thirty-six

It was late when we arrived at Pennsylvania Station, but it was packed with Friday-night travelers. As Mace made her way through the crowds, it made me think maybe that was the reason Trip picked her: She knew her way around. I mean, she was always going on and on about shows and shopping and museums. It couldn’t be because Trip trusted her more than anyone else.

Mace bought our tickets to South Carolina and stood under this giant board that was hanging from the middle of the ceiling. It looked like it had about a hundred different trains with a hundred different names and a hundred different tracks and times. Northeast Corridor. Washington Express. Trenton Local. Track 10. Track 4. Track 16. But Mace just planted her feet, raised her chin, and gave her hair a toss. She’d probably done this a hundred times.

“Track number, track number…” I heard her saying to herself. She looked back toward the information booth, then up at the giant board. Then down at the tickets. That’s when I noticed they were practically bent over double. And that her hands were shaking.

Then she saw me watching her and, just like that, her face snapped shut. “What? I’ve just never—I know my way around, okay? It’s just—I usually have my mom or someone with me—but I know what I’m doing.”

“Okay,” I said.

“And can you please stop staring like you’ve never been in a decent city before? Just follow me. You still have dirt on your face.”

She marched us into the ladies’ room like she was going to declare war on it. Every other sink that lined the walls was clogged or broken. There was a woman in the corner dressed in rags and tatters, dragging a big black garbage bag. I don’t know how she got it in there, because it was stuffed to the top with old clothes and newspapers and worn-out blankets that looked like Banky’s long-lost cousins from the bad part of town. The smell coming from her was worse than the dump a few miles from my old school where the rough kids would go to smoke and who knows what else.

We did our business as quickly as possible, and even though I washed my hands and face twice, I still felt dirty when we left.

Mace went back and checked the big schedule board about ten more times. The tickets were sweaty and crumpled. Finally, they called our train. The Southeastern Overnight Express. We would travel all night and arrive really, really early the next morning. From there we would take a cab to Verity.

“Just try not to be noticed,” Mace said under her breath. “Here, sit near that woman. The one with the good bag.”

I watched Mace trail behind a well-dressed woman with the kind of bag that had somebody else’s initials stamped all over it. We sat, clutching our backpacks to our laps. When the conductor came along, Mace suddenly started chatting into her cell in a loud voice. “Yes, Auntie—uh, we’re just a few rows behind you! Thanks for letting us sit by ourselves.”

The conductor didn’t really seem to care. He just punched our tickets and moved on.

Mace took a deep breath, then pulled some headphones from around her neck and put them on. Without a word she turned her head away from me and closed her eyes.

Earlier, when the Long Island train had pulled into Pennsylvania Station, it had gone through this long tunnel. It was pitch black and the minute we were in, this terrible pressure began pushing into my ears. Even though I pressed my hands against them, it kept building and building with this low dull roar, till, finally, it released. I tensed, waiting for the same thing to happen again, but this big Southeastern Overnighter meant business and just shot out like a cannonball into the wide-open night. I didn’t even get a chance to get used to the idea.

It wasn’t until the speakers announced the name of the train again and all the stops in order that I relaxed. We had done it. Well, as much as I hated to admit it: Mace had done it. I peeked at her next to me, curled up in a ball, fists tight as knots, and I couldn’t help it. I knew that tiny grudging nudge I felt inside me was gratitude.

I looked out the window and watched the night go flying by in all shapes and sizes, speckled with lights. It was late and I wondered if I would be able to sleep. How could I? Then I thought about how DiDi used to say to me, “Double G, you don’t go thinking about the milk and eggs when you’re still sifting the flour. Mama’s recipe says when you make pancakes, the wet and dry stuff doesn’t even get mixed together till the end, so why make yourself crazy? One thing at a time, baby girl. One thing at a time.”

DiDi. Mama.

I shut my eyes to the rushing night outside the train window. The thought of Delta Dawn Barnes living somewhere hundreds of miles away, ordering Mama’s lipstick, was something I could not even think about yet. I would take their advice and get through the train ride first. One thing at a time.

I guess I fell asleep, because the next thing I knew, the conductor was hollering for our stop and people were pulling their luggage down from the overhead racks.

Mace sat up, one headphone in and the other dangling out.

We grabbed our backpacks and worked our way off the train. The sun hadn’t come up yet. It wasn’t even close. It was cold and dark, and the stop was more spread out than I’d expected. Mace turned and waved at the conductor, who was still standing in the doorway.

“Thank you!” she yelled, pointing at her phone. “Our aunt said she’d be here in a minute!” The conductor nodded and waved back.

Our seats were at the far end of the train, and we had to walk down a ways to get to the station house. It was small and all the lights were off inside. There wasn’t a cab in sight. As far as I could see, the buildings around us were dark for blocks. It looked like we had stopped in the middle of a ghost town. I could feel myself starting to panic. I moved closer to Mace, pressing against her, trying to shrink us down to nothing.

We stood there, trying our best to look like nothing more than a couple of cousins, hanging around waiting for Aunt Whoever. The other passengers who got off at the same time seemed to know that this was the kind of station where you call ahead and have someone waiting for you.

Most of them were getting hugs from sleepy friends and family. Others were walking toward drivers holding up signs with their names. Mace and I looked at each other. If we didn’t figure out something really fast, we were going to be left there alone in that dark empty place.

“Okay, okay. Let’s just let me think.” She scanned the parking lot, then grabbed my arm. “Quick, the lady with the bag, now!” she whispered.

We walked over as fast as we could.

“Hi!” Mace called to the lady. “We came from New York, too! Your bag is so cool. My mom has the same one, but she says I have to wait till my Sweet Sixteen.” She was smiling and looking innocent as can be, even with that rock star haircut.

The woman was waiting while a driver put her luggage in the back of his car. “Why, thank you. I just got it. Are you girls okay? Do you have someone picking you up?”

“We’re fine,” answered Mace. “I mean, our aunt Joan is supposed to pick us up, but she just called to say she’s having car trouble and she’ll be a while. But it should be safe if we wait here for her. Don’t you think? It should only be… an hour… or more.…”

“An hour?” The woman looked around. “It’s going to be pretty scary here in about ten minutes. Can I drop you off? Where is your aunt’s?”

“Oh no,” said Mace. “We don’t want to trouble you. She’s… she’s staying at a hotel. One that’s really close by. We could probably walk there.” Mace turned to me. “What was the name of the hotel? It was really close—and nice. She said it was one of the really nice ones, right?”

I just stood there. She’d been telling me to hush up so much, I wasn’t sure if I was supposed to answer or not. I settled for kind of grunting at her and giving this weird-looking shrug. Mace rolled her eyes and turned back to the woman.

“Anyway, we don’t want to inconvenience you.… I just wish I could remember the name.…”

“Well, there’s the South Bridge Suites if she said really nice. Right in downtown.”

“Yes! South Bridge Suites! That’s it. Thank you.”

“Please let me drop you off,” said the woman. “It’s no trouble. I pass it on my way.”

Mace pretended to think about it. “Well, if you’re sure it’s no trouble…” I never thought of Mace as all that appealing, but I guess she could do that Perfect Girl thing just as well as Trip did Perfect Boy. Yesterday, that thought would have upset me. Right now, nothing made me happier.

“No trouble at all. It would be my pleasure.”

I sighed in relief as we climbed into the cab with her.

“So,” said the woman, glancing back and forth between us. “You’re, uh, cousins?”

Mace kept the conversation going for the next several minutes, while I just stared at my shoes. I was glad when the hotel came into view. It sure looked nice to me.

When we walked in, Mace went straight to the little desk with the clerk. I stayed quiet and listened to her fiddle up some tall tale. About how her mom was at our aunt’s and wanted us to go ahead and book the room and what a pretty blouse the clerk was wearing. Next thing I knew, Mace was handing her a credit card and the clerk was handing Mace a key.

“Oh, we also need to know how to get to this address.” Mace looked over at me. “What was Aunt Joan’s address again?”

“Aunt—Oh! Thirty-Nine Red Cedar Road in Verity,” I said.

The hotel clerk typed the address into her computer and said, “Red Cedar, Red Cedar… got it. Not a bad cab ride. It’s hard to see, though. There’s no sign or anything, just a small road that leads into the trailer park.”

“Trailer p—” Mace coughed and looked down at the floor. “Well, it’s not really our actual aunt. It’s just a friend that we have to call Aunt to be polite.”

I felt my face beginning to burn.

The hotel clerk handed her the map. “Well, here you go. Just call me if you want a cab.”

Mace thanked her. When we got up to the room, she dropped her backpack and threw herself on one of the beds. “Thank God. Thank God. Thank God,” she kept repeating. “Okay, we’re safe. No offense, but it actually isn’t as bad as I always thought the South would be.”

DiDi says anytime a person starts a sentence with No Offense, you can bet they plan on saying something offensive. It didn’t matter that Mace had gotten us here safe and sound. Nothing had changed. I was still just some hick she had to help out with her gold credit cards and fast thinking. I was tired and numb and just wanted to collapse. But I couldn’t stop the words running through my head.

Delta Dawn.

Cherries in the Snow.

39 Red Cedar Road.

Verity.

What If.