Inbetween

she finishes, but I can see even she’s struggling to believe her own propaganda.

“Yeah, right. There’s not even a damn Walmart out here, and Walmart is everywhere.”

“Don’t cuss,” she says. “My mother hates cussing.”

Good to know. Rattle off the seven unspeakable cuss words the first chance I get, and family or not, if she has any brains, her mom will send us packing.

Trees crowd the road, sucking the air out of the car. I’d forgotten how much I detest the great outdoors. I’d spent my whole life traveling toward the city, longing for a place where I belong, and now Mom slaps me back to square one.

Every so often, another dirt road forks off the main one, but try as I might, I can’t see any signs of human life. The road looks like it leads to a campground. What is she thinking? She hates country life even more than I do.

“So, your mom… What am I supposed to call her?”

Her laugh is a short, bitter sound. “How about Granny? That’ll rip her up.”

“Using me to dig at your mom isn’t very mature.”

She pushes the dancing, brown curl out of her eyes. “Oh, shut up. You know I’m kidding. Anyway, what do you care?”

“I don’t.” I haven’t cared about anything in a long time, but still. Someone has to be an adult, and it sure won’t be her.

And she isn’t kidding, regardless of what she says. It’s good to know I’m not the only one who causes that particular look of resentment to flash in her eyes.

As we trundle over the hard-packed mud, a scruffy, tri-colored dog with a bobbed tail and spindle-legs shoots out of the trees and runs alongside the car, all barks and growls like it’s never seen a rusted box on wheels before.

“Beat it, Fido.” I swat at it, but it nearly bites off my hand. “Hey!”

“What?”

“The dog almost bit me!”

Mom looks at me like I’m the problem. “What are you, two? Don’t touch a strange dog.”

Yep. I’m the problem. I slouch back onto my seat. She would side with a mangy animal over her own flesh and blood. I guess that’s what happens when you’re the unwanted son of a teenage runaway.

The dog breaks away when we round a bend cluttered with trees. Mom mutters a few more cuss words. I close my eyes and sigh.

That’s Mom. Do as I say, not as I do.

The car veers to the left, and I crack my eyes open. The wall of trees separates to reveal a half-dozen strange, brightly-painted metal sculptures that belong in one of those modern museums only rich people go to. There’s something disturbing about the way they rise up, twisting and stretching in a macabre, colorful dance.

Behind them, a huge, red barn overlooks a clapboard-sided house. When we bottom out near the top of the drive, a small woman, pail in hand, turns and watches us from her place on the front porch. I push my hood off to get a better look. “Yee-haw. There’s Granny. So where’s Uncle Jed, cousin Jethro, and Elly May?”

“Knock it off.”

I can feel a headache coming on. “Let me get this straight. You can say whatever you want, but I’ve gotta behave?”

“Exactly. Nobody likes a smart ass.”

“That would explain your lack of popularity.”

She blows out the last of the smoke that’s rotting her lungs. “For God sakes, would it kill you to be nice?”

The Road Runner rolls to a stop. Mom hops out with a big, yet wary, smile plastered across her face. I’m not at all eager to meet my maternal kin. Honestly, how great can they be? Mom left when she was barely sixteen. My life sucks and I’m still with my parental unit. What does that say about hers?

The woman drops the bucket, and when it lands on the porch’s wooden planks, the expected clatter is swallowed by the surrounding forest. Her face pales. I recognize disbelief when I see it. Her hands shake as she rubs them down the sides of her worn-out jeans. Granny isn’t exactly old. In fact, she’s downright young-looking. A little weather-beaten, but still kind of attractive. An older version of Mom.

Mom hesitates. “Hey, Mama. Bet you didn’t expect to see me.”

I groan. I shouldn’t be surprised that she’s dragged us all the way up here without telling anyone, but I am. Mom’s never been one to bother with practical matters like informing family we’re coming to live with them indefinitely.

“Dylan,” Mom yells, and motions me forward. “Get out of the car.”

Grandma’s attention shifts to where I’m still sitting in the passenger seat. Her eyes are big and pale blue, almost see-through.

They’re kinda creepy, actually.

“Who’s that?” she asks. “Your boyfriend?”

I’m a big guy. Not, oh-my-God-look-at-that-giant-fat-boy big, but tall and muscular. I’ve been known to walk into a bar or two and not get carded.

“Beautiful,” I mutter. Gritting my teeth, I get out of the car, one hand on the roof, the other on the door and glare at Mom. “She doesn’t know who I am, does she?”

Mom’s eyes widen. She looks like she’s going to cry again, and burning anger starts to rise inside of me. I try to tamp it down, but I can’t. It bubbles over, leaping into my eyes, my mouth, and my heart.

Without another word, I snatch an old army duffel stuffed with my things from the back seat and slam the door. I don’t look back as I retrace my way toward the main road.

“Dylan!”

I ignore Mom’s call.

“Dylan, stop.”

I do, but it’s got nothing to do with her. The crazy dog skids into my path. Its ears are down, and its teeth are showing. Long, mean teeth.

Mom’s fingers clamp onto my shoulder, startling me. The dog leaps toward her, and I kick dirt at it and yell for it to go.

Amazingly it does. I pull out of Mom’s grasp, ignoring the pleading in her eyes. She latches on again. “You can’t go. Please, don’t do this.”

Where does she get off, acting this way? “What do you care whether I’m here or not?”

“You have to stay! If you don’t, it’s going to get worse.”

It sounds like she cares, but I’m not easily fooled. I turn away. “She doesn’t know who I am. You never told her about me.”

“Of course not. I haven’t talked to her since I left.”

I snap around and confront her. “Why are we even here?”

“There’s no other place to go.”

“Bullsh—”

“Don’t cuss.” She glances back and sees Grandma inching her way toward us. “We have to be smart about this. You promised me you’d behave.”

The muscle in my cheek twitches. “People make promises all the time they don’t intend to keep.” Just like she’d promised to quit smoking and drinking and hooking up with men. Promises run cheap in our dysfunctional family.

I will not be like her. I will make something out of my life, even if it kills me.

Panic flushes her face. “Please, Dylan.”

She’s desperate. I can taste it in the air. I should relent, but an unquenchable need to hurt her like she constantly hurts me threatens to hijack my control.

The crunch of gravel stops me from saying something that would push her over the edge. Grandma’s within hearing range, a look of suspicion on her face. “What’s going on, Addison?”