“Oh, right! You guys took, like, five hundred pictures. What were the…”

“They were murals of roadrunners,” I say. “Dad kept saying meep meep.”

Mom laughs. “Oh yeah! I remember.”

I remember how every time Dad made that sound, Ruth laughed. One time she laughed until she snorted. When we took pictures, I remember her lifting her arms way up high in the air like she was flying.

I check again to make sure Ruth’s earbuds are in and she can’t hear me. “That move was … the drive was happy for … for all of us, right? I remember it being happy.”

I hear Mom inhale. “I remember Ruth hoping it would be a good move. Hoping really hard. You helped her with that.”

So much effort went into that Treasure Hunt, and I think Mom is right about Ruth. Signs of really bad days had recently started popping up like Bobbitt worms, and maybe Ruth was hoping that a move across the country would wipe them away from the start. We were both hoping.

We talk for a few more minutes, about Dad stressing out about his new client, like he always does. About when they’re going to be flying out to meet us, about her lecture. She tells me she’s keeping up-to-date on my “travelgram” and I tell her I know, because I’ve seen all her comments.

I try to imagine exactly what my mom is seeing as she’s talking to me on the phone. Maybe the scratches on her desk? Dishes in the sink? That might be a cool photo project one day—take two relatives, show the different things they see, far away, nearby. I wonder if there’s a chance they’d ever be seeing the same thing.

“Tell Ruth I love her,” Mom says. “And tell Olivia I love her, too.”

“Very funny, Mom,” I say.

After I hang up, Ruth asks about making a pit stop, and I’m relieved that she’s speaking, if only to ask to pee in a toilet that isn’t moving. When we stop and all get out of the RV, Ruth doesn’t immediately follow, which worries me, but as I get into the service station, I look back through the glass doors and see her stepping down out of the RV.

This service station is a fancy one. It’s got a big lot spread with a handful of eighteen-wheelers and even a fountain out front. They have a whole row of vending machines with much more variety than earlier ones. They have a spinner full of postcards.

Ruth walks into the restroom and I grab a couple of fruit leathers. After I use the bathroom, I get my camera from the RV and look around the parking lot for potential Instagram pictures. The closer we get to New Orleans, the more excited I am about the Something New pictures I’m going to take.