“Let’s try to go around all of this,” I told Mom. “Hopefully no one will notice us.”
From where we waited, I could see the tepee, the camp’s ersatz headquarters. Someone—a woman—inside was screaming. It wasn’t a scream of pain. It was the low, guttural scream of frustration.
“What do you have here?” Mom asked, holding on to my hand as we walked. “You have your phone now, yes? Did you bring a car?”
“A car? No.” Awfully demanding for the person who dragged us out here, I thought. The cops were concentrated most heavily around the tepee, and we slipped by easily.
“Do you want to leave a note or something?” I asked. She was the prophet, after all.
“No,” Mom said. “Let’s just go. Like I never came here.”
“But you did come here, Mom,” I said. “And when I came looking for you, to ask for help—for Ida, who could be dying right now—you told me to fuck off.”
“Van!”
“Well, you did,” I said. “You’re so wrong sometimes.”
But she was right about getting out of there, immediately. We skirted the camp, and Mom took my hand again, like the mom of a much younger child would. I didn’t shake her off, but only because she was still weak. We walked out toward the gap in the canyon wall, out past the abandoned basin camp, out to the patch of grubby parking lot dotted with dusty, shitty cars, out to where we’d find the road.
Chapter Twenty-Four
My throat was scraped dry. It was a long walk for two people who had already been stranded for days in the desert. But Mom, definitely the one in worse shape, was stoic. She didn’t break her pace at all. When we reached the ribbon of pavement, it was like Mom had used up all of her struggle to get to the road, and that was it.
“Now what?” I asked her.
“We get a ride to town,” she said, sitting down on the ground.
Mom’s head lolled to the side and rested on her shoulder. A plume of dust smudged the gray line of road in the distance. I squinted, trying to make out an accompanying vehicle of some kind. A boxy station wagon rumbled toward us.
“There’s a car coming,” I said.
Mom pushed herself onto her hands and knees and then all the way up. She moved so slowly the car had nearly reached us by the time her back had straightened. She shot out a long, slim arm, the bulge of the robe’s torn bell sleeve gathered over her elbow. When her thumb popped up, I coughed out a laugh.
“Seriously?” I asked. “I never thought we’d be doing this again.”
“Never say never.” Mom didn’t smile. I remembered, the last time we’d hitchhiked I was supposed to be in kindergarten. That’s what the middle-aged lady driver told Mom. “That child should be in kindergarten,” the woman said, a pile of softness behind the wheel. At the time, I didn’t even know what it meant—kindergarten.
The old station wagon slowed down and then stopped. No power windows, I noted. The driver had to get out to talk to us. It was a man. Not ideal, I recalled about getting rides like this, but we were desperate. He was older, at least, and neat looking. He had a full head of white hair that was slicked back in an old-timey style. He looked like James Dean’s grandpa or something. A worn, brown leather bomber jacket added to the effect.
“You ladies all right?”
“We’d appreciate a ride into town, if it’s not too much trouble.” Mom managed to sound demure, even in that ridiculous outfit. I wished I’d had time to at least wash the blood from my face.
“Sure thing.” He walked around and opened the door for Mom, and then for me. All the while the driver’s side door gaped open, jutting into the road like the fin on a prehistoric fish.
“You sure you’re all right?” He asked this question looking right at me in the rearview mirror.
“Yes,” I answered, and then, finally understanding what he meant, I said, “We were hiking and I fell.”
“All right.”
We drove in silence for a while, Mom looking straight ahead the whole time. She didn’t betray her exhaustion and weakness for one second. I started to feel pretty guilty when I realized the car was starting to smell because we were in it. There was an old Time magazine on the seat next to me and a partly full plastic bottle of water rolling on the floor. I resisted the urge to grab that old, half-used bottle of water and drink it all down.
“Are we almost there?” Mom tried to ask brightly.
The driver turned in his seat a little to look at Mom.
“Almost.”
I looked for signs that population density was increasing—other cars, anything. The only sign of life we passed was a boarded-up gas station.
“This doesn’t look familiar to me,” I ventured.
“It’s a shortcut.”
Even through the wall of exhaustion I could feel the swell of adrenaline in my chest. This guy is going to murder us and eat our brains, I thought.
“Thanks for the ride—I really like your hairstyle,” I said, not sure why. Maybe I thought he would kill me more quickly if I was polite.
“Why, thank you, young lady. It’s nice to hear some conversation from a gal your age. My neighbor’s girl just clicks away at that computer all day long. Conversation is a lost art.”
“Isn’t that the truth?” Mom said. “You can just drop us here, anywhere. We’ve been camping, you know, and my daughter fell. And then, lucky us! Our car broke down.”
“What a shame,” James Dean’s grandpa said. “It’s no trouble at all. Where would you like me to drop you?”
It was unclear to me whether he meant our living or our dead bodies.
“Perhaps a gas station, or a motel?” Mom said, like she was some kind of ambassadress talking to a local.
“I know just the place,” he said.
I held my breath until I felt like I would pass out. A few more cars began to slide down the road, and a strip mall, and then a standalone tire place swam up alongside the pavement. Okay, I thought, maybe we’ll make it after all. But our driver drove on.
The man pointed a wrinkled hand to Mom’s side of the windshield.
“It’s just ahead,” he said. “The King’s Ransom.”
“What an interesting name,” Mom said, turning up the charm. I could hear her relief in the warmth she gave each word.
The King’s Ransom had a showy, almost Vegas-inspired neon sign. As soon as Grandpa Dean parked in front, I jumped out. Mom talked to him for a minute or two; about what, I had no idea.
“Thanks!” I shouted cheerfully, waving at the door. Thanks for not killing us! I thought. I’d had that thought before, as a little kid, getting out of a stranger’s car. It was a long-ago echo of a thought, but it was there.
Mom exited the car and gave a little wave.
I walked up the S-shaped sidewalk and into the King’s Ransom. Ahead of Mom, away from Mom. I let her do the talking and inspected the plaques lined up along the wall—documentation of decades-long support of a local girls’ softball league. We had been almost dead in the desert, and now we were standing in front of these softball team photos. I had talked to the spirits, or if not the spirits, definitely something not of this earth—had it been an alien? I had maybe talked to an alien, and now I was standing underneath this line of softball team photos.
Had it really happened? Had I been crazy with thirst? Or was I just crazy? I shook my head and pushed away thoughts of aliens and hallucinations. Just think about the shower you’ll take, I told myself. But I didn’t think about my shower; I thought about my ability as a musician. I wondered if it came easily to me, or if I loved it the way I did because I could see things that weren’t there.
“Come on,” Mom said, and pulled me away. She said it like she’d been talking to me already.
“How did you pay?” I asked.
“My credit card number,” she said, like I should have known.
• • •
In our room, Mom flopped down on the bed and closed her eyes for maybe ten seconds before she picked up t
he clunky phone receiver within her reach. It was an old rotary phone, the kind with no buttons. I went straight to the bathroom and filled one of the plastic-wrapped paper cups at the sink. I drank and refilled it two more times. I filled it back up and brought it over to Mom. She could barely bring it to her lips.
“I’m sorry to ask you this, darling, but can you dial for me? I feel like death warmed over. I asked that man at the front desk to order us some pizza, too.”
“Are you going to call Chantal?”
“Yes, next. But first Marine. You said she was coming back for us.”
“I did?”
“Didn’t you?”
“I don’t remember.” I really didn’t. I wasn’t sure if it was because I was hungry and exhausted and dehydrated. Or insane. Talking to aliens.
“Mom,” I began, my fingers hovering over the rotary phone’s miniature circular craters. “What happened to you out there?”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean when you were ‘Getting the message’ or whatever.” I made air quotes with my free, nondialing hand. “Did you actually, you know, get any messages?”
Mom looked down at the paper cup.
“I’m not really sure. You know how I get when things happen to me that way. Why? Did something happen to you?”
I felt her inspection all over me. “I don’t know.” I shook my head, but couldn’t shake out the images of those crystal arrows and drinking down all of those faces. “I’m going to take a shower, okay? Tell me what numbers you want.”
• • •
In the cramped stall behind a moldering plastic curtain, I put together a timeline of my search for Mom. But when I tried to focus on it, I only saw that towering, golden face.
I washed the grime off of my body, wearing the miniscule bar of hotel soap down to a thin, white slip. The soap and water stung my sliced-up hand. I washed my hair, breathing in the noxious floral scent of the complimentary shampoo. Smelling anything other than my own rancid sweat was heavenly.
I let the water flow down over my hair and over my face and concentrated on the speaking ripples of stone. It had said my name; I was almost sure of that. Perhaps I had imagined its giant mouth cracking open. People saw mirages in the desert, didn’t they? But my name had sounded so real, and the voice had been unlike any sound I’d ever heard—it was more like a natural disaster than a human voice. What would Ida think of all of it?
Had I even told Mom to call the hospital? I couldn’t remember. I’m really losing it, I thought. Shivering with panic, I twisted the spigot and stopped the water. I leapt out and blotted myself dry with the undersized towel hanging next to the toilet. I wrapped the towel around myself and opened the door, my hair a sopping wet sheet down my back.
Mom was sitting on the edge of the bed, tense and poised to jump, like an aerialist.
“It’s Ida,” she said.
“What?” I sank down to my knees into the grubby shag carpet beside the bed.
“I spoke with Chantal. She said Ida is not doing well. Your friend is in the hospital with her. You should call him.” Mom handed over my cell phone, glowing mysteriously with charge.
“I’m going to take a shower myself. Are there more towels?”
I nodded.
“We’re going to need clothes. I’ll call Marine’s new number when I get out. She should be here soon. Chantal said she left to get us this morning.”
I snatched the phone from Mom’s hand and called Alex, pressing the phone, too hard, to the side of my head.
Mom disappeared into the steamy bathroom to think her own thoughts.
Alex picked up right away.
“Van?” His voice was undercut with panic.
“Yes?” I said.
“Oh my God, are you okay? Is your mom okay?”
“Yes, yes—how is Ida? You’re with her?”
“Yeah,” he paused for a long time. “I’m with her.”
“How is she?”
“Are you almost back?”
“We’re coming—how is she?”
“I’m here at the hospital. Ovid’s here, too. And people from the hotel have been coming by a lot, so.”
“So is she okay? Is she awake?” I heard my voice going all high and wild.
“She’s not awake, no.”
“Has she woken up at all?”
“No, she hasn’t. These doctors are great, though. Ida’s doctor is this lady I think you would really like.”
“Alex, just tell me what’s going on! Please!” I clamped the sagging towel under my armpits. There was a long pause. I heard the sounds in the hospital on the other end.
“She doesn’t have a lot of time left. You guys need to hurry.” He was still talking, but I didn’t hear anything after that.
“Van? Are you still there? I said, as soon as Marine gets there, turn around and come back, okay?”
“We will.”
“Do you have her new number?”
“Mom does.”
“Please, please hurry.”
“Are you sure it’s that bad?” I was crying now. I could hear it.
“I think so.”
“Are you sure?”
“It’s okay, she’s not alone. I’ve been with her, or Ovid has, the whole time.”
“Okay. I just—thank you so much. Call me if there’s any news. I have my phone now, so.”
“I will. Van?”
“Yeah?”
“Hurry.”
• • •
When I hung up, I read all of Alex’s texts and listened to the hysterical messages he’d been leaving. Almost all of them sounded like he thought I was the one who was nearly dead. Well, wasn’t he right? I thought. Mom and I and Ida were in the same place in that respect, anyway—all on the edge of death. But there had been a miracle. There had been miracles, plural—Mom’s waking up, then Ulrike’s surprise rescue. And that face. If all of those things had happened, if all of those things had saved us, then couldn’t something equally miraculous happen to Ida? It would only be fair, given the recent symmetry of our lives. Whatever I was feeling about Mom receded when haphazard prayers for Ida swamped over me.
The phone trilled in my hand, and I answered, thinking, for one crazy second, that those prayers had worked. That Ida had woken up and was trying to call me.
“Wow, Van, nice to finally hear from you.” It was Carol.
“Oh, hey. Sorry I didn’t call you before. My . . .” Nanny? Friend? “friend is in the hospital. And my mom has been, well—”
“Yeah, I heard your mom went off the deep end. Alex told Joanna all about it.”
My face tingled with shame. “Yeah, glad he’s sharing the news.”
“Don’t be mad at Alex. I can’t believe I just said that. Don’t tell him I said that. But he kind of had to tell us. I was threatening to hire your replacement.”
“What?” I said, dizzy. How stupid was I that I’d never considered that possibility? “You didn’t though, right?”
“Relax, Jesus, no, we didn’t. When Alex told us what was going on—because you never did—”
“Carol, I was in the fucking desert!”
“Whoa, whoa, there’s no need to get snippy. All I’m saying is Alex cleared it up. Okay?”
“Okay,” I said.
“I will say Joanna didn’t like you hooking up with Marcos like that.”
“What?”
“Marcos said things were getting serious with you two.”
“What? No they’re not!”
“Whatever, that’s between you and Jo to figure out when you get back. So, when will you be back? We need to get a couple of practices in, like now.”
“I’m not sure,” I said, slowly. “It all depends on Ida. I can’t go on tour—I can’t go anywhere—if Ida needs me.”
“Well just answer your phone. That’s all I ask. See you tomorrow? Probably?”
“I don’t know,” I said, and hung up.
Maybe when we got to the hospital, Ida woul
d hear our voices and wake up. She could get better. It wasn’t impossible. Maybe Ida and I could talk about the tour. I’d let her make the call—if she wanted me to stay and take care of her, I would. If she wanted me to go on tour, I would. Either way, I wouldn’t call Carol again until I talked to Ida.
When Mom came out of the bathroom, as clean as me, the air in the motel room steamed up with optimism. We were clean and alive. Ida was going to be okay. A knock at the door: pizza.
“Mom,” I began. “Do you really believe Laurel and those people? Did you actually think you were their prophet?”
Mom stared off for a minute before answering. “It’s hard to explain. Sometimes it feels like I am, that I am something large like that. But then, you know, sometimes it feels like I am nothing. That I am less than nothing.”
“Did you really give them money?”
Mom looked down at the open pizza box between us. “Yes, I did.”
“Do you realize the connection between those two things?” I knew it was a harsh thing to say, but I needed to hear Mom say it. I needed to know that we were both understanding at least one thing the same way.
“Yes,” she said, slowly. “I see how in some ways they are connected. But I believe I had a true understanding with some of them.”
I let my anger simmer and shook my head, even though maybe I had understood. That face in the mountain had come out of something.
Mom and I ate while still in our towels and waited for Marine. I paced a little, and Mom scraped all of our filthy clothes into the garbage. When Marine’s knocking hammered on the door, it was so loud and forceful that the hinges rattled.
Mom unlatched the door and Marine burst through it, dropping a handful of plastic bags on the floor. I was surprised when she rushed over to me and put her arms around my shoulders, half hugging, half inspecting.
“You’re really okay, Van? Sofia?” she asked, reaching an arm out to Mom.
“We’re both fine,” Mom said.
“I’m so relieved. There’s so much I want to say to you both.”
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