The sun was sinking now, striking the tops of some leafless branches, leaving the rest in chilly shade. The cracked two-lane road was rolling through patches of farmland alternating with one-story houses, pickups in the driveways framed by painted tires looping out of the ground, and collapsing barns looking like tents after a rainstorm.
Ivy fumbled for the headlight switch; the dashboard glowed orange. She wondered what Ma was going to make for dinner. Probably tomato soup, which she and Gran would eat in front of the TV, beer cans at their sides. Ivy didn’t exactly miss it, the ashtray smell and the ceiling light blackened with bug carcasses, the sandy scratch of the old couch under her thighs. There was an ache, though—for the funny banter between Colin and Agnes, maybe, or for the warmth of soup sliding into her empty belly, shreds of saltine cracker dissolving on her tongue. Ivy unscrewed the cap of the chocolate milk bottle with one hand and drank what was left, letting the slimy sweetness coat the inside of her mouth.
Of course, nowadays Colin usually worked the dinner shift, and if Agnes wasn’t working, she could generally be found at Hank’s Elbow Room, drinking with her new boyfriend. A lot of times, Gran wouldn’t even come out of her bedroom for dinner. Recently, Ivy had found a half-empty bag of pretzels and a forty in Gran’s closet. Gran said it was for when she got hungry in the middle of the night, but Ivy knew Gran was spending days on end in there, sleeping too much, drinking too much, eating too little. Ivy had dragged her over to the couch and made her eat a grilled cheese sandwich, wondering why she always had to be the one checking on Gran, keeping her alive, sitting through her tirades about the men, long dead, who’d left them all up shit creek.
And now even Ma was wanting Ivy’s help with things like vacuuming and carrying in the bags from the Food Bank, because her lungs couldn’t take it. She wouldn’t ask; she’d just stand in the doorway, trying her best to stuff some air down her throat, one hand gripping the doorjamb, the other stretched toward the floor as if it wasn’t too late to stop the cans of creamed corn from slipping from the plastic bag and rolling under the kitchen table. She wouldn’t ask, but she wouldn’t have to, Ivy being the only one around.
It was like that more and more. Ivy could see the future coming at her like a freight train, although really it was the opposite of that. It was like a light moving backward through a tunnel until it disappeared, leaving her alone in the dark. Agnes’s boyfriend had an apartment on the other side of town, and she’d already started leaving some of her clothes over there. Colin was starting to keep odd hours, answering his phone in the middle of the night and rushing out of the house, missing shifts and generally acting shady. Ivy wasn’t sure if he was dealing or taking action or what, but she knew he was headed for time at the Pen. That was just kind of how things went in Good Hope: if you didn’t end up working for one of the town’s three prisons, you ended up inside one of them. Or else you got a different kind of sentence, like a sick ma who needed you more and more, her need like a chain around your neck.
Up ahead, Ivy’s headlights picked up a brown sign with carved lettering: GARDNER STATE PARK. Ivy turned onto the dirt road, bumping past a sign that said, “Park closes at dusk.” The road split, wrapping itself around a small, darkened guard booth, and ended in a parking area next to some picnic tables and trash cans. Ivy stopped the car and turned off her headlights, peering through the purple gloom for signs of life.
Did park rangers patrol the woods at night? She wondered if they were a type of cop. The ones they always interviewed on I Survived wore gold badges and big hats that looked a lot like state police uniforms. On the one hand, she didn’t want one shining his flashlight in the car and asking to see an ID. On the other hand, it would be nice to know someone was out there in case of bears or wolves or whatnot. Ivy had thrown her cell phone out the car window on her way out of Good Hope, because she didn’t want anyone tracking it—which meant now she had no way to call for help.
The car made faint ticking noises. Ivy unfastened her seat belt and lifted the armrests between the front seats, stretching her legs across. If she fell asleep soon, she could wake up early and get back on the road before someone reported to work in the guard booth. She buttoned her jacket to her chin, put up her hood, and tucked her hands under her armpits.
It was pretty funny, the idea of spending the night in McFadden’s car. Funny and kind of annoying, since Ivy could feel her everywhere: in the tassel hanging from the rearview, in the disgusting sheepskin wheel cover, in the faded East Good Hope stickers on the back window. A decal on the glove compartment door had the school’s motto on it: “Home of the Eagles.” That irritated Ivy more than anything. She knew for a fact that nobody had seen an eagle anywhere near Good Hope for at least a hundred years.
She pulled out her wallet and found the folded newspaper clipping—the one with
