I’M PRETTY SURE IT’S TUESDAY.

What are you thinking about right now?

That asshole at the Cadillac Ranch. He was old – as old as Dad – and he stood behind me staring the whole time I was trying to paint. Finally I had to say something, because what girl wouldn’t, so I told him to fuck right off. Just like that.

All of a sudden, I’m the bad guy. I’m the bitch who cursed at a stranger and no one cared that he was the one staring at my ass. I told him to stop and he said if I was going to dress like a slut then men were going to stare at me. I called him an asshole and all of a sudden his wife – HIS WIFE – showed up and told me to stop yelling. By the time Grandpa even noticed something was happening, it was all out of control. The asshole and his wife were there with, like, a whole posse of friends and they all were yelling about me being the troublemaker.

Grandpa bought it. No surprise there, the adults always do. Oh, something bad happened? Must have been Nikki. Something got stolen? Nikki. Someone ran away? You bet your ass it’s Nikki, because who wants to stick around to hear that all the time. That’s why I run away so much.

Sometimes I wonder why I haven’t run away from this trip yet. First, it’s because of Beth. If I’m not around to protect her, it’s not like Eddie will. He’d protect Portia because she’s so young, but not Beth.

Second, it’s because of what Grandpa did to Grandma. I’ve known about it since she died, and I might be the only who knows what he did to her. Someone’s got to pay him back for it.

9 Days Left

About that pickup.

I stayed outside last night for another fifteen minutes or so, more than enough time for Portia to get back to her room.

I hadn’t seen a car drive by all night, not a single one, and then I saw the truck. Black with the double-cab and oversized wheels. The front windows were tinted and rolled up so I couldn’t see the driver or passenger.

Still, I knew. The back window was rolled down a few inches. As they passed by, a wisp of cigarette smoke escaped. I caught a flash of that auburn-haired woman in the back.

I sat right in that wooden chair and watched it, too shocked to move, until I could no longer see the taillights. Everyone was right about the truck: It was really following us. When it was gone I ran inside to tell Felix.

He was asleep, but not for long.

‘It’s here,’ I kept saying. I said it until he responded.

‘What’s here?’

‘That pickup. It just drove by outside.’

He jumped out of bed and ran to the window. ‘I don’t see it.’

‘It was on the road, driving by.’

‘You called the police?’ he said.

‘Because a truck drove by?’

Felix looked at me, his white-blond hair sticking out in all directions. It always looked like that after he slept. ‘Yeah, I guess that doesn’t make any sense.’

No, it did not.

I didn’t call the police, I called Eddie.

‘I saw it,’ I said. ‘That truck is definitely following us.’

‘Jesus Christ.’

Back and forth, like a seesaw, this is what my mind feels like the next morning. The first thing I do is go outside and check the tires on the car. They’re fine. I stand and stare at them, not thinking about the tires but thinking about that woman in the back. Thinking about how easy it is to dye your hair.

Felix comes up behind me. He slips one hand around my waist and offers me a cup of coffee with the other.

‘Is that from the vending machine?’ I say.

‘No. It’s from the check-in window. Only fifty cents.’

I sniff it. Not bad.

‘Just drink it,’ Felix says.

I do, and it’s not the worst.

Krista joins us in the parking lot, though she didn’t stop for a fifty-cent coffee.

‘What’s happening? Is it flat?’ she says.

‘No,’ I say. ‘Tires are fine.’

‘Imagine that.’ Eddie. He’s right behind Krista, carrying their roller bags. He doesn’t like to ruin the wheels by pulling them across cement.

Krista gives him a dirty look. He ignores it.

Portia shows up last in her usual outfit: T-shirt, shorts, sunglasses, no makeup. ‘What’s everyone standing around for?’ she asks.

‘Waiting for you to tell us where we’re eating,’ I say.

She waves her hand, dismissing all those healthy notions. ‘This is Texas.’

No one answers that. We load up our things, I down the rest of that coffee, and we get in the car.

It doesn’t start.

Again Eddie tries, and again the car doesn’t start.

Felix checks under the hood and figures out the problem in minutes. Not a dead battery, not out of gas – nothing normal has happened. The starter relay was removed. I can’t pretend to know what that is or how it works, but without it the car won’t start. And car parts don’t remove themselves, not even in Texas.

‘Sabotage! We’re being sabotaged!’ Krista yells. Repeatedly.

Yes, it seems we are.

‘I saw the truck last night,’ I say.

‘I knew it!’ Krista yells.

Eddie glares at me in the rearview mirror. No, he didn’t tell her because he obviously knew she would act just like she is. So did I, but the fact that the truck really has been following us makes me feel unsettled.

And very curious about the woman in the back.

Eddie talks a Lyft driver into picking up the starter relay and bringing it to us, then passes the phone to Felix to describe what we need. The Lyft fee will be more expensive than the part, but less than having the car pick us up to go get it ourselves.

‘We have to call the police,’ Krista says, taking out her phone. She has the oversized kind, like a small tablet. The cover is mint green.

‘The police?’ Portia says. ‘Jesus.’

‘The car’s been vandalized. More than once,’ Krista says.

‘We can’t prove anything,’ Felix says.

‘Yeah, they’ll probably throw us in jail,’ Portia says.

Krista’s head whips around to face her. ‘For what?’

‘It’s Texas. I think they can arrest you for anything here. Probably just for annoying the police.’

‘But we have to –’

‘Wait, just wait.’ Eddie walks up, hands in the air like he’s stopping a boxing match. ‘I’m not getting stuck here waiting for the police. It’s not like they’ll do anything.’

‘We’re just going to let those Alabama assholes keep doing this? Are you serious?’ Krista says.

‘Let’s just get the car fixed. We’ll all go to breakfast and figure out what to do.’

Eddie turns to me, nodding his head once.

He remembers. So does Portia. We all remember what happened with the police in Texas.

What is your greatest strength? Weakness?

Wow, okay. These are some useless questions because no one would get them right about themselves. That’s pretty much impossible. But here goes …

Other people would say my greatest weakness is not being able to keep my mouth shut. I say it’s my greatest strength, because who wants to be one of those people that keeps everything inside and then has a heart attack at 40? Not me.