Chasing the Milky Way (9 page)

M
AMA GOES FAST. FAST AND FRANTIC.
Road signs fly past us. Out of Camden, out of Danville, out of St. Johnsbury, through N. Concord and Guildhall. We stick to back roads until there are no sirens to be heard. We must get a little lost because Mama pulls off twice and we find a map in the glove compartment. When the dashboard clock reads 11:30, we pull into a familiar campground.

“Welcome to Pine Acres,” Mama says.

The sound of peepers gets louder the farther off the road we get. Mr. Hank, the grampa man who runs Pine Acres, said that they like the dampness of the marsh area just beyond the campground. I try looking for them at night, but I can never see a single one. They're everywhere and they're nowhere. We pass a bunch of RVs and stop in the farthest corner, nestled in the tree line. Normally, we have a tent, but not tonight. Mama gets out and goes to the trunk. Pulls out a couple of blankets, hands me one, and then spreads the blanket out over Izzy and Cam in the backseat.

Izzy is asleep on Cam, and I reach back and shift her to the side, piling a sweater under her head.

She peels her eyes open. “There yet?” she mumbles.

“Not yet,” I say, tucking the blanket under her chin.

“Where we going?” Izzy asks.

Mama, who is climbing back into the front seat, pulls out the roll of foil from her purse. “We're going to go live in the country. Whatyathink?”

Cam and I exchange a glance. “No, no, well, not right away,” I say. “We're going to go to the coast, remember. To eat shaved ice and watch the stars and, and go to BotBlock.”

Mama pulls a hunk of foil off of the roll and takes her journal from her pocket. Nods. Then she starts to make a little book cover out of the foil. I don't know why she's doing this, but she seems to want to protect it from something because she starts saying, “Going to stay one step ahead of the government. They've been trying to get my ideas, but they can't. Not now. My book's almost finished and it's going to make people's minds explode.” I watch as she presses the piece of foil flat with her fingernail. I climb into the back with Cam and Izzy. Izzy lays her head on my lap.

“We're going to have a big Colonial-style house,” Mama says as she folds. “A small lot near the woods. I'll put you in a good school. We'll have a horse.”

“A horse?” Izzy shouts, her eyes popping open, fully awake now.

Where are we going to be getting money for a country house and a horse? That's the real question. But I don't want to bring everyone down, so I just say, “Maybe. We'll see.”

Maybe if we win BotBlock.
I think it but I don't say it because now is not the time.

“There'll be a long white picket fence,” Mama says as she drops the unfinished book cover into her lap for the time it takes to pull out a cigarette and light it, then picks it up and continues to fold and press. “And we'll have ice cream for breakfast. We'll change our names, and go undercover. We'll get a waiver on our taxes.”

“What's taxes?” Izzy says.

Mama goes on, ignoring Izzy. “We'll wear the finest clothes and we'll have an orchard out the back, so you can go and pick apples and have apple crisp anytime we want.”

“Well, only when apples are in season,” Cam says. I nod in agreement.

“Anytime!” Mama says, glaring at him. She looks over at Izzy. “Would you like apple crisp anytime, little one?”

“Always,” Izzy says.

“Infinite,” Mama says. “And we'll get a nice swing for the new porch.” She peels a stray piece of foil off so the edge lines up with the corner of the book, then presses it closed. “Everything we need is right in here.” She holds her journal up.

I pull my Mission Control notebook onto my lap, thinking everything we need is in
here,
not in some tinfoil-bound journal. I look at Cam, but he just shrugs.

“Sounds like paradise to me,” he says.

“Thatta boy,” Mama says, drawing in a breath.

It all sounds nice to me, too. It's a matter of how to get something like that. The real whys and hows of it. People don't just give the Peeveys a big house, a horse, a picket fence, and infinite apple crisp. You gotta earn it. But, yeah, it does sound like paradise and I don't blame a single soul for dreaming it up. Not for a minute.

The breeze pushes the treetops to the side, reaches down and tickles Izzy's hair, takes the smoke and sends it off into the sky. Mama flips the radio on and lets it play at a low volume. I hear the crinkle of her journal as she opens it and starts writing. I yawn thinking what a long, hard day it's been. Cam's snoring lightly on the other side of the backseat. Even PingPing has seemed to slip to the side and is leaning quietly against the door from his spot on the floor. I should really program him. I eye the clock on the dashboard. Midnight. It's officially Friday. I don't have a lot of time. I yawn again and try to keep my eyes open. But it's so warm tucked in next to Izzy. And it's fairly comfortable, too, with my feet propped up on our luggage. I look up at the stars, just to take a quick break before I have to get up and program PingPing. Maybe it's the fact that I've been getting up so early to work on Mission Control, or the fact that I woke up in the middle of the night to go driving, or the fact that it's midnight again now, but either way, my eyes seal up like a ship's airlock, and I'm pushed into dreams.

W
HEN
I
FIRST OPEN MY EYES,
the world is a green smudge. I blink once, twice. The birds flitting through the treetops go from having four wings to having two. The pine trees go from fuzzy to firs. The campers morph to their sharp rectangular edges.

Everything bounces back to me. We're in the car at Pine Acres. Cam, me, Izzy, Mama. I scan Cam's and Izzy's sleeping faces. I don't see Mama's head in the front seat. I lurch up, peering over the top of it. She's not there. She's nowhere to be seen.

“Wake up, wake up, wake up,” I say, bouncing into the passenger seat. Cam and Izzy rustle to life behind me.

“What's going on?” Cam says, darting to attention. He relaxes when he sees where we are.

“Is it morning?” Izzy says through a yawn.

“Mama's not here,” I say, looking around to see if anything is missing that might tell us where she is. We have the Mission Control notebook, PingPing, the can of money. The only thing that isn't here is her journal, her jacket, herself.

I jump out the door and head toward the woods, wondering if maybe she made off into the trees. Would we have heard her go? Just then I hear a door close and spin around. I turn to the little brown building that says
W
OMEN
on one side and
MEN
on the other. Of course. The bathroom. Mama walks out, wiping her hands with a paper towel. I take a deep breath.

“Didn't know where you were,” I say, as she comes up to us.

“Bathroom. That a crime?” Her voice comes out gruff.

I wonder if maybe she didn't get much sleep. “No, it's not a crime. I was worried.” I climb back into the car, lean up against the door. Check my watch. Nine a.m. I flip to the countdown, even though I already know what it's going to say. The numbers don't lie. T-minus twenty-four hours until competition.

“It's getting late,” I say to Cam.

“I couldn't agree more,” Mama says. “We need to pay and get out of here.” She hands me a credit card and nods toward the administration building. “Should be open by now.”

“I'll power up the laptop,” Cam says.

I nod, sending him a silent thank-you.

“I have to pee,” Izzy says. Mama places the credit card in my hand and gets back out of the car.

“Everybody do your business and let's get going,” she says. She and Izzy make their way across the lawn. Cam looks like he is considering it and heads toward the bathrooms, too. I tuck the card into my pocket and follow, seeing as we're going to be on the road first thing. I pee as quick as I can and then rush to wash my hands. Mama is at the sink helping Izzy wash hers and she mutters, “We better hurry up so we can get out of here.”

I don't need her to tell me twice. I run as fast as I can out the door of the bathroom to the administration building.

“I'm hungry,” Izzy calls behind me, opening the bathroom door with a creak.

I turn and do a skip-step backward. “I'll see what I can find.”

I go in through the swinging door and see the counter's filled with convenience store treats. Reese's Pieces, Twizzlers, PayDays. My stomach reminds me of missing dinner last night. I pick up a PayDay. Peanuts have lots of protein in them. I also pick two bags of regular Doritos and one bag of sour cream and onion for Cam. A little TV buzzes above the counter. The screen is on but the volume has been turned way down.

Green Mountain Weather: 75 degrees and sunny,
it says in the corner as a well-dressed weatherman walks around in front of a map. Underneath, the checkout area is empty. Hank is nowhere to be seen. I spot a little bell with a note attached to the front of it.
Ring for assistance.

I cross the wood floor and hover my hand over the bell, only I don't ring it. I don't ring it 'cause as I glance back up at the weatherman, a little banner is flying across the bottom of the TV screen. The banner is covering the weatherman's feet, and it reads:
AMBER Alert: New England:
Kidnapping suspect flees police with three children. Suspect considered dangerous. News at 9.
My stomach almost spits up the emptiness inside of it. Is it us? I gotta tell Mama. I drop the candy and chips on the counter and turn toward the door.

“Welcome to Pine Acres, how can I help you?”

I whirl around. Hank drops a newspaper next to the chips and his face breaks into a smile. “Well, I'll be. I recognize that face. Lucy, isn't it?”

I put on a genuine smile. Hank is nice. He has short white hair and his scarecrow shoulders hold up a pair of rainbow suspenders attached to some paint-splattered pants.

“Nice to see you, Hank!” I say, coming back over to the counter. He leans up against it, resting on his arms.

“I wondered who was rumbling around in the middle of the night.”

“Just us,” I say, trying not to look at the TV. I'm happy to see him, no joke, but all of a sudden I wonder if my face is breaking out in hives with the effort it's taking to look normal.

He lifts a coffee mug toward me like he's cheersing and takes a sip. “Must be headed on to that program you guys go to. What is it again?”

“Robo—” I slam my mouth shut, realizing maybe I shouldn't be telling everyone where we're going. Sure Mr. Hank is a friend, but you just never know, now that we have the law on our tail. “Roboville. It's a town in Massachusetts. Next to Boston.”

Mr. Hank swallows the coffee and looks at me sideways. “Really?”

“Anyway, we got in sort of late and I wanted to pay for the night.” I lift the card and drop it onto the counter in front of him. Then I move my shaking hand out of view fast.

“All righty then, super.” He nods his head and picks the card up. If he notices that I'm all shook up, he isn't showing it.

“Well, that'll be ten dollars for one night. You have plans to stay through tonight as well?”

“No, Mr. Hank. Thank you,” I say, clasping my hands behind my back.

“One night and the candy and chips?”

“That would be good,” I say.

As he leans down to count the items I glance up at the TV.
Channel 3 News,
it says across the screen then pans to an anchor lady.

“That'll be nineteen ninety-five.” Mr. Hank swipes the card and then pulls a small paper bag from next to the cash register. He places the card on the counter and flicks the bag open. Then he puts the items in one at a time.

“How's your mama doing these days?” he says.

“Pretty great,” I say. He curls the top of the bag shut and turns to the credit card machine. “Our dial-up is slow,” he says, tapping a small screen. “Some things don't change.” He whistles and looks up at the TV. My mouth goes dry as it says
AMBER Alert: New England
across the screen. The camera zooms in on the anchor lady, who looks pretty serious about whatever she's reporting. Please don't let it be us, I pray. The screen flashes to some blurry footage of our carport tumbling. Great. Stupid Mirabelle. I'm almost 100 percent sure that this is her iPhone video. I scan Mr. Hank's face, wondering if he can decipher the picture. The Mustang is half hidden by the tarp.

“What's this all about?” he says, reaching over for the remote under the window. I don't know if I should jump across the counter and tackle him? Let him pick it up? Flick it out of his hand? Fake a faint? Right when he is about to grab it, the credit card machine spits out a receipt. His eyes flick to that and he pulls the receipt off, adjusting his glasses to see it. I exhale as quiet as I can.

“Well, I'll be damned,” he says. “Darn thing didn't go through.”

I swallow hard as the broadcast goes on above his head. It flashes to a picture of my mama.
Margaret Peevey
it says across the bottom. I'm in a spaceship spinning out of control. Everything is feeling jostled.

“I guess I'll give a call,” Hank says and picks up the phone.

“No!” I shout. The phone spills out of his hand and clatters on the counter. He looks up at me like a startled deer.

“What's the matter?” he says.

“Just—” I say. My world starts spinning, orbiting around my head faster and faster. How can I explain this? I back toward the door, getting ready to make a run for it.

“Well, the card isn't going through. Unless you have another I'll have to call the company and see why it's being declined.”

All of a sudden I can breathe again, but not for long. His eyes scan me and he cocks his head to one side. “Is something up, Lucy? What's going on? You worried?”

Act normal, for crying out loud, Lucille.
I step toward him, not back.

“No, sorry, Mr. Hank, nothing's up.” I slap my hand over my forearm. “I yelled 'cause, I uh, I think I got a bee sting is all. Nothing's up.” I go right up to the counter so my chin is just over the high top. “I can grab another card from Mama, or uh, or get some cash from her.” I hold out my hand, but keep my other pressed onto my forearm like I'm covering up a sting. I look at his face, hoping to heck he's buying it.

Mr. Hank looks around the room. “I didn't see a bee in here. Let me see. Do you need some ice?”

“No, no, we Peeveys are tough,” I say, taking the card off the counter.

His face softens and he smiles. “I know you are. You go get another card or cash from your mama and I'll find you something to cool off that bee sting, nevertheless.”

I gulp and keep my hand clasped over my arm.

“Yes, sir,” I say, going over to the door. “I'll be right back. Thank you.”

I push the door open and the spring squeaks and then slams behind me. My heart is pounding so hard that I can't hear the birdcalls all the way back to the car. We're in trouble. That's what I'm gonna tell Mama. But when I get back to the spot where our car was—there's no one to tell. It's gone.