What I’m doing is probably foolish and won’t serve me well, but I have to believe in the happy endings I’ve read about, about people landing on their feet if they’re brave enough.
“What?” Artie stares at the money.
“I didn’t need as much as I thought for flying out. I know it must be expensive to suddenly hand over half a thousand dollars. Take some back for the groceries. I’ll keep some. I want to buy a few things for myself. I need... I need a way to get a phone and a laptop.”
“I have an old laptop and phone. I can have up to three lines on my plan, that’s no problem!” Artie says eagerly. “And I’m an IT nerd.”
“It?”
“Information technology. A computer geek. I can fix up old computers and hack into things and— Oh, not that I’d hack in a bad way.”
“Hack? Get papers made up or sent over that people wouldn’t normally have access to?” I clarify cautiously.
“Well, I can try. I’m not sure if I could get into some big corporation’s bank account. I wouldn’t try!” Artie holds out his hands.
He radiates nervousness and an eagerness to please.
I used to feel that way around Barton, too, and it was never met kindly. I was never good enough.
My heart skips a beat, a lightness bubbling in me as I imagine my efforts finally being met with friendship. Maybe more.
But first things first. “C-could you get me a... A birth certificate if I was born at home and never had one filed?”
Artie’s face goes solemn. “We’ll do that. My way or the red tape way. We’ll get what you need, Imogene. I want you to be happy here for as long as you want to stay.”
Forever. I want to say forever.
Instead, I ask, “Should we get Laurel ready?”
“Yes! I made her a costume the other day with a green onesie and a Sharpie. She’s going as a watermelon.”
“Adorable.”
IMOGENE IS QUIET INthe car. In the store. She sits forward, eyes wide, and her mouth opens slightly when she sees the park, the library, the shopping center.
I find myself dreaming about taking her out to the nice little Italian place next to the Fresh Market. I dream about ordering pizza with her and eating it on the couch. About doing anything with her.
Heck, I’m even excited to go to the store. I’ve been ordering everything online or getting deliveries, afraid to take Laurel out in public unless she’s hidden under the hood of her stroller and protected by blankets.
By the way she reacts, I’m also realizing that her friend Lesha lied. No one ogles a small mountain town like Pine Ridge like they’re on an alien planet if they’ve been to New York City.
I don’t know the full details of what she escaped, but I know she was desperate—maybe more desperate than me.
I don’t care about the lies, as long as she doesn’t hurt Laurel.
“I need makeup. To hide this.” Imogene points to her pink hands, pulling on her gloves as we park.
“Okay. Maybe we could try that on Laurel. I don’t know... I feel like that’s bad for babies.”
“It probably is. But—” Imogene stops, hand on the door, lips parted in surprise. “I... That’s not a costume. Is it?”
I follow her gaze. There’s a cute brunette woman walking arm-in-arm with a tall figure covered in scales. His tail twitches and waves, winds around her waist. His wings flare and then fold down over his shoulders as they go into the store’s automatic door.
“That’s one hell of a costume,” I breathe out, wondering about how expensive it must be to have the articulated wings, the tail that moved so seamlessly and fluidly.
Like it was real.
“Are you getting out?”
