Going on like normal is hard when you know secrets. So we make some rules.
Unfortunately, the rules don’t seem to work.
Dad waves at Héctor and X on the way to town on Saturday. They turn their backs on us.
“What’s up with them?” Dad asks, frowning. “That’s not like them.”
Mumbling “Dunno,” I stare out the window.
Glinda becomes a campground gymnast when we pass her, jumping around like a squirrel that’s forgotten where it hid its acorns. Bobby Ray tries to hide behind a yucca plant—a spiky yucca plant. We hear him yelling “Ouch-ouch-ouch!” all the way out of the Mesquite.
So much for acting normal, I think.
“We’ll call your mom first,” Dad says.
“Who?”
“Your mom.” He glances at me. “This is the day we’re supposed to call her.”
“Oh, yeah. I forgot.”
“You forgot?” He looks at me like an alien has crawled inside my skin.
“Yeah, everything’s good, Mom. I’m, uh, I’m keeping real busy. You know, being a junior guide and learning how to cook on a campfire.” I hear a pause on the line.
“You are being careful, aren’t you, Cassie? Campfires can get out of control. And there are snakes there. Dangerous animals, too.”
“I’m being real careful.”
“That’s a relief.” She sighs loudly. “Now, I’m afraid I’m still working on your coming to Europe, but I should know something in another week or so.”
Perfect. Time for us to fix Héctor’s problem.
I look at Dad. “Can we call again in a week or two? She’s working on some things.”
“Maybe she can leave me a message, let us know when it’s a good time.”
I pass the message on to Mom.
“Yes, that makes sense. Well then, must go. I’m flying to Hamburg tonight. Love you, Cassie.”
“Me, too, Mom.”
Dad stares at the road on the drive to town. Lips zipped shut.
“She, uh, she doesn’t know anything yet,” I volunteer.
“These things take time,” he says. “You make a grocery list?”
“Not yet.” I pull index cards from my pack. “Pearl copied off more recipes for me to try. Foil Fries. Pizza Crisp. Brown Bears.”
“What’s a Brown Bear?” he asks.
I study the recipe card. “They’re made with cinnamon, sugar, melted butter and canned biscuits.”
“Sounds like sticky buns,” he says. “And here I was hoping I’d be cutting into a big bear steak tonight.”
“I’ll write up a grocery list.”
“Put an extra quart of milk on it,” he says, grinning. “Tomato soup would taste a little better if you’d thin it with milk instead of water.”
I make a face at him.
“Want to call your friends later?” he says.
I stare at the road for a minute, then say, “Nah, that’s okay.”