I don’t reply. At the mention of Shannon, I am suddenly so furious I’m worried I might pass out.
“She told me to go easy on you. She said it would be hard for you, seeing me. Seeing how I’ve moved forward.”
I nod, but I’m not quite listening. I’m stuck on Shannon—who’s in her late thirties now. Amazing. For the first time in almost twenty years, I realize something strange: the world didn’t stop when we left it. Clementine didn’t die. She grew up. And Shannon—
And the world—
I shake my head. Clementine and Shannon and the world and Clementine and Shannon—
“Civil war?”
Clementine doesn’t answer. She just looks at me, like she’s deciding how to respond. Finally she leans forward on her elbows and says seriously, in a tone that is not unkind, “Do you know, Mother, what the hardest part of leaving you was?”
I say nothing.
“It wasn’t walking through the woods with the kids, or waiting for a car to stop. It wasn’t moving in with Grandma, all five of us in a single bedroom. It was months after I’d gotten to the other side, when I realized that every single thing you told me about the world was a lie.” Her hands are shaking. She’s staring at her own fingers as she says, “Everything was so much …betterthan I thought it wouldbe. The people were nicer. The cities were cleaner. I was right: it was better living with Grandma and Abigail than it was with you. And when they took us to see the ocean—” She stops, her breath suddenly shaky. She inhales deeply, then exhales. Speaks again. “I just didn’t get it. I didn’t get why my family never wanted to be a part of it.” Her eyes meet mine. “Why did you never want to be a part of it?”
WHYISITSOHARDFORYOUTOBEKIND?
“Forward,” I say. “Forward?”
And just like that, her fury gives way to sadness. “Time only moves in one direction, Mom.”
Then Caleb throws open the door, startling both of us. “That’s enough girl time,” he announces. He’s agitated now. He’s probably been fuming outside, working himself into a froth imagining what we were talking about inside the house, without him.Welcome to the Ladysphere: Where the Women Go!
He points a finger at Clementine. “I think that it’s time for you to leave.”
Clementine looks perfectly peaceful now. “I agree,” she says. She stands up. “Where are the kids?”
Caleb and I speak at once. “The kids?”
“Oh, yes. Did I forget to mention that? Silly me. I didn’t come here for lunch. I came here for the kids.” She pulls a folded-up paper out of her jacket pocket. “I have a warrant, if you’d like to see.”
She hands it to Caleb. He doesn’t read it, just shakes it and says, “What is this?”
“Something I’ve been wanting to do for a very long time, but couldn’t until Doug ran out of money and Stetson called the officers and agreed with everything I’ve been saying for years.” Clementine looks at me. “So thank you, Mother, for reminding my brother how crazy you truly are.”
I open my mouth but nothing comes out.Think, Natalie, think.The kids are leaving. The kids—leaving. Which means—
No fucking way. I will not stay at this ranch alone with my husband.
“Well,” I say lightly, “a warrant is a warrant. No fighting that. I’ll just go pack some of my things and then we can—”
“Oh no, Mother. You’re not coming with us.”
My smile falters.
“Why?”
She shrugs. Her eyes are red, but no tears fall. “Because I said so.”
“You cannot leave me here,” I say quickly. “Clementine.Clementine.Listen. You cannot leave me here, alone. You cannot leave me herewith him.”
She cocks her head, and I see an ounce of sympathy in her gaze. “You’re the one who built this place, Mom. You don’t need anyone’s help to leave it.”
It happens so quickly that it feels like I’m skipping along the surface of my own life. Clementine, down the hall, knocking on a bedroom door, telling the children to come out. Introducing herself softly to Maeve and Abel and Noah, and then guiding them toward the car. In minutes, they’re inside, buckling their seat belts, too stunned and terrified to fight. Caleb and I stand on the sidelines, looking equally helpless. It’s like the force of Clementine’s presence alone has short-circuited the whole family.
“You should say goodbye to your children now,” Clementine says to Caleb and me, when they’re all in the car. “You probably won’t see them again for a very long time. Maybe not ever.”
