But I’m not paying too much attention to exactly what they’re saying because there’s something I don’t get. After walking through a strange new city, after arguing on the phone with me, after getting an illegal tattoo that is going to get her in epic trouble at some point or another, Ruth’s here chatting and relaxing in these red theater seats, enjoying a concert like nothing’s happened. The tattoo—the incriminating evidence—is one wrong head-turn away from being spotted, but that doesn’t seem to bother her at all.

After a few minutes Ruth goes back to poring over her program. On the open page is a picture of the musicians and the words New Orleans Jazz Company. I take out my camera, and as quickly as I can, take a picture of her hands holding the program, her thumbs pointing up toward the New. I try to make it seem like I’m just scrolling through old photos for a second, and she doesn’t notice I’m taking a picture. I stash my camera again just as quickly, before any of the ushers notice.

This concert-program photo will have to technically count for my Something New picture, since tomorrow we’re leaving for a new city and a new plan. It’s a major stretch, and not at all the same kind of happy jump shot as last time. I’m not thrilled, but I did the best I could.

Then Ruth turns to me, looking exhilarated. “These guys are so insanely talented, aren’t they?”

The lights shut off suddenly, then a spotlight illuminates a single trumpeter in the middle of the stage. He stands there, alone in the light, brings the gleaming trumpet up to his lips, and begins a high, soaring solo that reaches to the back of the audience, up to the tall, tall roof, and out into the black night sky.

A full moon spotlights me through the front RV window that night. I’ve drawn back the curtains in my little loft and stare at the moon, trying to make out a pattern in the dark smudges across its glowing surface. People say it looks like a man or a rabbit, but I can’t see anything. Maybe it’s too bright.

I hear Ruth breathing. She has this not-quite-snore that’s more like choking in air and then puffing it out all at once. Some nights it sounds desperate and makes me sad, but tonight it is comforting. I’ve never been someone who likes sleepovers or too-long school trips or staying places at night without my family. It doesn’t count as away from family if Ruth is here.