We have a long drive ahead of us. It’s about seven hours between Houston and Fort Stockton, where we plan to stay for the night.
I tell myself it doesn’t matter at all if Ruth is nicer to strangers sometimes. I mean, she was helping a little girl, right? That’s a good thing.
Ruth looks very pale this morning. Paler than I’ve seen her in a while. I want to bring her soup and her old stuffed animal and the perfect songwriting gig, like Ruth sometimes talks about, all served with a magic kind of medicine that will make anything hurting feel better—one hundred okay—just like that.
Something Magic, like a Treasure Hunt? Maybe?
I really, really hope so.
Tomorrow when we get to Arizona it will be time for Something Magic. And as far as magic is concerned, it’s good timing. I could use the extra help.
On the original trip, our Something Magic day landed on our stop in Little Rock, Arkansas. It started out as an awful day for me, because I’d lost Murphy somewhere the night before. I’d torn apart our hotel room looking for him. I looked under all the blankets, under the beds, in every drawer, even in the shower, and nothing. Ruth told me that because Murphy’d happened to go missing on Something Magic day, it meant he was off doing something magical, and that change was magic, even if it seemed hard at first. She told me it was all going to be okay, but even that didn’t make me feel better.
We left the hotel for some brunch and a walk around. I was grumpy all through our meal, even though it was pancakes. We ended up at a bridge with tall metal spires and a metal grate along the side. As we walked across, the metal grate got more and more full of locks. Combination locks in all kinds of colors. Ruth told me they were wish locks, and that when you locked your wish in place, it would come true.
I guess my family is pretty amazing, because we went to a hardware store right away and bought one of those locks. They knew how much I needed that wish. Maybe I should have used my wish for something different, and maybe a ten-year-old is too old to be wishing for her stuffed killer whale to come back, but in that moment none of that mattered. I just wanted Murphy.
So I locked my wish in place, and took a picture of it for our Treasure Hunt, just in case. And guess what was waiting for me back at the hotel, resting neatly atop the newly made beds, like he’d never gone anywhere at all?
Something Magic.
There are no lock bridges in Tucson, Arizona, the city we’ll be reaching tomorrow. (Plus, when I was researching, I found out putting locks on bridges can actually be pretty damaging.) But when I googled Tucson, I found something just as cool. A bridge, a highway overpass, covered in metal mesh in the shape of a gigantic rattlesnake, complete with a pointed, rattle-y tail on one end and gleaming red eyes on the other.
Definitely a bridge magical enough for a replica picture.
We say a long goodbye to Darcy before loading into the RV. She and Ellie have made us all sandwiches with turkey slices and avocado and Dijon mustard and honey-oat bread that totally look gourmet, even though I’m not usually a sandwich person.
I give Darcy a hug. “Hey, thanks for everything,” I say. “I think your dad would say your superpower is making people feel relaxed. Easy with themselves. I wish I could do that.”
“Ha, that does sound like my dad,” she says. “But hey, no fair if you took my power. Stick with your own, girl.” She winks.
I try to remember what Eddie said mine was. Something about finding neat, pretty things to make people happy or excited. Ruth is in the doorway, tying her shoe. I just wish my power was to have whatever power people needed, to do exactly what they needed, exactly when they needed it, and I wonder if anyone has that power. It’s almost a game, trying to think of powers in this way, instead of as specific things like flying or talking to animals or breathing underwater.
What would Ruth’s power be?
“Have a fun rest of the trip,” Darcy says, her arm still around me. “I’ll be following your pictures. You’re basically my family’s official favorite photographer.”
“Ha, thanks.”
I head into the RV, and Darcy begins her goodbye to Ruth. I watch from the window, wondering what they’re saying. Maybe it’s not possible to have the power to be everything for everyone every time. Maybe Darcy’s right, and that wouldn’t be fair. Or would it mean everyone was identical, with the same power? Would that be better or worse than one person’s power not being enough?
Ellie is the last one to climb back aboard the RV. She gives Darcy a long hug first, delaying as long as possible the final drive away. When we’ve all finally said goodbye, we wave to Darcy through the window as we pull away. When we’re officially on the road, I settle into my loft.
On our last trip, Ruth didn’t really have a plan for our Something Magic days, because she said that’s sort of the point; you can’t plan for the magic. We found the New sign and the old dinosaur bones because we were looking for something specific, but Ruth said Magic is different. Magic you have to let happen, and capture it when it does.
Normally I’d agree with her, but since this trip is about repeating the pictures from before as much as possible, I do have a plan, even for Something Magic. An epic diamondback-rattlesnake bridge plan. And this time, I hope my plan actually works.
I go between checking my phone and watching the Texas sky swim past. The clouds seem like they’re glittering, and I’m getting some really nice comments on my pictures. I think my pictures are even getting better. Good signs for Something Magic, I hope.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see Ruth sigh and turn up the volume on her iPod. She’s wearing pajama pants and she looks like she might throw up. I’m still wondering if she’s virus-type sick or if it’s something else. If this is a wrong-dosage kind of nausea. The medication she’s on has worked for a long time, but from the beginning Mom said things can change, and we’d take it one step at a time.
Ellie gets up from her seat and chooses a bag of chips and a Gatorade. Ruth’s earbuds are in, and Ellie doesn’t say anything to her, just opens the chip bag and sets it and the Gatorade at her side before sitting on the couch across from her. We both watch Ruth mindlessly reach her fingers into the bag and nibble on a chip or two. Again, just a few bites and sips of drink seem to help.
With all the Darcy activity going on, I had wondered if Ellie and Eddie were noticing any bad signs too. I’m glad I wasn’t the only one. I’m glad they are here.
Ellie stands up to go back to the passenger seat and sees me watching. “Want some snacks?” she says, holding up her own open chip bag.
“I’m okay,” I say.
Once Ellie’s back in her seat, I lean over the ledge of my loft. Ellie looks up at me, smiling.
“Hey, I’m texting updates to your parents,” she says, her thumbs hovering over her phone. I catch her glance over her shoulder at Ruth before looking back up at me. “Anything you want me to tell them?”
“Oh, just that I’m really glad you guys are letting me ride on the roof of the RV and I only fell off once.”
Eddie and Ellie both laugh.
“Won’t they be glad they sent you with us,” Ellie says.
Ruth adjusts her earbuds. I try to remember some of the things Darcy said that made her smile.
“Ruth?” I say.
She clicks something on her iPod and raises an eyebrow in my direction.
“When we get home, what if you dyed my hair? Not like yours, but, like, purple maybe. Just the tips.”
She takes the pen cap from between her teeth. “Mom would ground you and murder me,” she says.
Why is it so easy for me to make other people laugh, but not her? Why is it so much easier for her to use her gentlest, most supportive words on strangers rather than on me? My hands ball into fists before I realize it. Ruth is back into her music. I just want her to listen. To hear all the things I’m trying to say. For one terrible moment I see myself ripping the iPod out of her hands and throwing it so hard at the window the glass shatters. The image scares me like a daytime nightmare. I think about pouring cool water on the steam inside me. I try, try, try to envision it evaporating away.
Texas is rockier than I expected. There are white chalky hills, jagged like cliffs, barricading our right side. We stop in a tiny town to fill up the RV with gas.
“Last stop for a while,” says Eddie. “There’s not much between here and Fort Stockton, so if you need something, get it now.” We all head into the gas station.
There are two hawks circling above our heads. I come out of the gas station with a blueberry muffin and chocolate milk and watch them. Birds usually fly away too fast for you to really see them, but these two stay right above us, hanging on the wind. They make me think of fire dancers, with the sun and us as the center of their circle.
Ruth is the first one back in the RV. I’m not sure if she’s eaten anything but a couple chips from the bag Ellie handed her earlier, and she didn’t get any food in the gas station. Her skin looks gray. While she climbs back into the RV, I stay outside to wait for Ellie or Eddie. I need to talk to one of them about this. To see if they’re seeing what I’m seeing, or if things are okay and I’m overreacting. I wait and look at the sky and watch the two birds circle each other.
Ruth has gotten sick like this before, but the problem is that I don’t know what it means. I don’t know if it’s a twenty-four-hour kind of sick or a back-to-before-the-medicine-started-working sick. She might just have some tummy bug. She might just need to sleep. But it might be much worse. She might be in the deepest, blackest kind of Pit. The kind that feels like a trap, like you’re never going to be free of the dark again.
All I want is for her to be okay.
Ellie and Eddie come out together, holding hands and laughing. They look up to see what I’m watching.
“Those are some beautiful birds,” says Eddie.
“Yeah,” I say. “Hey, uh, can I talk to…”
“Ellie?”
We all turn together. A tall woman with dark but graying hair, tan skin, and gold hoop earrings stares at us. I don’t think I’ve ever seen almost-gray hair look so beautiful before. She’s standing next to a small green car with the gas nozzle in her hand. I’m glad she hasn’t started filling up yet because from the look on her face she wouldn’t have noticed if the nozzle started spurting out fire, let alone gasoline.
Ellie’s usually vibrant face goes white, her mouth open like she’s been punched in the gut. The look is so unusual for her, so unlike her happy exuberance, that I would be frightened except for the look on her husband’s face—worried, but unafraid and full of tenderness. He puts an arm around her shoulders and strokes her arm.
I look down. I feel awkward, like I’ve walked in on someone naked. I don’t want to be here, but I don’t want to draw attention to myself by bolting to the RV either. I stand very still.
“Sofia Hernandez,” Ellie says.
We all stand for a moment, staring silently, a triangle of pulling and pushing forces, like magnets. I look back and forth between this Ms. Hernandez and Ellie. The bell over the door dings. Still nobody moves. I catch a whiff of cigarette smoke.
Ms. Hernandez takes a step forward. Eddie puts a hand on his wife’s back and sort of tilts her forward, and then the ice shatters and the two women fling their arms around each other, talking over each other, looking at each other, grinning, explaining, holding each other by the shoulders. The color in Ellie’s cheeks is back.
“How … I can’t believe this … how have you been?” asks Ellie. “What are you doing in the middle of Texas?”
“So, so good,” says Ms. Hernandez. “I’m still working at the clinic, of course. I’m just on my way home from a conference in San Antonio. And you? How have you been? My, my, it’s been so long. I haven’t seen you since you were how old?”
“I wasn’t quite eighteen the last time we saw each other. I can’t believe you recognized me.”
“Of course I recognized you.”
“I’m Ellie Longmire now,” she says. She turns and stretches an arm out toward Eddie, who comes to her. He puts an arm around her waist. “This is my husband, Eddie.”
Ms. Hernandez shakes his hand. “So, so good to meet you.”
“Likewise,” Eddie says. “I’ve heard amazing things.”
“It is so, so nice to see a happy story for one of my girls.” Ms. Hernandez claps her fingers together like a prayer.
Ellie leans her head into her husband’s shoulder, beaming. A big rig honks at us to get out of the way and we move over to the sidewalk. I move over with them and Ellie sees me.
“Oh!” she says. “And this is Olivia, basically our niece. We’re driving to San Diego. There’s Ruth too, in the RV.”
“Wonderful!” says Ms. Hernandez.
“Olivia, this is Sofia Hernandez. She … she’s a therapist. Mine when I was a teen. For a few years, actually.”
“Dr. Hernandez?” I say, holding out my hand.
“I guess so.” She smiles at me and shakes my hand hard. “Lovely to meet you, Olivia.”
Ellie looks at her watch, then at her husband, then at Dr. Hernandez. “It’s only about four thirty, but do you … I think we have time for an early dinner. Would you want to grab some food and catch up for a bit?”
“That would be great!” says Dr. Hernandez. “I’ve got a few hours.”
Eddie steps quickly up into the RV to tell Ruth, and Ellie and Dr. Hernandez keep chatting like best friends. Once I’m alone with Ellie I’ll talk to her about Ruth, about what I’m noticing. Eddie steps back out of the RV again and puts a hand on his wife’s shoulder. “Ruth’s going to stay and nap,” he says. “Not feeling too well.”
Ellie’s brow wrinkles. “One minute, let me talk to her.”
She dashes up into the RV.
“It really is great to finally meet you,” Eddie says.
“Glad Ellie found you,” says Dr. Hernandez. “She’s something special.”
“She really is,” Eddie says.
I watch the RV and wonder what Ellie is saying, and what Ruth is saying. When Ellie steps back outside, her forehead’s still wrinkled with concern.
“She’s … she’s pretty set on staying,” Ellie says. She points to a barbecue place just a little way down the street. “I told her we’d just go to that restaurant right there, and to text us if she needs anything. Does that sound okay?”
“Good plan,” Eddie says. “And we’ll bring back some food.”
Ellie smiles softly at Dr. Hernandez. “I’d have loved for you to meet Ruth and talk to her. She’s such a remarkable girl. I think you’d really like her.”
“Ah,” says Dr. Hernandez. “Another time, maybe.”
“Maybe you can give me some advice,” Ellie says.
In my head I vividly picture the easy afternoon this could be, Ruth smiling as she steps out of the RV to join us, all of us chatting and getting to know Ellie’s friend, worry-free as we joke and lick barbecue sauce from our fingers. The picture is so clear in my mind that it seems unfair and unjust that the image can’t develop into reality like film in a darkroom.
Eddie puts an arm around me. “At least you’ll get to know one of the remarkables,” he says.
“A true pleasure,” says Dr. Hernandez.
Dr. Hernandez goes to move her car, and Ellie leans in toward Eddie.
“I’ll keep talking to her,” Ellie says, looking back toward the RV. “And I’ve been texting her mom too. If it goes any more downhill, I think we should stop at a doctor’s office somewhere.”
Eddie nods.
For a moment I wonder about asking the doctor we have right here already, but I guess it doesn’t really work like that. Plus I’m still not sure if what Ruth needs right now is a Dr. Hernandez kind of doctor or something else. It’s good to remind myself that Ellie and Eddie are here too, and can handle and take care of things. That it’s not all on me.
And hey, Ellie running into someone so impor-tant from her past is pretty magical if you ask me. Maybe that’s a good sign of what’s to come.
We walk to the barbecue place a little ways from the gas station. It’s so hot outside that by the time we make it to the restaurant, I feel sweat dripping down the front of my chest and pooling behind my knees. The heat is almost a tangible thing, its own entity. The road waves and ripples like the whites of a frying egg. All of us are sweaty and red-faced when we open the restaurant door, but thankfully we’re greeted by a wash of chilled air. I can breathe again.
That’s summer in Texas, I guess.
“I doubt the chefs here even need an oven,” I say. “They can just step outside.”
Everybody laughs. “You’re a funny one,” Dr. Hernandez says.
“Oh, believe me,” Eddie says. “She keeps us all smiling.”
It’s amazing how much lighter those words make me feel and how quickly it lifts me up, making people laugh. So easy and natural for me to fall into normal cheery-Olivia mode. I think about Ruth not wanting to come with us to this restaurant and wish Eddie’s words were true every time.
Most of the tables are empty, and there’s one old man in a cowboy hat at the bar. A girl about Ruth’s age, with earrings all up one ear, leads us to a booth at the front window. I watch cars driving by, people jogging and walking dogs, though I don’t know how they’re managing that in this heat, and listen to Ellie and Dr. Hernandez talk.
So Dr. Hernandez was Ellie’s therapist when she was young. That means Ellie went to the same kind of doctor as Ruth. I know it’s different for everybody, but I wonder if maybe that’s why Ellie’s good at talking to Ruth, reaching her without agitating her or being grating.
Our food is served and we dig in. It’s nice to have a cool drink. Maybe I don’t know exactly what happened with them in the past, but I do know that Dr. Hernandez has the tiniest hint of an accent and is fun to listen to. Her eyes get wide when she speaks and her eyebrows raise like she’s telling a vitally important story, even if it’s only about the time she got asked out by her AAA mechanic.
Ellie turns to Eddie. “Will you text Ruth and make sure she’s okay?”
“Already did,” Eddie says, holding his phone out. “She says she’s fine, just resting.”
I’ve already texted Ruth too. Texted her a picture of the dancing cartoon hamburger on the menu. She didn’t respond to my text.
“How…” Ellie starts. “How do you deal with it every day? That’s got to be impossibly hard.”
There’s a sudden tension in the air between us, like guitar strings pulled tight. We’re all still, even Dr. Hernandez. Only Eddie seems to know what to do, and he slides in close to his wife and puts an arm around her waist.
“Yes,” Dr. Hernandez says. “It is hard, especially when things don’t end as well as this.”
The guitar strings between us vibrate, like they’re playing a song. Ellie nods several times, her lips pressed tight. Her eyes glisten. Eddie strokes her hair.
“I remember one time,” Ellie says, “you told me nobody else could control or be in charge of my happiness or unhappiness. Whether they were right or wrong, fair or unfair. I still have something like that written up on a card on our bathroom mirror.”
“She does,” Eddie says.
I don’t really hear what they say next because those words spin around my mind like a hamster running on a wheel. Nobody can be in charge of someone else’s happiness. But what does that really mean? If that was true, was it pointless to try to help? What did that mean about hunting for treasure? And Ellie had just said that it was Dr. Hernandez who’d helped her, hadn’t she? So was that Dr. Hernandez charging up Ellie’s happiness or not?
Dr. Hernandez reaches across the table and puts a hand on Ellie’s wrist. “It’s good to see you again, Ellie.”