Suddenly, I’m feeling desperately under-qualified for this job. I don’t know what to tell her. Does she know she won’t be going home for a few months yet? I’m not going to break it to her.
“Have you told your dad you want to go home?” Yes. This feels right. Let her dad give her the news.
“Yeah. He says we will. But I want to go home today, though.” She sniffles.
Now I have a conflict of interest. I don’t want any of them to go home, except maybe the dog.Don’t let the door hit you in the tail on the way out, Hairy. I think I finally get what Immy is saying, though, and my heart squeezes.
“I’m sorry, Im. I bet it’s hard to feel so homesick.”
She nods and sniffles, drawing in a shaky breath.
“You should talk to your dad about this. He can help you.”
She nods, but I know I need to do more.
The thing is, I can’t relate. I sigh. This is embarrassing. “I guess I don’t know what that feels like. I’ve never really been anywherebuthome.” I shrug, hoping the five-year-old doesn’t judge me for barely leaving the county I was born in.
She wipes her nose on her sleeve again and I make a mental note to keep some tissues in my pocket. “You’re lucky.”
“I don’t know about that. Did you know that I’ve never been on a plane? I’ve only ever driven to a few places. I don’t have a passport. My family has lived in the same house my whole life, doing the samethings, with the same people. I am so. boring.” Whoa. Where did that come from?This child isn’t your therapist, Sunny. Maybe cool it with the info-dumping?
“You never went on a plane?” Her horrified expression tells me that her worries are forgotten—temporarily, at least. “Why?!”
I shake my head. “I don’t know.” But I know exactly why: I’m so consumed with having my life in precise control that I can’t leave my job. And maybe Iama little boring. That’s a long answer for a five-year-old, so I say, “Can you believe that?” I can’t, either. I lead her back onto the path and I’m relieved when she follows without complaint.
Her eyes go wide. “You have to go on a plane. It’s so fun.” She’s practically bouncing down the trail now, pointing at flowers in between chattering about all of the plane trips she's been on. And I’m left feeling whiplashed by the mood swings of this tiny person.
I look at Hairy and whisper, “Is this normal?”
Hairy’s big, brown eyes blink like she’s seen some things, but Oliver had her sign a pile of NDAs.
“Okay, then.”
I tug the leash, and Hairy and I follow Immy back down the trail. Tears forgotten. Homesickness—what’s that? I unlock my car and Immy is climbing into the back seat before she speaks again.
“You have blood on your face.”
My right cheek started to throb once the adrenaline of our adventure wore off, but I know better than to touch an open wound with unclean fingers, so the severity of the injury was a mystery until now. I peek in the rearview mirror. Gross. There’s a long drag mark across my cheek with a line of blood dripping to my jaw. I also have some impressive road rash on my knees and elbows, thanks to Ms. Hairy’s Wild Ride. Luckily, I have a first aid kit in my glovebox and plenty of experience using it.
While I’m swiping my cheek with an alcohol wipe, I scowl at Hairy, who is panting from her fur-coated seat. I swear she’s smiling,completely oblivious that she made a mess of my face. She’s just happy to be here, stinking up the interior of my car.
“Maybe warn me next time you want to go racing across the desert, Hairy.” I roll my eyes at the dog. These dumb wipes are stinging and making my eyes water.
“Just so you know, she can’t understand you,” Immy reminds me.
“I know.”
I need a Coke. A big one.
12. Someone Crack Anders With a Whip
“Honey, I’m home!” I call into the suite.
There’s no sugar coating it—today sucked. All of the changes that were made to the shooting schedule set off a chain reaction of chaos that bled into every aspect of the project. The entire crew was on edge. Sometimes this happens when we get in the thick of filming. There are a lot of opinions and expectations. It’s a huge machine with a lot of moving parts, so when the machine gets jostled unexpectedly it can lead to… feelings. That’s a kind way to say it. At one point today, Christopher’s face turned dark red and I swear I saw veins in the shape of devil horns pop out on his forehead.
So, rough day. All I want is to collapse on the couch next to Sunny and watch a mindless movie. I check the time on my phone. 10:47 p.m. I hope she’s up for it. It’s late, tomorrow is another early day, and it’s her birthday.
“Girls?” I call into the darkness. I know Sunny is a woman, but what am I supposed to do here? I imagine calling out, “Woman and girl?” or “Sunny and Immy?” but they’re both a mouthful.
