EXCERPT

​The moment fourteen-year-old Hilde first realized her family was falling apart was at a Denny’s on I-80 between North Platte and Ogallala. Later she would remember that moment as something akin to passing through an invisible curtain, a barrier that separated her life in Kenosha from everything that came after, in Pescadero, on the rural coast of California. ​

     It wasn’t one of her father’s chilly silences, the kind that drove the family deep into their private recesses like fish in a frozen pond. And it wasn’t one of her mother’s fiery eruptions, though her white-knuckled grip on the steering wheel made it seem like she was exploding from home like shrapnel. ​

     It was just a small thing, really, not much more than a gesture. It was Ethan, her older brother, her rock. It was Ethan who made her under- stand that the ground beneath her was liquefying. 

 

THEY HAD STOPPED MIDAFTERNOON for a quick bite, her mother’s code for We will not be dawdling here. When Ethan opened the car door, the first thing Hilde noticed was the wind—hot and rife with the odors of west Nebraska feedlots. These were nothing like the sweet, fecund smells of Wisconsin dairy farms. ​

     “Lock the car, Ethan,” her mother said, throwing the keys in his direction. They clattered on the gravel at Ethan’s feet. “You drive the next leg.” She headed for the restaurant without looking back. ​

     Hilde struggled over the boxes in the back seat, climbed out of the car, and stood up straight for the first time in four hours. She peered across the landscape, shielding her eyes against the hot sun. A low, con- crete church sat across the highway between a tire store and a 7-Eleven. Power of the Blood Evangelical Church. Below it, in press-on letters: Heaven has strict immigration laws. Hell has open borders. ​

     “Where are we, anyway?” Hilde said, hiking up the cutoffs around her skinny frame. Her straw-blond hair riffled in the wind. ​

     Ethan scooped up the keys, put them in his pocket, and headed toward the restaurant without comment. Hilde watched him go, his tall lanky body hunched over the way it was when his wrestling coach sent him onto the mat. He was such a star back home. ​

     She turned and took another look at the dry, flat land. “Cripes, it’s hot!” she said to no one in particular. A gust of wind blew grit in her eye. ​

     She followed her brother into the restaurant and slid into the booth opposite him. The table was sticky, and the ketchup bottle needed wiping. A couple of bills left by a previous customer lay in a small metal tray near the sugar. Her mother was nowhere to be seen. ​

     “We gotta be halfway there by now, right?” she said, taking off her round, wire-rimmed glasses and rubbing her eye. She’d hated her old glasses, the powder-blue ones she’d worn since third grade. But these, they made her feel smart. 

     Ethan picked up the menu and studied it in silence. 

​     The air-conditioning kicked on, and Hilde felt arctic air hit her sweaty neck. “Ethan,” she said, tracing the edge of the table anxiously with her fingers. “You think things’ll be better in California?” 

     “Dunno,” he said sullenly. His wheat-colored hair stood up in spikes, a result of his habit of running his hand through it when he was irritated. ​

     “Once we get there—and get the farm going? Better?” “I know squat about goats,” he said, almost to himself. 

      “That’s not true. You know how to milk cows. You did it all last summer at Schroeder’s farm.” She needed a response from him—any- thing, really. 

      Ethan shrugged and looked away. 

 

THIS WAS THE WAY it had been—Ethan surly, withdrawn—ever since the big announcement at supper on that hot, sticky evening a month ago. ​

     “Guess what!” her mother had said in that singsong voice that never delivered good news. They were sitting around the supper table midway through a takeout bucket of chicken. “I have something special to tell you. Want to know?” ​

     Hilde noticed her father rise abruptly and pick up his plate. 

     “Just tell ’em, Janine,” he muttered and disappeared into the kitchen.

     “I want to know,” Hilde asked, sensing the need to support her mother. 

     Janine turned toward her daughter. “Next month this time,” she said, widening her eyes for effect, “we’ll all be in California!” Her smile seemed pasted on. 

     Ethan’s steel-colored eyes jumped from his plate to his mother’s face. “What?” he croaked. 

     “We’re gonna clean out Uncle Karl’s place. Get some goats. And start making cheese. You won’t believe what those fancy restaurants in San Francisco will pay for goat cheese!” 

     She glanced at the kitchen. “Dad’s coming later. After he sells the house.” 

     “Sells the house?” Hilde said, incredulous. “We’re moving?” She scanned the surroundings. Dad was nowhere to be seen. 

     “Wait a minute,” Ethan said, placing his fork down carefully. “What about school?” 

     “What about it?” Janine replied innocently. 

     “What about school? What about four weeks from now when prac- tice starts?” 

     “Hang on a minute, Ethan,” Janine said, her hands held up against his words. “Hear me out. I’ve already talked to the school out there. They have a terrific sports program—wrestling, basketball, track. It’s smaller than Tremper. But that’ll be nice because it’ll be easy for you to make your mark.” 

     “Make my mark?” He looked like he’d just regurgitated bile. 

     “I know, hon. The wrestling thing. But California is such an opportunity, and you being a senior, it’ll be a piece of cake to make the team out there. The walk-on who turns out to be a star! A great story!” 

     Hilde watched her brother’s face turn to stone as her mother con- tinued to pitch, laying out the charms of the move—the sunny climate, the ocean surf, the golden hills. Mom clearly thought a good dose of romance, entangled with a little logic, would bring him around. 

     He stood up, threw his crumpled napkin on the table, and stalked off. 

Hilde sat motionless, waiting for her mother to react—maybe to ask her what she thought, how she felt—but Mom did not. She just started clearing the dishes. 

     Just before bed, Hilde crept downstairs to the rec room where Ethan holed up most of the time. He was stretched out on the sofa, arms cradling his neck, eyes closed, earbuds in ears. She sank down on the steps and waited for him to notice. She wanted to talk. She needed to talk. The giants have gone crazy, she wanted to say, and we have lost control. Do you see it, too? A terrible pressure between her temples made her feel like her head was about to explode. She needed to hear from him because his voice always calmed her. Anchored her. With him to talk to, she knew she would be able to make it through. 

     She waited for several long minutes, but he didn’t open his eyes. He had gone dark. 

 

THE STOPLIGHT IN FRONT of Denny’s turned red, green, and red again without a single car passing beneath. 

     Ethan stared at it and then shoved the menu to the edge of the table. “Asinine,” he muttered. 

     “What?” Was this an opening? 

     He turned and looked at her, and for a moment, she saw him soften. “Scout,” he said, using the nickname he’d made up for her when she was nine and he was eleven, “if you were driving on a deserted road, and you came to a crossroads—like that one, with a stoplight—and there was no one else around, would you stop?” 

     She looked at her brother. She wanted to say whatever he wanted to hear, but she wasn’t sure what he was looking for. “I guess so,” she offered.

     Her response clearly disgusted him. He turned back to the window. 

     She looked away. She had failed the test, though she didn’t know how. Her eyes stung. She picked up the menu and held it close to her face. 

 

DENNY'S WAS EMPTYING OUT, though they had yet to order. Hilde put down the menu and looked around for her mother. When she turned back, she noticed the dollar bills that had been sitting in the little tray near the sugar were gone. She looked up at Ethan, down at the tray, and up at Ethan again. 

     “Ethan?” 

     His earbuds were in, and he was tapping his finger on the counter to a beat only he could hear. 

     “Ethan,” she said again, reaching across and stopping his finger with her palm. 

     He pulled out one earbud. “What?” “You can’t do that.” 

     “Do what?” 

     “You can’t take that money.” Ethan replaced the earbud. 

     “Really, Ethan,” she said, grabbing his wrist to get his attention. “You can’t.” This was not like Ethan—trustworthy, dependable, the one who got the summer job because everyone in town knew he was so solid. 

     “Shut up, Hilde.” 

     She drew her hand back as if she’d been burned. He so rarely used her real name. 

     Janine slid into the booth, holding up damp, limp hands. “Of course,” she said, vexed. “No paper towels in the john.” Forcing a smile, she picked up the menu. “Now, what’s everybody gonna have?” 

     Hilde glowered at Ethan. She would never rat him out, but she wanted him to know that she knew what he had done. She needed him to be reliable. Especially now. 

     A waitress appeared with an order pad in one hand, a pencil in the other. 

     “Ethan?” her mother said, studying the menu.

     “Not hungry,” Ethan said. 

     There was a pause. The waitress, pencil perched on pad, looked over at two men eating burgers at the counter. One of them was pulling a wallet from his pocket. 

     “We’re not stopping again till the motel, Ethan, so choose something.”

     “Not hungry,” Ethan said again in exactly the same tone. 

​     “He’ll have a burger,” Janine said to the waitress. “She’ll have a grilled cheese. And I’ll have a BLT.” 

 

BEFORE THE MOVE, THERE had been arguments between her parents, some worse than others, but then things would fade to a chilly normal, and Hilde never could quite tell whether her parents had forged a truce or were waiting for the next round. The not-knowing kept her perpetually on edge. 

     “Did you fix the truck yesterday?” she heard her mother say one Sunday morning at the breakfast table as she was coming down the stairs. 

     Her father grunted and kept reading the paper. 

     Her mother picked up a fork, reached across the table, and tapped his water glass lightly. 

     “Darrell?” she said, annoyed now. “The battery? Did you fix it? I’ve got work tomorrow.” 

     Hilde stopped in the shadows at the foot of the stairs. Her mother’s back was turned away, but she could see her father over her mother’s shoulder. 

     “I’m aware, Janine,” he replied coolly, turning the page and straightening the paper with the palm of his hand. “I didn’t have time.” 

     Her mother cocked her head. “You didn’t have time?”

     “No.” After a long silence: “I’ll see what I can do.”      

     “Today?” 

     “Yes.” 

     “Today,” she said with disdain. “Really?” “Yes, Janine. Today.” 

     “Well, that’s not a great plan, Darrell. Because if it needs a new battery today, you can’t buy one. It’s Sunday. Nothing’s open. In case you’ve forgotten.” 

     He stiffened, took off his glasses, and looked at her. “I’m sorry, Janine, but that’s not in my control.” 

     She sat back. “What’s not in your control?” “When the stores open.” 

     “Oh,” she said. “But if you’d worked on the truck yesterday, you would’ve been able to buy a new battery if you needed one. Right, Darrell?” She sounded like a professor teaching logic to a recalcitrant student. 

     “Look,” he said, unaffected. “If the truck craps out, call Jeanette. 

She’ll take you.” 

     “If the truck craps out and I call Jeanette, I’ll be late. And if I’m late, they’ll hire somebody who isn’t late. You get that, Darrell? They don’t like it when you’re late.” 

     Hilde could feel the muscles in her neck tighten. 

     Her father gave her mother a long, cold stare. “You know, Janine, your little bookkeeping gig—it’s not a career. It’s just a job.” 

     “Really?” She rocked back in her chair, her hands clutching the edge of the table. 

     “Yeah, really.” He was revving up now, something he rarely did. “In fact, why don’t you just quit. Stay home and clean up this place. Look at it! The kitchen’s a mess. The laundry’s piled high. And there’s so much clutter in the hall, I’m surprised somebody hasn’t broken a leg.” 

     She jutted out her jaw and crossed her arms over her chest. “A fabulous idea, Darrell. I’ll stay home and we’ll all just live off your salary.” 

     “Yeah. Good idea,” he said acidly. “You should think about it.”

     “Let me give you something to think about, Darrell.” She rose now and leaned over the table, her fingers braced wide against the Formica. “I pay the bills. And despite your precious position at that Podunk college, despite all those little twenty-somethings scurrying around—’yes Mr. Sabin, no Mr. Sabin’— whenever you need a cup of coffee, you don’t bring home enough money to cover the bills. Surprised?” 

     His shoulders went rigid. He folded the paper carefully, stood up, tucked it under his arm, grabbed his jacket, and headed toward the back 

door. Then he turned and growled, “You know, Janine, you can be a real ballbuster sometimes.” 

     “Really?” she spat, her voice dripping with fury. “Well then, Darrell, why do you stay? Why don’t you just get the hell out! Because I can’t stand the sight of you!” 

     A wave of nausea overcame Hilde. 

     It was only when Ethan laid a hand on her shoulder that she found some mooring. “C’mon, Scout,” he said gently, pushing her toward the rec room. “Let’s go play some video games.” 

 

DENNY'S WAS NOW VIRTUALLY empty, and still no food. Hilde kept glancing at the door to the kitchen. She knew how testy her mother could become when she was made to wait. 

     Janine took a map from her bag, unfolded it clumsily, and stared at it. 

     “You know, Mom,” Ethan said, breaking his silence for the first time that afternoon, “there’s an app for that.” 

     “I know,” she said irritably.

     Ethan rolled his eyes. 

     Hilde wished she were back in the hot car. “So how many goats are we getting?” she asked, hoping to distract her mother. 

     It worked, for once. Her mother turned toward her and breathed out slowly. She focused on something in the middle distance for a long moment. 

     “Fourteen,” she said finally, managing a small smile, “at first. Next season, we’ll have more. Ethan’ll do the milking, and you and I’ll make the cheese. We’ve gotta get the machines working again. Not sure how long they’ve been out of commission—probably since Karl died. But we’ll figure it out.” She blinked and looked around. “Where’s our food, anyway?” 

     The waitress backed through the swinging door with a rolling cart of clean dishes. When the cook put three plates of food on the serving 

counter, she parked the cart, picked up the plates, and delivered them to the table. 

     “Finally,” her mother said, loud enough to embarrass Hilde.

     “Anything else?” the waitress asked, wiping her hands on her apron.

     “Yes. The check, hon. We need the check.” 

 

HILDE TOOK A FINAL bite of sandwich and watched while her mother pulled out a bright pink jar of lip gloss and a hand mirror from her straw bag. She was making more of an effort these days. She’d let her hair grow, and just before they left, she’d streaked it—a first. She’d done it herself in the bathroom with a box from the drugstore. And she’d bought a few new things—hoop earrings, a halter top, even an ankle bracelet. But the lip gloss seemed—somehow—over the top. Like something the girls Ethan dated would wear. 

     “You know,” Mom said thoughtfully, using her pinky finger to apply the gloss. “This is a new chapter in our lives. And a new chapter deserves a new beginning.” She dropped the lip gloss back into her bag, pulled out a Kleenex, and dabbed the corners of her mouth. “I’ve been thinking about going by a different name. Jasmine. I like that name.” 

     “What’s wrong with your name?” Hilde asked, surprised at how unbalanced the suggestion made her feel. 

     “Oh, I don’t know. Janine feels like the name somebody would give to a Wisconsin milkmaid.” 

     “You are a Wisconsin milkmaid, Mom,” Ethan said. “You grew up on a farm with thirty Holstein.” 

     Janine stiffened but said nothing. Finally, her eyes landed on Hilde. “Sit up straight, honey. You look like a camel.” 

     She snapped the mirror shut and slipped it back into her purse. “No more stopping till we get to the motel,” she said, standing up and gathering her belongings, “so if you need to go, go now.” 

     Hilde slid out of the booth and headed to the restroom. Janine rose, picked up the check, and turned toward the cashier. Ethan sat a minute longer, eyes down, cleaning up the fries on Hilde’s plate. 

     As Hilde came out of the restroom, she spotted her mother through the plate glass window. She was standing in the sun beside the car, searching for her keys. 

     Ethan had gotten to his feet and was heading toward the door, wiping his hands on his jeans. As he passed the counter where the two men had sat, his hand darted out and scooped up the bills next to the empty plates. He slipped the bills into his pocket and strolled out into the sunshine. 

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