She is quiet. Then she whispers, “Ra-Ra, I’m scared. You don’t even know this boy.”

“He’s okay.”

“How do you know?”

I pause. How do I know? I think of the cinnamon bun with melting icing, the way he so naturally plays with the little kids. Or what he said when he showed me the painting. He saw right into me almost from the start. That ticklish feeling starts in my chest, spools outward, to all of me. He knows what it’s like to be unprotected. To always be on the run. There’s an understanding quiet between us.

“Carlos is chill,” I say softly. “He really is.”

“He better be. Or I’ll come and kick his ass.” I hear her sniffling on the other end. “Get me something cool? Wherever you are?”

“I promise, Fa-Fa,” I say.

Then we’re heading out of Boston, toward Cape Cod.

“This way you can see the very tippy tip of America,” Carlos explains to Kamal.

“What else can we do?”

“We can swim.”

“In the ocean?”

“Yes.”

His nose wrinkles. “Are there sharks?”

“Maybe. But that’s why you have to be a fast swimmer.”

“I need a floatie,” he says. “I can’t swim without a floatie!” Kamal is a cautious swimmer. We once took a few days off and Ammi drove us to a lake upstate; Kamal spent a lot of time on the beach, knees pressed together, not trusting the orange floaties on his arms.

I reach over and rub Kamal’s ankle. “Don’t worry. We’ll swim where there are no sharks. And we’ll get you a floatie.”

I’m already liking this trip: after about an hour we’re starting to pass buildings with cutouts of cheerful lobstermen in boats on the roofs, floats and blow-up rowboats swinging from the front porches. It feels like we’re heading into a real vacation. Once we’re crossing the Sagamore Bridge and see the glittering water, and then on Route 6, with its low shrubs and flat land, I open the windows to see if I can smell the sea, the way I did in Karachi, with Ammi and Abu.

Leaning over, Carlos tucks my hair back, which is flying into my eyes. “It never stays in place,” he murmurs.

My face tingles, feeling his fingers against my skin. Then I call out, “Route Six!”

“So?”

“That’s it! The whole way On the Road begins! He’s in search of Route Six, which goes clear across the continent. Road America!”

Carlos laughs. “Whatever.”

“Say it, both of you!”

Kamal makes a face and Carlos grumbles, but they chorus: “Road America!”

“Road America!” we all chant, happy.