“So, I’m really going? With Mom?” Maybe they just had to make sure everything was on the up-and-up before they let us go. Maybe Mom’s right outside. I take a step toward the door. “Mom and I are flying to LA?”

But Maria shakes her head. “We change planes in LA, Lou, on our way to Nashville.”

Mom’s not outside. Mom is nowhere I can get to. The spark of hope burns as it fizzles out.

“Your aunt wanted me to tell you how excited she is to have you,” Maria is saying, but I’m not listening. I’m staring at the ticket that meant one thing just a second ago and now means something else entirely.

“I’m not going,” I hear myself say. I’ve never said no to an adult in my life. It feels big—like earthquake, hurricane big. But Maria just sighs.

“Lou, you are still a minor. I understand you don’t want to leave your mother, but at this time everyone feels that it’s in your best interest to go to Tennessee.”

Everyone. Surely she doesn’t mean Mom, too? My face crumples. She sees it and starts to put a hand out but remembers her promise not to touch me and lets it fall.

“Honey, I know this is hard. And scary. But it is my entire job to make sure you are well cared for. I promise to keep you safe.”

I was cared for. I was safe.

I pocket the ticket and scream really loudly in my head. No one wants to hear what I have to say. No one cares. Mom cared, or I thought she did. But Mom’s not here. Maria waits by the bed while I gather my things—a plane ticket, a jacket, and Mom’s guitar that she passed on to Maria to give to me. I don’t want her guitar. I want her. I’m leaving without my mom, and there’s nothing I can do about it.

The airport in Reno is jam-packed. I have never been to an airport before. I don’t tell Maria this. She needs to think I can take of myself. I need to think I can take care of myself.

Maria explains that I won’t be able to take the guitar with me on the plane. We have to “check it,” whatever that means. When the man at the Southwest counter starts to take it from me, I can’t let go. No one touches Mom’s guitar but me and her. That’s the rule. He looks confusedly from me to Maria.

“I promise they’ll take good care of it,” she says, gently pulling the case out of my hands without actually touching them. It slides away on a black conveyor belt, and I feel like a part of my soul is going with it.