Where the Stars Still Shine(50)

“It’s not fair,” I say, when the waitress is gone.

My grandmother’s slender shoulders rise and fall. “Life isn’t fair.”

Fury sweeps through me the way the dust storms whirled through that tiny crossroads town in New Mexico—and oh my God, I’ve forgotten its name. How could I have forgotten already? Pieces of me are falling off, getting lost.

I put down my fork.

“I’ve had a whole life of not fair,” I say, meeting her eyes. “And then I came here and thought maybe, for once … except everyone just wants more from me than I can give. Greg expects the daughter he’s always imagined. Kat wants slumber parties and double dates. And you—you keep pushing me to be Greek when I’m not even sure what that means yet. Can’t I just be me until I figure it out?”

“Oh, Callista, of cour—”

“Alex accepts me the way I am,” I say. “You have no right to ask this of me.”

“Ordinarily, I would agree.” Yiayoúla touches her hand to her heart. “And if you want the truth, I love the way you told me off just now. You’re a stronger girl than you’ve been given credit for, I think. But … this is not ordinarily. Evgenia doesn’t have much time, and she can’t bear the thought of leaving this world without saying good-bye to her son. And because she is my best friend, I’m going to make it happen.”

“He’ll hate me.”

“Not forever,” she says. “He cares about you for the very same reason you care about him. He’s not going to let that go.”

I think about the transient boys. The ones who didn’t really want me, let alone try to keep me. “That’s not how life works.”

“Of course it is,” she says. “The good ones are the ones who are smart enough to stick around. And despite what the rest of the world thinks it knows about Alex Kosta, he is one of the very best.” I look away and my cheeks grow warm. Yiayoúla reaches across the table and squeezes my hand with her cool fingers. “It will be okay. I promise.”

“I still don’t understand why I need to be a part of this,” I say, as the waitress approaches with our lunches. “I mean, why can’t you just take her down to the tour boat on a Sunday afternoon when he can’t escape?”

“I like the way you think.” Her smile is devious. “If you and I are the conspirators, Alex will blame us, not Evgenia. Yes. We’ll do it this weekend.”

“Great.” There’s no enthusiasm in my voice as I answer, and even less when the waitress sets a plate piled with tentacles on the table in front of me. There is absolutely no way I’m eating octopus, even if it tastes like proverbial chicken. “I’m sorry, but I really, really don’t want this.”

The waitress looks to my grandma for approval.

“Box it up,” Yiayoúla says. “I’ll take it home for later. Bring Callista whatever she wants.”

“I, um—I’ll have some hummus, please. And two Cokes.” The first time I wake up, I’m slumped over the table in the Airstream with my face stuck to a page of the GED study guide. The exam is coming up, and I’m nervous about the math segment because kindergarten addition and a battered old textbook can only carry you so far in life. I’m strong in language arts and social studies, and I’ve managed to reason my way through the science practice questions, but I’m having difficulty solving for x.

The next time I wake, it’s three in the morning and my mom slides under the blanket beside me, wrapping her arm around my waist. As I settle back into the comfort of her embrace, my sleepy brain spins her presence into something that feels like a dream. Except her hair is drenched in the scent of cigarettes, and she’s beer-breathy as she whispers through my hair that she loves me, so I know it’s really her.

“Mom, you can’t keep coming here,” I whisper back.

In the stillness between us, I hear a car drive past on the next street over and a distant dog barks once, then again.

“I always wanted hair like yours.” Her voice is soft and hoarse, her tongue thick with alcohol. She strokes my head. “So wild and beautiful.”

“If you get caught, you’ll be sent back to jail.”

“This time will be different,” she says. “You’ll see. We’ll settle somewhere nice. Maybe by the ocean. Somewhere you can make friends and maybe get a job, or even go to college.”

I roll over to face her. In the dim light, I can see the sadness wedged in the fine lines around her eyes and mouth, so I don’t mention that I already have all those things right here, right now. I press my forehead against hers. “Is there somewhere you can stay … you know, until we leave?”

I don’t know if this is truth or lie, but it feels false in my mouth. Her lips spread into a dreamy smile and my next heartbeat is spiked through with guilt.

“I had a room at a motel with someone I used to know”—she closes her eyes and her words get slow and sleepy—“but that fell through. I’ll find something, though. Don’t worry.”

“Greg is renovating a house over on Chesapeake.” Even as I’m saying it, I know this is a bad idea, but I can’t bear seeing her looking so lost and alone. I don’t want her sleeping in dirty motels with strange men. “There might be construction workers on-site during the day, but you could sleep there until, um—until we’ve got enough money to go.”