The Deepest Roots

by Miranda Asebedo

  I clench the M&M’s tight in my fist as I watch him fill up, my breath caught somewhere in my chest. He fiddles with the gas cap for a while because he’s a jerk and he can’t figure out how to open it. Then he stares at Mom while he pumps the gas, and even she can’t pretend that she’s reading beneath his intrusive gaze.

  The Cottonwood Hollow boys near the front of the gas station are now watching with interest. They’re undoubtedly discussing why Garrett Remington is driving Rome Galveston’s car, while she’s inside paying for gas for her mom’s Ford Focus. I’ve always been known for that car, from the time I bought it with my dishwashing money at the age of fourteen, when I was too young to even drive it legally. I force myself to breathe, stretching out my lungs and gulping air as if it might save me now.

  I walk stiffly to the cashier. I pay for the gas and the M&M’s, then walk outside, determined not to let this moment ruin me, cave me in like a fist around an aluminum can.

  “Hey, Rome,” Garrett says when I get near the gas pumps where he’s standing. “Where’s your pretty girlfriends? The man-eater and the little Finder girl?” He must be too stupid to realize that Mercy and Neveah are two different girls, or he’s got their talents confused. His eyes rove over me, and I wonder if this is how Lux feels all the time. No wonder she feels cursed.

  I lift my chin up just a little to make me strong enough not to reply.

  And that’s when I hear the thud. Mom’s Focus rams into the rear end of the Mach. Of course the Mach is made of metal, so the impact leaves only a small ding, but the plastic front bumper of the Focus is cracked. Mom, having climbed over into the driver’s seat at some point in time, wears a look of surprise on her pretty face as she rolls down the window.

  “Whoops!” she calls out. The high-school boys are elbowing each other and pointing. “Sorry, Garrett! You know how women drivers are!”

  Garrett’s mouth is hanging open, but I just climb in the passenger seat. Mom backs up, then squeals around the Mach, barely missing hitting it a second time.

  “Sorry about that,” Mom says when we’re on our way home.

  “I can Fix it,” I reply, handing her one of the bags of M&M’s. But I’m grinning and thinking of how Mercy and Mrs. Montoya had worked around each other in the kitchen, like two cogs that fit together perfectly. That’s me and Mom tonight. In perfect sync.

  Twelve

  WHEN I GET HOME, I take a shower, as if I could wash off Garrett’s gaze. I put on my old sweats and a T-shirt and crawl into bed. Not even Steven’s cold nose on my cheek can make me feel better when he settles in beside me instead of hanging out with Mom. Dogs know when you need them.

  I did the right thing trading the Mach for rent. Okay, maybe not the right thing, but the only thing.

  I’d kept my deal with the Truett sisters when I found the Mach and restored it using only my talent as a Fixer. It had taken almost six months to finish. I Fixed the car in their barn, and they taught me everything they knew about being a mechanic, which turned out to be a lot. The tall Truett sister, Abigail, had run the farm, a Strong Back who could toss a square bale of hay on the bed of their Apache pickup as if it were a toy. The shorter Truett sister, Bernadette, was a Reader, which explained how she’d easily identified me as a Fixer. She’d helped their mom with the farm machinery back in the day, and even though she wasn’t really a Fixer, she had a knack for turning the complex gears and pulleys of any machine into simple parts that were easy to understand.

  Sometimes I still drive by their farm just to remember how I’d felt when I was there. Like the world was full of possibilities, if only I tried hard enough. And it didn’t matter if I was one of those strange Cottonwood Hollow girls, or if Mom was in the process of creating another ex-boyfriend, or if we lived in a trailer that had seen better days.

  All that mattered was that I could Fix that car.

  And now that car is gone.

  My eyes feel suspiciously hot and wet, and I finally do what I’ve wanted to do since I sold the car. I cry, my face pressed against Steven’s fur, until we both fall asleep.

  Someone taps on my bedroom window. Steven gives a low growl, punctuated by a soft “woof.” I sit up, wiping at my face in case there’s any evidence of my earlier weakness. I yank the mini blinds away from the window. It’s Lux and Mercy.

  Lux motions for me to come outside.

  I look at the clock. It’s almost midnight. What the hell are Lux and Mercy doing here at this time of night? My heart pounds. What if something’s wrong? I hurry through the dark trailer, Steven trotting behind me. His nails click on the linoleum when we get to the kitchen. By the front door, I stop and slide on Lux’s borrowed shoes.

  “Stay, Steven,” I tell him.

  Steven whines, but for once does what he’s told.

  “What are you doing here?” I ask Lux and Mercy.

  “I found something,” Mercy says. They’re both dressed in regular clothes, and I’m still wearing an old T-shirt and the sweats I sleep in. “So I texted Lux, but your phone’s not working yet, so . . .”

  “I’ll put minutes on it tomorrow,” I tell her. “What did you find?”

  “It’s Maisie,” Lux says. “Mercy found her book from the historical society and it turns out Maisie was a Truett.”

  “And?” Familial relations in a town this small aren’t that big of a surprise.

  “What if Maisie hid the chest for Emmeline?” Mercy says. “She might have hidden it on Truett land. That stone barn out there is definitely old enough to have been around back then.”

  Excitement makes me draw a breath. The Truett sisters’ old barn was full of junk. Maybe the dowry chest is out there, just waiting for us to find it. “You want to go now?” I ask, surprised that Mercy’s sneaking out to go on what could very well be a wild goose chase.

  Mercy shoots a guilty glance at Lux. “I thought maybe we could just take a look around. Just in case. Some family from Texas bought the farm, and Mom said they’ll be moving in any day now.”

  Of all the places to go poke around right now, the Truett farm isn’t the one that I’d pick. I’ll just be thinking about the Mach and how Abigail and Bernadette would be shaking their heads at me now if they knew that I’d traded it off. I know Mercy is only doing this because she feels guilty about her dad cutting Aaron’s shifts, and I want to tell her that she shouldn’t feel any sympathy for that bastard at all.

  Lux says, “Mercy said her mom went to an estate sale there. They sold off all the furniture and things in the house. She didn’t remember seeing any trunks or anything. So we think if it’s around, maybe it’s in the barn.”

  I think back to where I’d uncovered the Mach, which seemed like a treasure to me then. Excitement about possibly finding the dowry chest out there makes me push away the guilt I feel for trading off the car the Truett sisters sold me.

  “So let’s go take a look around,” Lux cajoles. “Maybe we’ll find it tonight. It could happen, couldn’t it?” She looks up at the stars like she’s flinging a desperate wish into the darkness, and there’s a recklessness in her eyes that makes me uneasy.

  “All right,” I say. “We can go look around. How are we going to get there? I don’t think Mom will be okay with me stealing her car for a midnight joyride.”

  Lux points at the bikes lying in the grass.

  “Bikes?” I ask, putting my hands on my hips. “What are we, twelve?”

  “It didn’t seem like a good time to wake up my parents and ask to use the minivan, either,” Mercy says.

  “Fine. Bikes it is.”

  Lux rides Mercy’s old turquoise bike with the streamers on the handlebars, which is far too small and makes her legs stick out at funny angles. I pedal Mrs. Montoya’s bike with the basket on the front. Mercy sits on the front handlebars above the basket, holding her legs out as we coast down the county road in the dark. The farm is only two miles from town, and we pass Truett pond and the old windmill.

  “Remember how we used to skinny-dip
out there?” Lux laughs as we pass. The closer we get to the Truett farm and the possibility of finding the dowry chest, the more excited she gets.

  I laugh, remembering our skinny-dipping days when our biggest worry was whether or not the pond water would wash out the spray-on glittery, neon hair color we all put on before Mercy had to go home. We’d screamed with laughter in the dark, sang our favorite songs at the top of our lungs, just the three of us and the wide expanse of pasture and starlight.

  When we top the next hill, the Truett sisters’ house and massive stone barn come into view, and we turn down their driveway. The farmyard is dark, but Mercy has two flashlights in the basket of her mom’s bike. She turns them on and hands one to me so we can find our way to the barn. We lay our bikes on the ground.

  The grass is tall and thick, and there are no cars around, which tells me the new owners of the farmhouse haven’t moved in yet. I slide the barn door open just a crack, and it groans loudly in the dark.

  Mercy jumps. “Shh!”

  “No one’s out here,” Lux says. “We can be as loud as we want.”

  Mercy looks hesitantly toward the road. “Someone might drive by.”

  “Well, they’d see the flashlights before they’d hear us,” I say practically.

  Mercy shuts her light off.

  Lux rolls her eyes. “No one’s going to see us, Mercy.”

  When I tug the door far enough for us to squeeze through, I go in first. My nose is filled with the smells of dust and dirt and old hay and manure. “Turn your light back on,” I tell Mercy when she and Lux enter behind me. “Shine it on the floor. Make sure you don’t trip on anything.”

  I cast my light around the barn. It looks like I remember it. The first floor has an old tractor and a planter attachment parked next to it. Abigail Truett’s rusty Apache pickup is parked next to the planter. I put my hand on the hood, recalling driving out to the fields with her to check on the beans or on some cow she thought was going to calf soon. A small part of me thinks Abigail wouldn’t mind if I borrowed it, but the family from Texas that bought the farm and equipment might.

  “It wouldn’t be down here,” I tell Lux and Mercy. “This is all farm equipment. If the chest was here, it would be in the loft.”

  I shine my light over at the ladder. “Be careful,” I tell them. “There are some weak places in the floor up there.” It wasn’t great to navigate the loft in the daylight, let alone in the dark with only a couple of flashlights to guide us.

  I climb the ladder first, Mercy and Lux behind me.

  The hayloft is stacked with cardboard boxes and baskets of junk. Three heavy, wooden chests rest in one back corner.

  “Look!” Lux says when the light falls on them. “One of those could be the dowry chest!” She pushes past Mercy, following the glowing beam.

  “Wait!” I shout.

  Mercy darts out a quick hand and grabs Lux by the hem of her shirt.

  Lux stops, turning to glare at Mercy. “Hey! Morgan got me this shirt.”

  I shine a light down on the floor, illuminating the large gap between the floorboards and the black space below. “That’s a good twenty-foot drop,” I tell Lux. “Worth stretching out your shirt a little.”

  We edge around the hole, making our way over to the corner.

  A shuffling sound comes from the dark behind us, and cold fingers of fear creep up my spine.

  We’re not alone.

  “What was that?” Mercy whispers, her flashlight beam frantically darting back and forth behind us in an attempt to locate the culprit.

  One of the baskets falls over, and Lux lets out a yelp of fear as I change my grip on the flashlight so that I can swing it like a club.

  Small green eyes flicker, first one pair and then another.

  “Barn cats,” I say, relieved. “It’s just barn cats.”

  Two fluffy ginger cats trot over, one darting between Lux’s legs and the other sniffing hesitantly at her shoes. “Go on,” Lux tells them. “I don’t want your hair all over me.”

  “Why didn’t anyone take the Truett sisters’ cats after they died?” Mercy asks, clearly worried about their fate.

  “They’re barn cats,” I tell her. “They eat the rats out here. They wouldn’t be happy in somebody’s house. They’re half wild.”

  Mercy reaches down to pet one, and it actually lets her. Leave it to Mercy to charm a feral cat. “Aren’t you a pretty one?” Mercy coos.

  “Let’s focus here,” Lux says. “The trunks. What’s in them?”

  Looking around at the dusty piles, I feel my excitement ebbing away. What had seemed like an obvious connection between the Truetts and Emmeline didn’t look so sure now that we were in the barn. “I don’t remember the sisters ever talking about Emmeline.”

  “Well, maybe it’s because you never asked,” Lux replies. “Or maybe the chest was up here and they didn’t know it.”

  “We’ll see,” I say, hoping to placate Lux. I want to find the chest as much as she does if it means I can get the Mach back again. But somehow, looking around this barn that was once so familiar to me, I don’t believe this is where we’ll find the chest. There are only memories here, and most of them bittersweet. Lux and Mercy hadn’t quite understood my attachment to the Truett sisters. The whole town had turned out at their funerals out of respect when they died within hours of each other, but I’d been there out of more than that. I’d brought a handful of the sunflowers that they loved, casting them over the freshly dug graves after everyone had left, and knowing that wherever those cranky old women were, it wasn’t in the ground.

  We open all three chests. There are old quilts, tablecloths, a set of chipped crockery, a mantelpiece clock, some letters from the son who died in Vietnam. There are a few photographs of two little girls standing outside the old stone barn—Abigail and Bernadette when they were little.

  Lux sits back on her heels. “Nothing,” she sighs, frustrated. “Nothing again.”

  Mercy places a gentle hand on Lux’s shoulder. “Don’t worry,” she says. “Saturday morning we’ll go out and look with Neveah. We’ll Find it.”

  But Lux’s face shutters and she pulls away from Mercy, keeping that distance between them. I wish Lux would just tell Mercy what’s going on. More than that, I wish I could Fix things for her, but I know I can’t. Fixing only works on things, not people.

  Mercy opens her mouth to say something, but a pair of headlights cut through the open windows of the barn.

  “Shit!” I hiss. “Get down! Turn the flashlight off!”

  Mercy and Lux obey instantly, ducking down.

  I shut off my flashlight, crawling to the front of the barn to peer out the window.

  “Who is it?” Lux whispers from the corner where she and Mercy are cowering.

  “I can’t tell,” I tell them. “It’s too dark. It’s definitely a truck. Big. Maybe a three-quarter or a ton. Gas engine, not diesel, from the sound of it. But I can’t tell what color or make.” The truck creeps around the front driveway of the Truett farm, as if whoever’s driving is looking for something. Or someone.

  Mercy and Lux follow me, crawling to the window. The truck idles for a few minutes in front of the Truett sisters’ farmhouse.

  “Do you think it’s the same person who was in the homestead?” Lux whispers.

  “Probably,” I reply, shivering. “It’s someone who read the diary. Someone who knows what we know.”

  “You think someone else found it after you lost it?” Mercy whispers.

  “They must have. They’re looking at all the same places we are.”

  I feel Lux tense next to me. “We have to hurry,” she says, her voice urgent. “We can’t let them find the dowry chest before we do.” Her hand touches mine in the dark.

  After a few minutes, the driver puts the truck in gear and pulls out of the farmyard, back down the driveway toward the road. Maybe whoever it was decided it was safer to look around in the daylight.

  “Do you think they saw the bi
kes?” Mercy asks.

  “No,” I reply. “The grass is too tall.”

  Lux looks over at me, her green eyes wary in the dark.

  “Still,” I say. “Let’s cut through the pasture. Let’s not take the road.”

  Mercy and Lux nod in unison.

  We climb down the ladder and grab the bikes, walking them across the Truett pasture that borders Emmeline Remington’s land. Everyone is quiet, disappointed that once again we’ve found nothing.

  When we get near Truett pond, I have an idea.

  I drop the bicycle and cut straight to the pond. Mercy lets out a small squeak of surprise when the bike falls next to her, but I leave them behind, running to the water. When I get to the dock, I shimmy out of my sweat pants and kick them away with one foot. My shirt goes next, and when I’m completely naked I take two bounding steps and leap into the darkness.

  I plunge down into the inky depths, letting the cold water take me far away from Cottonwood Hollow. Far away from the secrets we’re keeping from each other. I know I’m near the bottom of the pond, and I kick harder, even though my lungs are tight and burning, as if making it all the way down would somehow prove something. Maybe that I’m worthy of a better hand than the one I’ve been dealt. My lungs are aching, searing, near to bursting. I kick once more, reaching out, my fingertips grazing the pondweed growing in the bowels of the pool. Almost there.

  But no. I am not enough.

  I turn back and kick, letting the water slide around me until I see moonlight. When I break the surface, I gulp in air, let the songs of the cicadas fill my ears.

  “I was starting to think you weren’t coming back up,” Lux says from somewhere in the darkness. The heels of her shoes tap out a lonely beat on the dock as she approaches the end.

  “Does the fact that you’re still up there mean you’re going to chicken out?” I ask her, still gasping.

  “We’re not kids anymore,” Lux says darkly. “Maybe you two are, but I haven’t been for a long time.” I feel her pulling away from me, and it worries me.

  “Chicken,” I goad her, narrowing my eyes, knowing she can never resist a dare. I make a clucking sound.