Page 34 of The Someday Daughter
It’s stupid—nonsensical and illogical and as unscientific as something can get. This entire place is built on feelings, no hard facts to it at all.
But still, I find myself hoping that they get the message. Whoever it is Silas is reaching out for.
Ethan calls me at nearly ten o’clock, when we’re driving through the endless flatlands of southern Illinois. I’ve just finished my turn at the wheel and am hidden in the dark in the third row of seats, Silas driving with one hand pushed through his hair to prop his head against the windowsill. Cleo is curled in the passenger seat with Puddles in her lap, both of them snoring softly.
“Hey,” I whisper, my voice as quiet as I can get it. But even still, even over the music wafting from the van’s speakers, Silas looks up to catch my eye in the rearview. I look away first.
“Hey,” Ethan says. He sounds wide awake, as ready to jump into the lecture notes as he always is. “You make it to Chicago?”
“Ah, not yet,” I say, playing with the frayed hem of my shorts. “Our flight got pushed to tomorrow, so we’re actually road-tripping up there so I can make it to this physical therapy meeting by morning.”
“Road-tripping?” Ethan says. “Your mom?”
I breathe a laugh, leaning my head back against the seat. “Of course not. She’s flying out tomorrow.”
“So you’re with Dr. Stone?”
“Dr. Stone,” I repeat, feeling nervous for no reason. These are just the facts, just the people I’m spending my summer with. “And the interns.”
“Sorry, who?” Ethan’s voice goes crackly, and I sit up straighter.
“The interns?” I say, keeping my voice even. “Mick, and Cleo, and—”
“Audrey?” Static fuzz, and then nothing. I look down at my phone,call failed, zero bars in its upper right corner. I draw a steady breath, and Sadie’s voice reaches toward me through the dark car.
“Everything all right?”
“Yeah,” I say, dropping the useless phone into my bag. “No service out here.”
In the shadows past Sadie and Mick, Puddles jumps down from Cleo’s lap and makes her way toward me, picking through the backpacks and empty fast food bags on the floor. I’m staring at her, unsure what to do, when she leaps onto the back row of seats beside me. My legs are tucked underneath me, ankles splayed out to one side, and she curls into me before dropping onto her belly and resting her fuzzy chin on my foot.
We look at each other—her big, dark eyes pooling up the night and reflecting it back at me. When I glance toward the front of the van, Silas is watching us in the rearview, a small smile on his face.He looks back at the road, and I look back at Puddles, and her eyes fall shut. A hot little breath puffs from her nose onto my ankle.
What the hell, I think. She’s already sleeping. So I let her stay there, chin to foot, as my own eyes fall shut. And I sleep—the van lulling us through the quiet midwestern dark—the rest of the way to Chicago.
24
CHICAGO
Mom picks me up from Dr. Bautista’s office in a town car, rolling up next to Sadie and me on the curb and lowering a tinted back window.
“Audrey, honey,” she calls from inside. “Can you hop in? We’re due in Winnetka in fifteen minutes. We’ll be late as it is.”
When I open the door she dips her chin, looking out at Sadie on the sidewalk. “Do you need a ride, Sadie? I can have Mags call you a car, she just got to the hotel.”
“I’ll take the L,” Sadie says. I imagine the two of them without me, talking about my work this summer. They meet eyes through the lowered window, and when they smile at each other I wonder what else they’ve talked about when I’m not around. “Thanks, though.”
“Well,” Camilla says when I slide into the car. “How was the drive yesterday?”
I think of Cleo flitting through those rows of mailboxes in Arkansas, Mick passing around cartons of french fries at a rest stop in Missouri. Puddles asleep on my foot, and Silas watching us in the dark. “Long,” I say finally.
“Do I look all right?”
I turn to her, watch as she runs a hand through her glossy hair. She’s in white jeans and a pale-blue knit tank top—mascara and pink lip balm. She always looks perfect.
“Of course,” I say, and she touches my knee.
“Came straight from the plane.” She reaches into her purse as we wind up Lake Shore Drive. “Had to change in one of those hideous airport bathrooms. Here.” I take the paper she’s holding out to me, a list of discussion questions undoubtedly typed up by Mags and printed at the hotel before they left Austin. “The book club guide. I’m not expecting us to go through all of these—I know Preeti and she’s not quite so formal as all that. But helpful to look over, nonetheless.”
