We talked it all out ahead of time. With the double shifts and no bus service, I have to be the one to pick her up. It’s no big deal, only a few miles down the road. I’ve been driving since I was ten. I just have to be careful not to get spotted. Though I’ve never driven in snow. My insides curl up like dead leaves on a tree, but we leave for LA in six hours. Mom’s counting on me.
Once the windshield’s mostly clear, I get back in, adjust the seat, and check my mirrors, just like Mom taught me. It’s a pretty straightforward drive to the diner. Just head out of the campsite and make a right on Grove Street and follow it all the way there. But the snow’s so new and it’s so late that when I pull out onto the road, I can’t even see the double yellow lines.
My hands are shaking. I’m going maybe ten miles an hour. I’m afraid to go faster. I turn on the radio to help me concentrate. It’s an Ed Sheeran song, “Castle on the Hill,” an old favorite, and it’s about driving, so it feels appropriate. Come on, Ed, sing me there safely.
It feels like I’ve been driving forever. My knuckles are white on the wheel, and my whole body’s starting to ache from the tension. This isn’t like driving on back roads on a summer day. There’s a delay between when I move the wheel and when the truck follows, like I’m steering a boat. But I’m so close I can see the halo of the streetlight above the diner. It’s the finish line. I let out the breath I’ve been holding and hit the gas just a little harder. I don’t see it until it’s too late. It’s a shadow in the dark, and then it’s antlers and hooves, a deer ambling across the road—
I slam on the brakes and pull hard on the steering wheel.
The world goes spinning.
My head bangs against the window.
I cry out and cover my face from whatever comes next.
* * *
I can hear the engine ticking like a bomb. I look up, but everything’s fuzzy and backward. I’m facing the wrong direction. I’ve spun off the street into the opposite ditch. I try the engine. It whirs but won’t start. In the glare of the headlights, I can see the wobbly S my tires traced across the road. I can’t find the deer. Maybe it made it? I hope so. Man, my head hurts. The radio’s still playing.
What time is it? I’ve got to get to Mom. My head feels like a book someone’s wedged too tight on the shelf. I can’t get my seat belt off. My hands are shaking too badly. After a thousand years, or maybe a few seconds, I find the buckle and click it. That’s when I see the blue lights flashing in the rearview mirror.
I wait.
And watch the cop grow larger in the mirror.
“Ma’am,” he says, and raps the window with his knuckles. I jump. It’s too loud in my ear, which is resting against the glass. The beam from his flashlight is too bright. There are two halos dancing instead of one. That can’t be normal. He opens the door and I fall out. I’d forgotten about the seat belt.
“Ma’am?” he says again, this time like he’s not sure, because now he sees I’m just a kid. “I’m Officer Ramos, and I’m here to help you. Can you tell me your name? How old you are? Where are your parents?” It’s too many questions, and he’s bent over me like a monster in a nightmare. Any second he’s going to get too close. I can’t make my mouth work. And then I hear her.
“Louise! Louise!”
I squint into the darkness and see Mom running toward me in her waitress uniform. Her hair’s falling out of her ponytail. I cry out in relief.
“Mom. Your c-c-c-coat?” I’m shaking too hard to get it to come out right. The officer tries to give me his jacket, but I back up against the open door of the truck. He doesn’t understand. She’s the one that needs a coat. Not me. My head is pounding. Please don’t let him touch me. He puts a hand out to stop Mom from getting any closer when she reaches us, and then he picks up a walkie-talkie attached to his shoulder. “Dispatch, I need an ambulance to the corner of Grove and Vista Place.” He pauses and looks from me to Mom. “And call CPS. We need someone to meet us at the hospital.”
“What’s going on?” Mom is literally jumping in place. I want to tell her it’s okay. I’m okay. We can still make it out in time. Why won’t my mouth work?
“Ma’am, is this your daughter?”
“What? Yes. Yes, she’s mine.” She darts around him to get closer to me and puts a hand on my face. It’s warm and I lean into it.
“I’m going to have to ask you to step away.” Officer Ramos takes Mom by the shoulder, and she spins to face him like a cat, stiff and mean. Her hand is gone from my face too fast. I miss it.
“Don’t you tell me to step away from my daughter. This is my baby girl.”
I want to tell her to calm down. Not to make it worse. But there’s a pulsing in my head that’s thumping harder and harder. It’s started to snow again.
“Ma’am, an ambulance is on the way. Your daughter’s been in an accident. We all need to work together now to make sure she’s okay.” I can’t see his face, but I get his tone. It’s flat. He’s already decided what kind of mother she is. I struggle to sit up. I hear sirens.
“It’s not her fault,” I say, but it’s more a croak than actual words and not loud enough. “I was coming to pick her up.”
He looks at me, eyebrows raised. “You were coming to pick her up?” Emphasis on “you.”
“Honey, don’t say anything else.” Mom moves so she’s between me and Officer Ramos. “We’ll work this out.”
“I need you to come with me, ma’am. We’ll all be going down to the hospital together.” He puts his hand out, offering to help her navigate the slippery snow. But she walks straight into it and glares at his fingers on her arm.
“Do not touch me.” She’s itching for a fight.
“Ma’am, you are clearly agitated.” Now he moves so he’s between the two of us. I can’t even see her over his shoulder. No! “We’re going to take care of your daughter, but you’re going to have to calm down.”
“Like hell I will.” She’s up in his face now, pushing at his chest and hitting at his shoulders.
“Mom, no! No!” I grab the truck door and pull up to stand.
The world sways. A spinning top. And me on top of it. I stumble forward and fall to my knees. And then there are hands on me that are not my mother’s. I scream. The sirens scream. Everything flashes red, white, red, white. And then it fades to black.
3 Law and Order
Can you tell me your name?” A woman leans over me with a penlight. It’s too bright, like staring into the sun. I don’t usually mind lights. But this is sudden and terrible. I flinch and turn my head, which makes the room spin. Her sleeve brushes up against my arm. I want her to go away.
“Louise Montgomery.”
She shifts the light to the other eye and the world goes white. I blink and see spots. She’s still too close. I feel trapped—pinned down like a bug.
“How old are you, Louise?”
“Twelve. I’m twelve. C-can you move your arm?”