Hate You Not

In the bright light of the gas station, I check the latch on my tool box, where all their luggage is. Then I shut the little gas tank door, climb quietly back into the truck, and straighten the slouched unicorn that’s riding in the passenger’s seat beside me. I think of snuggling him up beside Margot but figure that might wake her.

Maybe they should be processing, but they’re so tired. It’s near ten o’clock here, which is eight their native San Francisco time. Saying bye to their house…driving by their school again, and then the stables where their horses board—it was a long morning, and that was before we caught our plane.

I hang a left at the last light in Albany and watch the city’s lights fade in my rear view. Maybe I can take them back up this way sometime soon, just so they can spend an hour in a city.

We start on a winding highway down toward Heat Springs, tall pines lording over the two-lane road. I feel a little like a kidnapper as pink clouds drift over the moon. Fields punch their way between tufts of forest, stretching on in fanning rows of cotton, peanuts, and corn. I swerve a little bit to keep from hitting a raccoon.

We pass the McKesson’s vast farm, then the old, abandoned highway patrol post, overrun with kudzu. The speed limit drops. The forest thickens, and the moon peeks out. My thoughts wander—way down into high school, past my best friend Leah and I, to when Oliver was born. Sutton brought him home, and we fussed over who would hold him first. I think of Sutton herself, platinum blonde in her Heat Springs High cheer uniform, always so long-legged and muscular and pretty, like Athletic Barbie. It never even dawned on me that she—or anybody from my family—might move far away. I think of Mama getting sick right after Sutton moved off. Those care packages Sutt used to send, with all the Lush bath bombs and fancy facemasks and these trinkets she had found in San Francisco. Life is a strange thing. So taken for granted. Sometimes it feels like nothing ever happens, that every day is the same…and then everything you know is just gone.

There’s a hard knot in my stomach all the time now. I can’t even imagine how Margot and Oliver feel. And then I shake my head, because maybe I can just a little. I wasn’t little bitty when I lost my mama, but I wasn’t quite 18.

The open sign for Heidi’s Place, a little restaurant and bar on the outskirts of town, flashes over on my left. That place is a mess, but I love going there. Jolene—she’s the daughter of Heidi, who’s retired now—was one of the ones who used to come by every Saturday and pray with Mama near the end. I won’t ever forget that.

About a half mile after Heidi’s, everything pops up all at once: buildings and mossy oaks and street lamps wreathed in gold light. The library sits, squat and dark and quiet, over on my right. Sidewalk starts to run along both sides of the street. Three churches wait behind it on my right, while on the left, there’s a line of storefront. Half the stores in Heat Springs—all right here.

I think of taking Oliver and Margot into Hester’s Rare Birds, an antique shop, and Shirley’s, the shoe store. There’s a sewing shop, and an ice cream parlor that I know they’ll love. Insurance place, two clothes stores—one’s got kid stuff—and then the pharmacy. They can get slushes and taffy there, so that should be a winner. Dollar General…the Goodwill. What would they make of a Goodwill? Again, that imposter feeling… What would Sutton think if she knew?

Well, she’d be pleased as punch, you eejit. You were her choice.

Something about that thought makes my eyes tear up. I wipe them and brake for the stop sign by Pine Park. We’ll be going there a lot now. They’ve got that rocking bumblebee thing—sort of like a one-kid seesaw. Plus the swings. Oh, and duh—the Floatin’ Bean is right there by it. The kids would love to have a Heat Springs Float.

So weird to see this whole town from a parent sort of angle. Even though I’m not their parent. Kinda thought I’d never be a parent, at the rate things are going. Which is to say…not going.

I hang a right down what we call Hamburger Highway. Hardee’s, Wendy’s, McDonald’s, Sonic, and Taco Bell. The Taco Bell is brand new. Wonder if it’s really emu meat. Surely it’s not. The kids could eat it if I cook at home most other times—and I will. I brought Sutton’s recipe book for vegans, just to make them feel at home. Let’s hope I can figure that out.