Page 22 of Everything We Give

“No.”

“But you always ask me what happened even when you say you don’t believe me.”

His mom yanked the graphic T from him and tossed it over the rack. “I said no.” She gripped his wrist. “We’re done here.”

Ian jerked his arm from his mom’s grasp. It was bad enough that she was upset with him in public, but he wouldn’t let her drag him from the store like a toddler throwing a temper tantrum. He followed her out the doors, sulking.

“I’ll be careful,” he insisted when they reached the car, not ready to give up. She might not realize it, but his mom needed him. Baseball season had his dad on the road with the Padres. His long absences made her irritable and anxious.

“You’ll do no such thing,” his mom said when Ian sank into the station wagon’s backseat.

“But I want to help.”

“Not in that way. No pictures, Ian. End of discussion.” She started the car. “Your dad’s due home in a few hours and I have to start dinner. I can’t be worrying about you galloping off and playing superhero.”

“I don’t gallop.” Ian pouted. He picked up his camera from the floor and clicked the lens cap on and off.Click-clack.

He wasn’t trying to play superhero either. But he did see Jackie as the villain.

“Stop that noise. It’s annoying.”

Ian scowled. He clicked the cap on and off again, faster.Click-clack. Click-clack.

His mom braked hard, coming to a full stop. Ian’s forehead slammed into the front passenger seat.

“Knock it off.”

Ian rubbed his head. His parents barely saw each other during baseball season. Dad had to wonder what his mom was up to when she shifted to Jackie. “I’m going to ask Dad. He might want to see the pictures.”

“I don’t give a shit what you ask him.”

The fine hairs on Ian’s neck lifted. His skin prickled as though ants were racing across his shoulders and down his arms.

His mom stomped on the accelerator. The car lurched forward rather than turning toward home. Ian watched the road they were supposed to go on disappear from view. He swung his head around and was about to tell his mom she forgot to turn. But it wasn’t his mom in the driver’s seat, not anymore. He could tell by her posture, the determined set of her jaw, and the way she gripped the steering wheel. It was all wrong.

Sweat dampened Ian’s palms. Suddenly, the idea of documenting Jackie seemed stupid.

“Where are we going?” he dared to ask.

Jackie didn’t answer. She popped open the glove compartment and funneled her hand through tire-pressure sticks, paper napkins, and old sunglasses until she found a hair band. Using her knee to steer, she tied her hair into a high ponytail and then rolled down the windows. Pungent air, sour with the odor of fertilizer, clung to the inside of the car like smoke from his mom’s burned dinners. It hovered below the ceiling, filling every corner.

“Mom?” Ian asked, not quite stomaching he should be calling her Jackie. Maybe if he kept sayingMomshe might shift back. “Mom? Mom ... Mom ...Mom!”

“Mom. Mom. Mom.Mommeeee!Stop calling me that. I’m not your mother. I’m Jackie. Say it.”

Ian held his mouth closed tight and shook his head.

“Say it,” she ordered.

He shook his head harder and Jackie slammed the brakes. His head rolled forward, straining his neck. “Ow.”

She gunned the engine and braked again.“Say it!”

Ian rubbed the back of his neck and scowled at her.

“I’ll keep doing this.”

His neck and forehead hurt. “Jackie,” he whispered.

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