerned. I hear Izzy start sniffling, there next to Cam, and my heart squeezes in my chest.

“Destination on right in 0.2 miles,” the British lady says. My heart doesn't soar. It plummets as we hit the green. I see the big white tent. No tables are set up yet, but the tent is there, and I see the BotBlock Jr. sign in the light of the streetlamps. I slam the RV over to the right, trying to squeeze it into a parking spot that is way too small. I misjudge the distance to the curb so we lurch forward as one of our tires goes up onto the sidewalk.

“Well, we're here,” I say, unclipping my buckle. It whips across my waist. Izzy squirms in Cam's lap and sits up. She looks from me to Cam and then out the window.

“Is it Mission Control time?” she asks.

“Nah,” I tell her. “That's over.”

She looks at Cam. His face crinkles up. “It can't be over,” he says. “This was our dream. Thi—” He stops, and I see his jaw twitch as his teeth grind together.

“Well, we tried and we failed,” I say. “Mission not accomplished. That's it. Accept it.”

I get up to walk through the curtain, a dollar bill crunching under my foot.

“Lucy,” Cam says, his voice so small behind me.

“Here.” I lean down and pick up the crumpled bills. “Take it, Cam. Take it and get your membership and get out of here. Run as far away from us as you can. We're so messed up.” The tears stream down my face now. “Give yourself a chance and get away from us.” I push him to the door.

“Cap—”

“Don't,” I say. “You can't do anything to help us. But you can help yourself. Get out of here.”

“We're in this together,” he whispers.

I let go of the money and it drops down his chest and into his hands.

“Leave no ma—” he starts.

“Stop. This isn't a game. You'll be better off.” I push his shoulder toward the door. We lock eyes, but I don't budge. Not one bit, and he backs out onto the sidewalk, the door swinging closed behind him.

“What's happening?” Izzy says, looking out the windshield. “Where's Cam going?”

“Nowhere,” I say. “Just like the rest of us.”

I see him out the front windshield for a moment, looking at the money in his hand. He looks at me and I shake my head, and he turns and disappears down the sidewalk. I wipe my eyes and face Mama. She's a shadow, a lump of darkness in the back corner of the RV. And there's something at her feet. I try to blink my tears out, wondering if they are what I think they are. I reach up and feel for the dome light. Flip it on.

Pill bottles. She's got one gripped in her hand and the rest are scattered at her feet. Pills form little puddles around her toes.

“Now you're going to take your pills? Jesus Christ,” I say, going over to her. I pick up the bottles at her feet. “Now that you're out there,
now
you're going to start taking them?”

“Did you see Rob? Did you see the farm?” she mutters.

“No,” I say, “I didn't see a darn thing.” I pick the pill bottle up and then push the pills into my hand. Stop.

They don't feel right. I lean so that my head isn't casting a shadow onto my hands. The ceiling light pools over my open palms. Beans. Dried beans.

“What's this?” I say.

Mama doesn't respond to me, but she keeps on talking. “I could write a poem for the end of the world.”

I drop the handful and grab another bottle, overturning it. They're not pills. More dried beans.

“What?” I take the one from her hand, unprying her fingers. I peer inside. My head is on fire. I feel like a supergiant, a massive angry star, on the verge of collapsing inward. I try to catch my breath. But I can't. I throw the bottle and dried beans skitter out into the aisle, bounce against one another and ping off the table leg.

“Leave it alone,” Mama says, seeming to snap out of it for a second. “I said leave it alone.”

“Why are your bottles filled with beans?” I shout. “Why would you do that? Are you trying to ruin everything?”

She twists the bottle out of my hand.

“Mama, Lucy, stop, please,” Izzy says from the front.

“I said leave it alone!” Mama shouts, standing up, taller than me now. The heat inside me starts to build. I pull the bottle back and fling it to the side. It bounces and clatters against the tabletop behind me.

“Someone is looking in the window,” Izzy whispers. “Please stop fighting.” But I don't even turn and look. 'Cause let them come.

Mama's eyes get real big. “We better destroy the evidence.” She spots a picture on the wall and reaches for it. Her lips are ringed with red. They look dry standing out against her wet face. It's the ugliest thing I've ever seen.

“Stop!” I say, reaching for the picture. “Explain to me why these bottles are filled with beans.” I pick up a bottle and flip it over. The beans skitter down like a waterfall. Mama stops my hand. Grabs my arm. The force squeezes tears out of my eyes and the breath out of my lungs.

“You. Stop it! You listen to me,” she says. A little pool of spit forms in the corner of her lips, and my whole body runs cold. Slows down.

“Don't tell me what to do,” my voice growls, lower than I've ever heard it before. “You of all people can't tell me what to do. You're a lost cause.”

I see her eyes go bright and she releases me, but I'm already pulling, so I fly toward the front and down the stairs, my arm colliding with the wood at the end of the couch. Izzy rushes toward me and gets caught in the tangle of my legs, landing hard on my stomach. My back hits the edge of the stairs. The wind goes out of me.

As I look up, I feel like I'm not a part of me. Like I'm seeing this all as a spectator. Mama yanks the picture off the wall. It spins from her hand, onto the floor, skidding among the beans. Bouncing from one corner of the frame to the other. Landing with a crack against the table leg. The glass fractures with a pop. Mama folds into a ball, her hands rising up around her ears as her body lowers to the floor. I blink back tears. Begin to find my way back into my body. Izzy's hand is holding on so tightly to my shirt that she's also got hold of my skin. Like a metal pincher, it begins to unclamp as I rise up. My face goes from numb to throbbing. My ears ring and then clear to the sound of sirens. A gush seems to soar through my body as my lungs take in air. Izzy bounces and pulls herself up, crying. I scramble to my feet.

“Let's go.” I push myself up and slam the door open. Someone on the street runs. I don't see who it is. I just hear the footsteps retreating. That's a good idea, I think. I turn back, and PingPing looks at me with his LED eyes. I reach in, grab hold of him.

“Climb on,” I hear myself saying. Izzy jumps from the stairs onto my back and we go. I don't know where we're going. I don't care. I'd rather be on my own than taking care of mad Mama for one more minute. The sirens get louder and we slip away.