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"I'm sure we will." She reached up and ruffled my hair, then laughed. "Not as easy to do that now, is it?"
I nodded and my throat tightened. She put her arm around my shoulders, gave me a squeeze, and we carried on through the woods.
EIGHT
We made it as far as the first motel, still a few miles from the city, and decided that was good enough. The place was a dump. But the desk clerk was happy to take sixty bucks cash and didn't ask us for ID, credit cards or even a name.
He probably took one look at Jaime and me and decided we were working girls. I didn't tell Jaime that. Her ego might not have survived. After being drugged and sick, seeing people torn to pieces and cut in half, then tramping through swampy fields for miles, she was not her usual glamorous self. I was worse. I don't even want to think about how the motel clerk figured I'd hurt my throat.
My mother hid behind the building while we checked in. We found her leaning against the wall, looking far more cool and collected than either of us. Medina's shirt was too small--Mom's a fraction under my six feet--but the Levine women aren't blessed with curves, so it fit snug and short. She'd come from the afterlife in a very unangelic pair of worn jeans and leather boots. Her straight dark hair hung to her midback. She looked exactly as I remembered her, which I suppose made sense. Ghosts don't age. But she looked, well, let's just say that seeing her now, I realized why everyone said we looked alike. I had slightly shorter hair and blue eyes. Better fashion sense, too--I was also partial to jeans and boots, but my tastes were more Fifth Avenue than Walmart. Other than that, it was like walking toward a mirror.
She was gazing over the field, frowning slightly.
"See something?" I said.
"No, just . . ." She glanced at Jaime. "I'm surprised Kris isn't pestering the hell out of you by now. He must have gone straight to the Fates to plead my case."
"Actually, no," Jaime said. "He was around before you came, but there was a problem. Come on inside and I'll explain."
Mom tried not to be freaked out about my father's situation. "He'll find his way out. Eventually. The man is brilliant, but he has the worst sense of direction. Once, he promised me a trip to the beach and teleported us to the Sahara."
"It has sand," I said.
"Exactly what he said. To be honest, I had more fun there than I would ever have had at the beach."
"But if he has a bad sense of direction . . ."
"Th
at just means he gets lost a lot. Meaning he has to get unlost a lot." Her fingers tapped the bedspread. Then she said, more emphatically, "He'll find his way back. Okay, kids, so the next step is . . ."
"Resting," Jaime said. "Please tell me it's resting."
"To rest, you need to actually sit down," I said. "You've been standing there since we arrived. The beds are reasonably clean. Just pull back the spread and keep your clothes on."
"Please," Mom said. "For once, keep your clothes on."
Jaime made a face at her. Mom tugged back the cover, then reached over and dragged Jaime to the bed, hard enough that she fell onto it.
Jaime rolled her eyes, but stayed put, and they bantered for a few minutes as Jaime got comfortable. Watching them was . . . odd. I knew Mom had been Jaime's spirit guide for years, and I guess I knew they were friends, too, but seeing them together, so comfortable with each other . . .
Was I envious? I don't know. But it did make me feel . . . odd. My mother once called me the center of her world. That wasn't maternal hyperbole. I really had been the center of her world and she'd been mine. We'd moved from city to city, never staying in one place for long. She had contacts and students, but I rarely saw them and they never saw her outside of business. Even her friends, she kept at arm's length. This relationship with Jaime was different. I was happy for her, though.
"Okay, we'll rest first, then call a cab and get a real hotel," Jaime said. "There, we have a plan."
"Well," Mom said, "as much as I hate to argue with my elders--"
"Hey, no age jokes. You're only two months younger than me."
"Mmm, did I mention I paid a visit to the big ol' hall of records in the sky? Seems there's a slight discrepancy in your accounting."
"If there is, blame my mother. I never lie about my age. I never give it unless necessary, but I never lie about it either."
When Mom didn't respond, we looked over to see her holding Jaime's cell phone.
"Hey, how'd you get--?"
"Shit, these have changed a lot in a decade," Mom said. "Don't worry, I won't send dirty text messages to Jeremy. You do enough of that anyway."
