When Margaret awoke, she did not recognize the landscape, the car she was travelling in or, for a moment, her daughter. She remained silent but unfastened her seat belt and turned sideways in the passenger seat. The sound of the windshield wipers filled the car. After looking at her watch and establishing that a little less than thirteen hours had passed since she’d been sitting at her kitchen table drinking stryim, Margaret stared at her daughter.
Aberystwyth kept her eyes focused on the wet road. She had been strong enough to steal the white Honda Civic, drive it across the country and drug and kidnap her mother. But one thing she couldn’t bring herself to do was tie Margaret up. Whether this was from weakness or compassion, Aby still didn’t know.
Aby struggled to keep from showing her panic. She’d thought the drug would keep Margaret asleep for much longer, another fourteen or fifteen hours at least. This would have allowed Aby to get past Toronto, which she’d hoped would be far enough to convince Margaret to continue on to the ocean. As it was, Aby had barely passed the Ontario–Manitoba border. Not knowing what to do next, Aby stared straight ahead. Her gills flicked open and closed. She knew that her mother might attack her at any moment.
Margaret continued staring. They travelled another twenty-seven kilometres in silence. Then Margaret folded her hands in her lap and smiled. Her smile was broad. “Did you think about gas?” she asked.
“What?”
“Did you think it through?”
“Don’t underestimate me, Mother.”
“But did you think about the gas? Your car—”
“It’s not my car.”
“Cars need gasoline to operate.”
“You think I don’t know that?”
“Well, how much do you have?”
“The tank is almost full.”
“Is? Or was?”
“Was.”
“How long ago was that?”
“About three hours.”
“And how long can you go on a full tank?”
“I’ve done the math.”
“How long?”
“Six and a half hours.”
Margaret turned in her seat, away from her daughter, her eyes focusing on the drops of rain hitting her window rather than on the scenery. “When your car—”
“It’s not my car.”
“When this car runs out of gas,” Margaret continued, turning again to stare at her daughter, “I will get out and make my way back to my hotel. If you try to stop me, I will punch and kick and bite and scratch. If you continue to try, I will explain to those around me that this strange, green-skinned woman has kidnapped me.”
“You’re green too.”
“Not like you. I’ve been out of the water so long that my green has faded to almost nothing. I bet you still scare people.”
Aby looked in the rear-view mirror.
“I’ll tell them you drugged me and took me from my home. You will be prosecuted by their law and confined to a very small box, where you will spend the rest of your life unwatered. You will die, on land, with air in your lungs. Do you understand this?”
“Yes.”
“Do you know that I will do this?”
“I do.”
“Will you turn around now?”
“No.”
“I didn’t think so,” Margaret said.
The rain continued to fall. The windshield wipers seemed loud. Aby’s grip on the steering wheel was very tight. She had discovered one thing she did not like to do in water, and that was drive in it. The rain seemed to be falling more heavily with every kilometre. Aby had to pay close attention to the road, although she continued to steal glances at her mother.
Margaret leaned forward and extended her index finger to the windshield. Starting in the upper right corner, Margaret traced the crack. When she reached its origin in the centre, she turned towards her daughter, but kept her left fingertip pressed against the glass.
“This is the part of you I’ve always liked best. I like you bold. I like your stubbornness. You certainly didn’t get it from Pabbi,” Margaret said. Looking down, she noticed for the first time that there were several bottles of water at her feet. Aby had put them there for her, knowing her mother would be thirsty when she woke up. Opening one of the bottles with her teeth, Margaret pulled three-quarters of its contents into her lungs. Tilting her head back, she pushed the water out of her mouth and through her gills. Making a fountain of herself, Margaret let the water land on her face and eyes and spill down the back of her neck.
“This is what we’ll do,” Margaret said. “You may keep travelling east. From now until your car runs out of gas, I will listen and you will try to persuade me. You can use any argument you want. I will keep an open mind. Should you succeed, I will willingly return to the water.”
Aby turned and studied her mother’s face. Her mother was not lying. The deal Margaret was offering was much more than Aby could have hoped for. She knew that her mother, working within the limits of her personality, was being more than reasonable. Aby looked at the fuel gauge; the needle was just below the halfway point.