Speed of Life (30 page)

“Don't let her go to sleep!” I practically screech, startling her awake. Me and Amber have kept her up all day so she'll fall asleep as soon as we get on the bus. She's cranky and whiny and I'm sorry this is the way Han has to say goodbye, but I don't want to be the passenger everyone hates because my kid is screaming.

He bounces her up and down, and she looks at him like he's a traitor, like “How can you do this to me when I'm so tired?” She screams and Han pulls her close, wiping at her tears with his thumb. A little lump gets stuck in my throat.

“I'm glad I'm not getting on the bus with you,” Amber says, nodding at the people around us who are already glaring.

“You'll be a good girl, won't you, Nattie?” Han says. “Yes, you will. You'll sleep for Mommy, won't you?”

I like the way it sounds when Han calls me Mommy. Weird how fast I've gotten used to it. I doubt Natalie will be able to sleep for almost two whole days, though, which is how long it'll take us to get to McPherson. But I'm also not going to give her baby Benadryl like Mom suggested. I checked the Internet, and while the medicine is supposedly safe, a lot of pediatricians say not to do it. It's still a drug. Sometimes I think it's a miracle that me and Amber made it to adulthood.

I did take Rosa's advice, though. When she heard we were going by bus, she said, “Been there, done that. Spend the extra money and buy two seats. Just because you
can
hold her in your lap for free doesn't mean you want to.”

The four of us sit there in silence, me fingering our boarding passes, Amber fiddling with her hair. And then Han comes to life. “Oh, man, I almost forgot.” He hands Natalie to Amber and runs out to the car. A minute later, he's back with a plastic bag. “One for Mommy,” he says, giving me a brand-new cell phone. “And one for Auntie Amber.”

“Wow.” I examine it. It's no iPhone, but it's pretty nice.

“I have one for me, too,” he says. “They're all charged up, and I've programmed our numbers into them.”

“I thought you said you'd kill yourself before you got one of these,” Amber teases him.

“That was before Nat. I got us the family plan. We can talk as much as we want.”

“Thanks.”

“Yeah, this is great, Han. Thanks.”

He's looking pretty proud of himself. And he should be, too. He still hasn't told his dad about Natalie because he's getting his plumber training from him and needs the job, but he came clean with his mom. She promised not to tell, and we took Natalie to the restaurant where she waitresses and they got to meet each other. Now Natalie has two grandmas.

Before I'm really ready, they announce our bus. Panic rushes over me. “Oh my God,” I say. “What am I doing? I can't leave you guys.”

Amber steers me toward the line at door number six. “We've already covered that. You'll be fine,” she says. “Go on.”

“But—” Tears are spilling over onto my cheeks. Amber and Nat are crying too. Even Han looks teary.

“Aunt Ruby says I can have two weeks off next summer,” Amber reminds me for the thousandth time. “I'll drive out and see you both.”

“Me too,” Han says. “I mean, I'll go with her.”

“You guys promise?”

The line's moving forward now. “We promise,” Amber says.

“But don't let him drive,” I tell her.

She rolls her eyes and hugs me hard. Then she takes Natalie from Han so he can hug me while she says goodbye to her niece. When Han lets me go, I give Amber another hug, squeezing Nat between us until she squawks. Then I'm being herded through the door, out into the hot August night with Nat on one hip, the backpack and diaper bag slung over my shoulders, and the car seat in my other hand.

“Send lots of pictures!” Amber yells after us.

“Call every day!”

“We will.”

Me and Nat make our way onto the bus and up the stairs, squeezing down the aisle, dodging elbows and swinging luggage as people try to put their stuff in the overhead bins. A few people give us wary looks, but Natalie coos and gurgles at them and their grimaces turn to smiles. At least for now.

I get the car seat buckled down, then settle Natalie into her seat. We can't see Amber or Han, but I tell her, “Say bye-bye to Auntie Amber. Bye-bye to Daddy.”

She opens and closes her chubby fingers, her version of waving. “Bye bye bye bye bye!” She keeps repeating it as I strap her in, and then I sit down next to her and fall back against my seat, totally exhausted. Maybe we'll both sleep.

I look over at her, my pale-skinned, blue-eyed, strawberry-blond daughter, and I feel a surge of love come from somewhere so deep inside me that it makes me shudder. “Well,” I say to her as the bus pulls out, “it looks like it's you and me, kid.”

She waves at the window. “Bye-bye.”

“Hey, Nat,” I say, and she looks up at me. “You ready for our very first road trip together?”

“Yes!” she yells.

I laugh. I doubt she actually understood the question, but her enthusiasm makes me happy anyway. This might be our first road trip, but it definitely won't be our last. And someday we'll be doing it in an extremely cool car I restored myself. I take Natalie's tiny hand in mine and squeeze gently. Our future stretches out in front of us, and for the first time in my entire life, I'm looking forward to it.

Thank you to Karen Grove, my lovely editor, for her insight, for being my sounding board, and for her all-around fabulousness. And to Michael Bourret for making the writer-editor match.
Merci!
Your faith knows no bounds.

Thanks to Papa for teaching me about cars, instilling in me the love for the cool ones, and most important, for checking this book for errors (if there are any, we need to talk . . . Just kidding, they're all mine).

Big hugs and lots of chocolate to my early readers: Eileen Cook, Alexa Barry, and Iain Lawrence. Thanks also to the best cheerleaders a writer could have: Zac Brewer, Joelle Charbonneau, LJA, S. Barney, Bill Cameron, and Suzanne Selfors. And to Karilyn McEnroe for the Spanish help.

Love to K.B. and the Berthelot family for sharing something important and personal, with special thanks to Nicole.

And even though he'll probably never see this, thanks to Jay Leno, for first bringing this program at McPherson College to my attention and making me want to write about it. Also to Joshua Hubin in the automotive restoration program for answering my questions about the admissions process, which apparently changes year to year!

Husbands always seem to get thanked last, but we all know why: They make writing books possible, so there's a lot to say. Thanks, darling, for the input, the cups of tea, and all the egg sandwiches when I was too busy to cook for real. You're my shining star.

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Photo Credit: Victory Anthony

J. M. K
ELLY
grew up in Portland, Oregon, and now lives in British Columbia, Canada. Her dad, whom she calls a car god, instilled in her a love for antique cars, and she once owned a beautiful 1959 Studebaker Lark. She's worked as an actress, a minor-league baseball souvenir hawker, the Easter Bunny, and various other not-so-odd jobs. She mostly writes novels, but also dabbles in sketch comedy, nonfiction articles, and teaching writing to both kids and adults.