Adam. He’d taken on the role of older brother and protector at too early of an age. “I always drive carefully.”
“You do not. I was with you twice when you got tickets.”
“But that was Callie Lambert. Callie Austin is a diligent, cautious driver.”
He was silent for a moment then said, “Sorry about Fred, but Mary Beth wouldn’t leave without him.”
Fred was Mary Beth’s goldfish, a must-have after watching the movie Finding Nemo. Callie looked down at the goldfish bowl she’d managed to wedge into the console. Fred was the last thing she’d planned to pack, but she didn’t have the heart to tell Mary Beth. She’d lost two parents in six months and Callie couldn’t take anything else away from her.
“It’s okay. I guess Fred wanted to go to Texas, too.”
THE DAYS THAT FOLLOWED were very stressful. The constant vigilance was getting to Callie. She kept waiting for the sound of a siren and when she heard one in Virginia, she almost lost the Big Mac she’d just eaten. But the trooper sailed right by her, stopping the car ahead of them. It took an hour for her nerves to settle down.
The kids were also nervous. As they passed the stopped car, Mary Beth asked, “Are those people running away, too?”
Adam quickly turned in his seat to look at Mary Beth. “You can’t say things like that, especially in front of other people. They’ll take us back to Nigel and—”
Callie touched his arm, stopping him. “Adam is trying to say we need to be careful what we say.”
“I will. I sorry. I don’t want to go back.”
“It’s okay, sweetie,” Callie tried to reassure her.
“I want to sit in the front with you, Callie.”
“At the next stop you can change seats with Adam.”
“’Kay.”
Callie’s heart broke at what this was doing to them. Mary Beth was scared all the time. Hyperactive Brit couldn’t sit still and chatted nonstop. Adam, quiet and pale, just stared straight ahead at the road in front of them. And they were only halfway to Texas.
Then Callie had another problem—she noticed Fred floating face-up. Poking him with her finger, she found he was dead. She made a mad dash into a Wal-Mart with the bowl in her arms, leaving Adam in charge and telling Mary Beth that Fred needed fresh water. It took several minutes, but she bought a new Fred and they continued on their journey.
In Arkansas, Fred died again and Callie realized that goldfish did not travel well. Another Wal-Mart. Another fish. Callie prayed she could get this one to Homestead. She was tempted to tell Mary Beth that Fred had gone to heaven, but they’d had too many of those discussions lately. Callie wasn’t ready for another one.
THE JOURNEY WAS LONG. From the metropolis of New York to the farmlands of Pennsylvania, through the tobacco farms and timberlands of West Virginia and Virginia, to the Smoky Mountains of Tennessee—sometimes it looked as if they were in a tunnel, with sixty-foot pines on each side of the road—then they reached the Ozarks of Arkansas and soon the rolling plains of Texas. They’d made it! The kids shouted with joy. Callie was happy, too. It had been three days and they hadn’t been caught. And Fred was still alive. That was also reason to cheer.
She drove through the Dallas–Fort Worth area and took I-35 to Austin. She showed the kids the University of Texas where she’d gone to college. Somehow the beautiful hill country with its peaceful rolling hills, brilliant live oaks and craggy ledges made her feel at home. It was early June so the heat of the summer hadn’t dulled the landscape. Even the air was invigorating.
“That’s where I want to go to college,” Brit stated.
“We’re going to Harvard, just like Daddy planned,” Adam was quick to correct her.
“Oh. I forgot.”
John had started planning the children’s futures as soon as they were born. They would attend the same private school in New York John had as a boy. The school was known for its academic excellence. Then they would apply to Harvard, as he had. He’d wanted them to have the best education possible.
On his deathbed, Callie had promised to do everything she could to see that his wishes were fulfilled. No matter what happened, she had to keep her word.
She headed toward San Antonio, turned off the interstate and took the state highway to Homestead. When they saw the city-limit sign, they cheered again. The sign read Population 2,504, but Miranda had told her that about fifteen hundred people now lived in the small town—the reason Miranda and the city council had come up with a plan to repopulate the area.
Callie went through a drill, making sure they knew their roles.
“What’s our last name?”
Adam and Brit remained quiet, waiting for Mary Beth to reply first. “Austin,” she shouted. “My name is Mary Beth Austin and I’m from Chicago, Illinois, ’cause that’s where my nana lived. I know that.”
Callie had chosen Austin because it would be easy for them to remember—Callie had gone to school there. And Chicago because John’s mother had lived there before she’d died two years ago.
“My name is Brittany Austin and I can’t wait to ride a horse,” Brit responded.
“Don’t be stupid,” Adam said. “We don’t have a horse.”
“Callie!” Brit wailed.
“We’ll talk about the horse later. First we have to find our new home.”
Callie knew it would be difficult for them to call her mother so they’d agreed they would just call her by her name. She would explain it the best way she could—being so young when Adam had been born, she’d allowed him to call her by her first name, and the other two children had followed his lead. Telling lies was becoming a habit.
There was a vegetable-and-fruit stand on the outskirts of town and a used car lot. It was time to stop for gas. Buddy’s Gas and Auto Repair Shop was up ahead so she pulled in.
It was an old station, probably had been there for years, but the gas pumps were new. A wrecker parked to the side had Buddy’s written across the door. An old wood fence separated the station from a junkyard. Through the broken and missing boards weeds grew wild and she could see rows of junked cars on the other side. A large building stood behind the station and Callie assumed this was the auto shop. Across from the pumps was a shiny Coke machine and a small office. Attached to the office was a double garage that had a car on a lift. A man was under it, looking up. To the right there was a small white frame house with a chain-link fence around it.
Callie got out and wrinkled her nose at the strong smell of gas, oil and rubber. The man walked toward her. He looked to be somewhere in his late forties or early fifties and he wore jeans, baseball cap and a chambray western shirt splattered with oil stains. He wiped his hands on a grease rag.
“Need help, ma’am?” His smile was friendly.
Callie was used to filling up her own car. She didn’t think
