Chapter Seven October Twenty-Ninth #2
I look out at the remote airfield where we’ve landed. There is a gray building with bright banners flying above it. Planes buzz in and out. Cars behind a tall fence unload and pick up people.
“I don’t have any money.” I have a bunch of change and a few crumpled dollars I’ve found and hoarded over the years.
It doesn’t add up to much. Barton was not one to drop money, and Sarah didn’t have any of her own.
It must have taken her a long time to plan this, a long time to save money to start over.
My tears retreat, wrapped in anger. She could have taught me how to escape. She knew I had it worse.
But Carol’s kindly face is unfazed. “Well, you’ve got your freedom, and that’s worth a lot.”
“I’m heading to New York. I have a job there, and my employer is paying for my travel—but I have no accounts of my own for him to send the money to.”
“That’s not a problem if you trust me—and you must, because you’re up in this bird with me, and that’s me holding your life in my hands, let alone a couple hundred bucks. You want to fly into New York?”
“I can’t,” I whisper. “My father took all my papers. The only way I can get copies is in New York.” I hope.
“Hm. Tell your employer to send the money to Carol Vandeross.” She hands me a phone and taps a few things on the screen.
Apps. These are apps. I’ve seen them on my rare occasions to watch television, but I haven’t used one. I try to keep my face immobile so she doesn’t realize how little I know, how helpless I’ll be.
I will not be helpless. I will learn. They’ll never know how I was raised...
At least, that’s what I tell myself.
“Here, my email address for an e-pay app. He’ll send your money to me, and I’ll give you cash. There’s an ATM in the airport—if you can call this place an airport.” Carol laughs. “Come on in and get a sandwich.”
“I... I’m not hungry.”
“I think you oughta eat. The airfield in Idaho is like a Porta-John with a magazine stand. The coffee tastes like dishwater.”
Well. I have to try sometime...
“I’ll call Mr. Taylor and get the money for a train ticket. I don’t need papers to ride a train, do I?”
“Nope. But—where are you going, again?”
“New York.”
“Hmm. When you’re done with the phone, I’ll make a couple of calls. Might be able to get you a flight with a potato pilot who ships to the Ore-Ida plant in Pennsy.”
I just nod.
“Tell him you need five hundred—and if I get you this flight, then you’ll just need bus or train fare from Pennsylvania to New York.”
“Oh! Oh, my goodness. Thank you! I’ll pay you b—”
“Sure you will. You’ll go have a good, happy life, and that’s the payment I want.”
OCTOBER 29TH, 2025
Pine Ridge, New York
“And the wheels on the bus go round and round. Round and round. Round and round!” I spin Laurel’s little feet as she sits in my lap.
I’m worried about her looking at my screen for so many hours, even though I try to have other things for her to play with, so I try to change positions so she’s not facing the laptop.
But I just got another big assignment: a debugging and re-coding of another AI disaster from Kravable Kitchen Hot Hams and Smokehouse.
Apparently, their biggest sales season is from November 1st to December 23rd, and the AI took a question about “vegan options,” and now all their menus and ordering options list tofu and texturized veggie protein as the main ingredients.
My boss says they’re passing it off as a Halloween trick and running a big sale as the “Treat” to counteract the disaster, but if we don’t fix it by midnight on Halloween, we could lose the contract.
Fourteen-hour days. No nanny. Not yet. I can’t work when I’m tired, not on this, so Laurel is stuck being my work buddy.
When my phone rings, I’m expecting my boss to chew me out for not having made the first checkpoint yet—but instead—it’s a strange number. It rings as Unknown Caller, Alaska.
Is that the nanny? Imogene?
My... wife?
“Hi,” I answer the phone, holding it out and wincing. It’s probably going to be a deep, raspy smoker’s voice that makes Laurel cry.
Growing up like I did, you come to expect the worst.
“Mr. Taylor? This is Imogene Sommer.”
Her voice is beautiful. Light. Sweet.
Laurel stops scooting restlessly in my lap.
“I’m in Washington, and I’ll be flying into Idaho. Then I’ll b-be working my way to New York. I’m flying with a—a plane, but there might be delays. If it’s too big of a delay, I’ll get a train.”
“Oh, thank God. You have no idea how happy I am to hear that!” I exclaim, sinking back in my chair.
“Would you please send the travel money to the app I’m going to give you, and the address? It’s—”
I don’t even let her finish before I agree. I send the last of this month’s paycheck to a stranger, praying I didn’t get scammed, but desperate enough to believe that my usual luck is going to skip a turn.
It already has, kind of. Since I came to Pine Ridge, I’ve only had nice encounters with the neighbors. I fell asleep in the wilderness and instead of finding a snake or a bear—or getting mugged—I found Laurel. My boss didn’t fire me after a huge screw up.
“Keep me posted, okay? Call me when you land. I’ll come get you.”
“I m-might land in Pennsylvania. I don’t know which part yet. I could get a bus.”
“If it’s upstate, or heck, if it’s pretty much anywhere in Pennsylvania, I can come get you.” I hope it’s close. My car needs new tires. I just spent all the gas money paying for the nanny.
Wife. If she were a nanny, she’d have to get a salary.
I feel slimy and desperate, and then Laurel reaches for the phone. “Ba ba ba ba!” Happy little bursts of sound bubble from her pink mouth as her tiny hooves kick.
“Oh! Is that the baby?” Imogene’s voice is soft and awed. Reverent. “She sounds so sweet.”
So do you, I want to say, but that could be taken all kinds of wrong.
I have to try to walk a line between professional and friendly.
And do I need to act affectionate to her in public?
I don’t know if there’s some sort of legal trouble I could get into if people think it’s not a real marriage. Would they investigate me?
What happens if they find out I just found Laurel and didn’t legally adopt her or father her?
“Eee!” Laurel squees, and the worried thoughts vanish for a minute.
“She’s really excited to meet you. She needs someone to play with her while I’m trying to keep this little family going.”
“I know how that is,” Imogene says softly. “I’m excited to play with her and give her all the love she needs while her daddy is working to take care of her.”
“Thank you. Thank you so much for giving this a chance, for being willing to understand. You’ll see that I was telling the truth, and you’ll understand why I... Well, why I have to protect her.”
“I wish more dad were like you, willing to protect their daughters.”
Oooh, there’s a sad story somewhere there, and I want to ask all about it—but probably not now. Not yet. And if I ask, I’ll have to tell my story, and I don’t want to do that with pretty much anyone. “Do you think you’ll be here by tomorrow?” I ask.
“If I get a flight, I could be there by today,” she says in a hesitant voice. “We’re three hours ahead. It’s only ten in the morning here.”
“That would be amazing. Again, keep me posted. Did you get the money?”
“I think so.”
“Well, call me back if not,” I say, and we exchange goodbyes.
Laurel fusses when the call ends. “That’s... That might be your mama,” I whisper, and I hold her tight.
Can I really give Laurel a mother for two or three years, then take that away? Even if they stay close, but Imogene leaves, gets a new job, a “real” job with money and no quirky-probably-scummy living arrangements, it’ll tear Laurel up.
But if Laurel gets taken from me because I lose my job, some sicko at a lab or some bully in the foster care system could actually tear her up. Physically.
I feel sick. I have to stand and pace. “Wanna take a break?” I ask Laurel as we walk and bounce. “Let’s see what the internet recommends for infant Halloween costumes made by clueless dads with no money.”