They road-trip. The three of them. Under two hours on the interstate, but she says, “Who’s in a rush?” and Taz turns up the Blackfoot, straight past the turn for the North Fork, their secret swimming spot, which he says not one word about. They cut through the mountains, up over Flesher, then down Canyon Creek, the longest way there is, the water low and slow, neither of them in any hurry. She works her phone, guiding them to three addresses in a row. They look from the street. Don’t bother getting out of the car. Leave the owners waiting.
“Cutting it kind of close,” he says. “Waiting until the last week.”
“You wanted to do it earlier?”
He shakes his head. “Didn’t even want to think about it.”
She reaches over the car seat and touches his arm. Gives him this little pat. “She’s going to be okay. She’ll like Alisha.”
The last apartment looks possible. She texts the owner, who is in his car, across the street. His first words, when they get out of the car, are, “No kids.”
Taz wonders if it’s even legal.
“It’s only me,” Elmo says. “They’re just my ride.”
Taz walks up the stairs behind her, carries Midge through the apartment with her. This old fourplex. The price more enticing than the rooms, the half-scabby furniture. “Like I give a rip?” she says. “I’ll be gone before I’m out of the boxes.”
Taz lets Midge down. Lets her walk through clinging to Elmo’s finger. She signs a yearlong lease. Back in the truck, she says, “Let him try and find me.”
“Rent and mortgage?”
“Nobody promised easy.”
Taz guesses not.
They take Midge to a park, a swimming pool beside it. They sit on the grass. Elmo watches Midge tilt toward the sound of the water, says, “You ever going to show me her Aqua Girl skills?”
“No suits,” he says.
She lifts an eyebrow. “No suits, huh?”
“I mean, we didn’t bring any. It’s kind of frowned on, in the city.”
“Helena. So boring.” She opens the cooler, peers in. “Chicken,” she says, “or ham?”
It was her deal. If he drove, she’d do lunch. Rules.