By her twentieth birthday, there are a few things Valarie Ricci knows for certain.
She knows that her waitressing job barely covers the costs of living out of a beat up old van. She knows she's stuck in the dead end hometown her high school friends...
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Mom drove them deep into farmland. The bus navigated gravel and dirt roads that criss-crossed through pastures and fields that stretched out to the horizon. They sat in silence as the wind roared through the open windows, berating Valarie with a breeze that was too cold to be comfortable. Ithaca was too short to stick his head out a window, but his ears still flapped in the air tunneling through the bus. Her hand rested on a backpack, hastily stuffed with whatever she needed from her things in the van.
Valarie tried to relax, but her eyes would land on Alice, seated three rows up from her, and all she could think about was I wanted to be dirt. The memory of Alice's voice, the sight of her still-bloodied hands filled Valarie with equal parts anger, heartbreak, and desperation. That Alice could have thought of herself–even for a horrible, drunken second–as nothing more than dirt was enough to tie Valarie's insides into knots.
She wanted to hold Alice down forever and tell her over and over how important she was, how much Valarie needed her to be safe, how nothing mattered more to her than that until Alice finally got it through her thick skull.
More than anything, Valarie wanted to believe that something like that could actually work.
Valarie caught Mom's eye in the giant rearview mirror. They both scrambled to look away. Stupid stupid stupid. Mom was having a new kid. She wanted a new kid. Valarie knew that Mom loved her, but it was never the easy, uncomplicated love that she thought mothers were supposed to have. There was always a hint of something else turning behind Mom's eyes when she looked at Valarie, something like panic. Valarie sometimes felt like a trap Mom had gotten stuck in–one that she'd chew off her own foot to escape.
But this kid would be a clean slate. The kid would have a father and a mother and they'd grow up speaking French. They would never know Nonna or Nonno or Alzheimer's or a hometown called Valentine that stored all of Mom's worst memories. With Nonno gone, Valarie was the very last thread tying Mom to the past.
Valarie made a silent promise to not fuck anything up for either Mom or the kid. She'd give Mom back the space she needed as soon as she could move on.
An hour passed before Mom turned down a secluded road surrounded by tilled fields upon tilled fields and leading towards a big red barn and an old-timey house with a huge wrap around porch. The lot hosted any number of expensive-looking farm equipment, vehicles, and various mobile homes.
As they approached, Alice twisted around in her seat to look at Valarie. "The potato cult," she said, voice barely audible over the wind.
Valarie nodded. "The potato cult," she agreed.
"What?" Mom asked.
"Nothing!" Valarie called back.
As Mom parked the bus, Bastien materialized near Valarie's window, wearing a huge smile as he waved. Valarie waved back with as much enthusiasm, genuinely relieved to see him. She collected her bag and Ithaca before following Mom and Alice off the bus.
