liked camping under that bridge.”
“It’s getting too cold to camp.” Shiloh was sorry they had to talk about this, but Dougie was irrepressible. If she told him to stop, he would talk louder and longer.
“We could buy more blankets.”
“With what?”
That shut him up for a while, then he brightened. “I could get a job delivering newspapers.”
“You have to live somewhere to get a job like that.”
“We could pretend to live somewhere.”
“And when they sent you your check, the people who lived at that address would get it, not you.”
“I would stand by their mailbox and wait for the mailman.”
She gave up. “Carrier. Mail carrier. Women can deliver mail, too.”
“Then why don’t you get a job delivering mail, and you can make sure I get my check!”
She had to smile. Dougie had a funny little mind. He couldn’t sit still long enough to read a book or even a paragraph, but he was always working out solutions to problems. That was probably some kind of smart, but not the kind that would get him through school. Of all of them Dougie was the least affected by their life on the road. He didn’t like being cooped up in a car, but once he was outside, nothing made him happier than exploring new surroundings.
“When Mama gets out of the bathroom, you need to take a shower, brush your teeth and change for bed.”
“Who made you the boss?”
God. But it had been so long since Dougie had been to a church—unless they’d been forced to go by some preacher to get a free meal—she wasn’t sure he remembered or understood the concept.
“Do you see anybody else asking for the job?” she said.
Dougie was nine, not stupid. He had seen the way Man and Belle had slowly closed themselves off as the months went by, rallying when they absolutely had to and ignoring problems when they didn’t. Shiloh was the one who kept things moving, and as much as Dougie disliked that, she thought deep down he was glad somebody did.
They would never be a normal family again. She had come to terms with that months ago. The balance of power had changed, just like it did between countries after a crisis like a war or famine or an influx of refugees. She remembered that from one of her classes when she’d still gone to school. She had loved history and government, any kind of social studies. She tried to stay current with world events even now, picking up papers in trash cans to scour the headlines. But all her reading had only led to one conclusion.
After big changes, nothing was ever the same again. New leaders arose. New systems were set into place. Life went on, but it wasn’t always better. Sometimes it was much, much worse.
Belle and Man emerged, Man helping Shiloh’s mother into their bedroom. She was wearing the same nightgown she’d worn for weeks, but at least it was clean. A few days ago they had crammed everything into a Laundromat washer.
“You go next.” Shiloh pointed to the bathroom door. “You know it may be a long time before it’s easy to take a shower again. Don’t forget your pajamas.”
Dougie grumbled, but he was basically good-natured and went along with most things. She had already put his bathroom stuff in there, and after he grabbed pajamas out of his suitcase he slammed the bathroom door behind him. She was glad Belle wasn’t yet asleep.
“Your mom’s tired tonight. She’s going to nod right off,” Man said as he came out to the hall and closed the bedroom door behind him.
“Dougie’s taking his shower.”
“How ’bout you?”
“I already brushed my teeth, and I washed up at the church. But I’ll take a real shower first thing in the morning. Why don’t you go next?”
He looked too exhausted to go through the motions, but he nodded.
“I’m going to change and get some sleep.” She stood and went to him, kissing his cheek. “You’ll find a job next week, Daddy.”
“You bet.”
She wanted to cry. Those were Man’s favorite words, but if she had to bet, she wouldn’t bet on good fortune. Things were only going to get worse.
In the room she and Dougie would share she changed quickly so she would be ready for bed by the time he came in. Privacy was a luxury, and by now she knew how to take advantage of it.
She left the light on because Dougie would turn it on anyway. She sat on her open sleeping bag, pulled her legs inside it and began to zip it closed around her. Satisfied, she adjusted and readjusted her pillow until she was comfortable. The bed sagged, but not nearly as much as the one she’d shared with a cousin in South Carolina.
Dougie came back sooner than she’d expected, which probably meant he hadn’t brushed his teeth very well. She had heard the shower, though, so that was something. She reminded him to turn off the light, and he grumbled but finally did after it was clear there was nothing else to do but sleep.
As hyperactive as he was during the day, her brother always fell asleep quickly. After he tried and failed to make her talk to him, he turned over, and before long she could hear his breathing slow and deepen.
Shiloh finally let herself relax. The room wasn’t completely dark. Man had left a lamp on in the living room, and light seeped under their door. She hated waking up in a panic because she couldn’t remember where she was. Man knew that, and she was pretty sure he would leave the light on all night.
She crossed her arms under her head and stared at the ceiling. Her room at home had been a bit larger than this one, but she hadn’t had to share it with Dougie. Every night before she went to sleep she pictured that room in her mind. Remembering made her feel normal, like somebody who was just on a long vacation but would return home eventually.
Belle loved pink, so when Shiloh was a baby she painted the walls of her daughter’s room a deep rose and decorated it with a fluffy pink rug, and later a vinyl chair with pink-and-lavender flowers. Belle was so proud of her accomplishment that Shiloh never found the courage to tell her she would prefer a deep soothing green. Her gymnastics friends had made fun of her for the girlie decor, but while Shiloh often criticized her mother, on that point she had remained silent.
After all Belle, who often let the world drift by without notice, had done that just for her.
When she turned twelve Shiloh bought posters to put on the walls to cover the paint. A mobile she’d created in an art class, butterflies floating on the breeze, hung by her window. She’d had an argument with her teacher, who insisted that glittering black butterflies with menacing eyes and teeth existed nowhere in nature. Shiloh had known better than to explain that they were really vampire butterflies, inspired by Twilight and vampire Edward Cullen, whom she had fallen in love with at first read.
She remembered the sounds at night. Sometimes she’d heard an owl hooting near the shed where her father kept a beat-up lawn tractor. It didn’t matter how outdated equipment might be, Man knew how to keep it running. He
