As if sensing her mother’s thoughts, Caddie turned toward Carol. “We could just go home,” she said. “We don’t have to keep going.”

For the first time in months, Carol agreed with her daughter. They could just go home. But, she reminded herself, home had not been a particularly enjoyable place of late. Without looking at Caddie she said, “I don’t think so.”

Reflected in the rearview mirror, she saw Caddie’s eyes darken. Then the inevitable. “I hate you.”

And I hate you, she wanted to reply. You hate me and I hate you. That makes us even. But no mother would say such a thing. Still, she felt it, and knew that countless mothers before her had felt the same thing. Perhaps one or two had even said so. But it couldn’t be true. No parent hated their child; they only hated what passed between them. And that part was true. She did hate the dark chasm that had grown, seemingly overnight, between her and Caddie.

“He doesn’t even want me,” Caddie continued.

“He wouldn’t have asked if he didn’t,” said Carol instantly.

They both knew that was a lie. Caddie didn’t even attempt an objection. Instead, she looked out the window and remarked, “Where is this place, Iowa? It’s all farms.”

“They grow a lot of produce around here,” Carol said. “Artichokes. Strawberries.” She couldn’t think of anything else, and she knew Caddie was hardly impressed anyway. “Garlic,” she added quickly. “There’s some kind of garlic festival every year.”

“Garlic,” Caddie repeated. “That’s super. Neato.”

She pressed her forehead against the window. Outside, the green fields rolled by, seemingly without end. I’m being sent to the farm, she thought grimly. I got myself knocked up, and now I’m going to live with Aunt Bea and Uncle Henry.

If only I were knocked up, she thought. She’d know how to take care of that. But this—thing—with her mother was unfixable. It was like she’d woken up one day a different person. Maybe I’m a changeling, she told herself. Maybe the fairies will come and steal me back.

She thought of Sam and Bree back in L.A. They’d had plans. Well, sort of plans. Ideas, anyway. The details would have worked themselves out. But then her mother had dropped the bomb. “You’re going to live with your father for the summer.”

Caddie remembered with some small satisfaction her comeback. “What father?”

“There’s the ocean,” her mother said.

“Big deal,” said Caddie. “It’s the same ocean we have in L.A.”

“Three months isn’t going to kill you,” Carol said. “It might even be fun.”

Caddie looked at her. “If he’s so much fun, how come you didn’t stay married to him?” she asked.

She didn’t want an answer, and she didn’t get one. Her parents’ divorce was a closed subject. It just hadn’t worked out.

Three months. Three long months. Three long boring months. With her father. The prospect was in no way appealing. She tried to remember the last time she’d even seen her father. It had been at least a year. He’d been in L.A. for some kind of conference. They’d had dinner. He’d talked about something she didn’t understand. Squid, maybe. Or clams. He hadn’t asked her about herself at all. She’d been relieved when it was over.