Page 32 of Strange Lights

“Have you contacted your family?” Calvin asks too casually.

“I don’t have family.”

“Besides Eldi, you mean,” Calvin clarifies after a long silence. “You came from somewhere,” he points out, pressing the issue more than he usually would.

“How do you know? Maybe I’m an abomination created in a laboratory. Maybe I sprang fully formed, a monster, from another dimension. Perhaps I crawled up from the depths of hell itself. I was an alien traveling here on an interstellar spaceship⁠—”

“All right, all right. You don’t have to be facetious; I get it. You don’t have to tell me.”

A pang of guilt washes over me. Not enough to make me confess more truths, though.

It’s not just Calvin’s cousin asking him questions. Calvin’s fan base is getting suspicious of his silence on recent astrological happenings. Calvin’s been uploading premade and unrelated content, but his viewers and listeners aren’t dumb. So far it’s benefited him, upping his views and episode listens as conspiracy theories spread. Theories range from uncomfortably accurate (Calvin’s in trouble with shady government organizations because of his investigating and is on the run) to wildly off base (he’s been kidnapped by aliens and has sparked intergalactic war, news of which has been suppressed).

We make it all the way to the northern edge of Montana by dinnertime. My internal clock is fucked by this point, but at least I can nap while Calvin drives. I think we might actually have thrown Zara off our trail. If everyone and everything else hides in the basement, I have fake ID to get into Canada without being traceable. Winnie’s license plate has at some point morphed from US to Canadian. I pat her bumper fondly in thanks when I notice.

But it goes south, metaphorically speaking, as soon as I let my guard down. We’ve trundled off deep into some forest on dirt back roads, trusting in Winnie’s magic to hide our illegal camping. Eldi is bouncing off the walls. Literally. Climbing with sticky little hands like a gecko. Leaping from her loft bed to the sink to the bench and back to the floor. I wouldn’t let her out hunting, and she’s mad about it. She’s been set on looking for her favorite constellation, shrieking, “Orion, Orion, Orion,” every thirty seconds. I’ve been snapping at her, increasingly frustrated all evening. Doug and Dave are off doing their nightly thing. I knew it was useless to try to stop them.

“Are you seeing the same news I am?” Calvin says in amazement, without looking up from his laptop. His eyes are moving fast in the flicker of light as he scrolls.

“I’m definitely getting the same reports,” I say. “The president scheduled an announcement tomorrow morning.”

“There’s speculation the government is going to go with full disclosure regarding UFOs and extraterrestrials.”

“I have a hard time believing that,” I say. “Aliens could stand in the crowd, and the government would still deny their existence.”

“I don’t know, Reggie. This is getting big enough to be undeniable, don’t you think?”

Eldi leaps onto the table, scattering papers, shutting my laptop abruptly, and knocking my cactus from its temporary perch.

I yelp in pain as several spines burrow into my fingers when I grab for the plant as it goes sliding across the table and crashes on the floor, scattering dirt as its uneven clay pot cracks neatly in half.

“Eldi!” I explode. “I’ve told you a hundred times to stop running around the Winnebago. You broke my pot and killed my cactus.” Calvin quietly moves to collect the broken pieces and gingerly pick up the cactus with kitchen tongs.

I pluck out sharp spines and swallow back tears. I will not cry in front of Eldi and Calvin over a plant. But when I look at the broken little pot, painted with faded flowers, sitting in pieces on the kitchen table, I’m not sure I’ll be able to stop myself from crying.

Eldi irreverently blows a raspberry and leaps from the table into the pile of dirt, and I see red.

“Be quiet.”

Eldi goes rigid and still.

“Get out,” I continue.

Eldi bares her fangs and hisses.

“Get. Out,” I repeat through gritted teeth.

“Reggie⁠—” Calvin says warningly.

“No, I’ve had enough,” I say, unable to stop the words flooding out. “Get out. Don’t come back until you can behave. I don’t want to see you right now. I want some peace and quiet for once. You made a mess and ruined my things. Stop racing around Winnie like a feral beast.”

Eldi looks like I’ve slapped her. She runs, pausing only to grab Goat, scattering dirt in her wake and slamming the door behind her.

The guilt is immediate and all-consuming, but all I can see is the little broken pot and the scraggly cactus lying in the dirt.

Calvin cleans the rest of the mess in silence while I sit on the floor, trying to see past the haze in my eyes and swallow the lump in my throat.

By unspoken agreement, we wait for Eldi to return. I’m pretending to be deep into research. Calvin might actually be getting things done, but I’m staring blankly at my screen, occasionally refreshing my email and news feeds and staring out the window the rest of the time. There’s no sign of reflective eyes in the darkness.