Once More, At Midnight. Wendy Warren

misread the sign.”

      “As i-i-i-f. If I misread the sign, what’s that?” She pointed, and Lilah followed the direction of the skinny arm, mostly so she wouldn’t have to make eye contact.

      She squinted.

      Ohmigod.

      On their side of the quiet two-lane highway, no more than fifty yards ahead, was a large sign that read Union Gas and Minimart. A gas station and a minimart? Lilah gaped. On a highway that led to a string of towns so small and insignificant they hadn’t appeared on a map since Custer whupped Sitting Bull?

      She shook her head. Well, crud. Now she would have to deal with a rude, angry, right preteen. “Okay. We’ll stop for a bathroom break,” she conceded, adding in a mutter, “I can’t believe someone put a minimart out here. Everything will go stale inside of a year.”

      “Maybe they sell food to kids whose guardians aren’t trying to starve and torture them. I have to pee-ee!”

      Gritting her teeth, Lilah pressed the accelerator. Even though her own bladder was crying for relief, she would have kept going if it were up to her. Her sister’s house was perhaps a half hour down the road, and Lilah wanted to get there soon.

      Now.

      Yesterday.

      More than a potty break, she needed the comfort of sisterly arms, a commiserating smile and someone who knew her well enough to understand that unexpected motherhood had thrown her into a panic worthy of a Valium drip.

      Turning into a station that boasted two bays of shiny new pumps, Lilah pulled alongside a handsome structure designed to resemble an old-fashioned general market. The minimart had a wood exterior and a window painted in block letters that read Free Ice Water and Restrooms Inside.

      Parking, she attempted a tone of good cheer, as if stopping had been her idea all along. There had to be some way to get along with an angry eleven-year-old. “So, okay! Let’s check out that bathroom and then—”

      Bree was out of the car and pushing open the store’s glass door before Lilah could unbuckle her seat belt. Sighing, she hauled her stiff body out of the car feeling still more defeated. Note to self: Save tone of good cheer for someone who gives a flip.

      She grabbed her purse, shaking off the food wrappers Bree had thrown into the backseat despite the plastic bag Lilah had given her for garbage. Carrying what she could, she dumped the empty bags and drink containers into a trash can at the front of the store.

      Lilah had spent the past decade in Los Angeles going on acting auditions and waiting tables while she hoped for the big break that still hadn’t come. In retrospect it was excellent preparation for motherhood; God knew she was used to rejection and feelings of inadequacy. Even so, those years in L.A. were a piece of cake compared to the past month with Bree.

      Shoving her sunglasses atop blond hair that, sadly, had not seen a stylist in six months, Lilah followed her charge into the store then blinked in surprise at the attractive and well-stocked market.

      A young woman she recognized immediately as Lakota Indian sat on a stool behind the counter. “Hi,” the girl greeted, white teeth gleaming in contrast to her dark skin and hair. “Do you need gas?”

      “No, thanks,” Lilah declined, noting that Bree was already disappearing into the restroom at the rear of the store. Since that appeared to be the only women’s restroom, Lilah hovered by the cashier. Lord, she was tired.

      “The cookies are fresh if you’re hungry, and we have iced lattes.”

      Lilah looked at the girl, who pointed to a highly polished cappuccino machine. A drink menu sat on the counter. She didn’t want to be rude, but she felt her first genuine chuckle in weeks coming on. Iced lattes? In Kalamoose?

      Born and raised just a few miles from here, Lilah considered her hometown to be a dead ringer for Mayberry, R.F.D., except that Mayberry was more hip. As far as she’d been able to tell on her infrequent visits home, the only thing that had changed in Kalamoose in the dozen and a half years since she’d made her escape were the heads of lettuce at Hertzog’s Grocery, and rumor had it that a few of those were still the originals.

      Now someone had opened a gas station that served lattes? That someone was a little out of the loop.

      Passing on the coffee drink, Lilah ventured, “Your sign mentioned ice water?”

      Apparently unfazed that her only customers had stopped in to use the john and bum a free beverage, the clerk nodded pleasantly. “All the way in the back. Cups are next to the cooler. Help yourself.”

      Lilah reached the water as Bree emerged from the restroom.

      “Do they have hot dogs?” the girl asked before she’d truly acknowledged Lilah’s presence.

      “I don’t think so.”

      “Well, then I want a Coke.”

      “Negative, Commander. You’ve had so much sugar and caffeine on this trip you could have flown to North Dakota.” When Bree looked like she was about to protest—loudly—Lilah decided she’d had enough. Pointing, she said, “There’s a water cooler right there. Have all the ice water you can hold, but don’t start with me. My sister Nettie is a fabulous cook. You can drink and gorge yourself into a stupor after we arrive, but from now until then no more anything.”

      “I’m gonna look at the magazines.” Shrugging as if the matter was no longer of any interest to her, Bree put her hands in the pockets of her low-slung jeans and slouched off.

      Lilah sighed heavily and downed a cup of water, wishing it were a stiff tequila. She ducked briefly into the restroom and emerged to discover Bree in the candy aisle, about to shoplift a Carmello bar.

      “Stop!” Hissing, Lilah grabbed the candy the girl had been about to tuck into the waistband of her jeans, beneath her T-shirt. “What do you think you’re doing? Now you’re a thief? What is the matter with you?”

      Careful not to crush the candy bar in her tensed fist, Lilah closed her eyes and tried to collect herself. She’s only eleven. She just lost the only mother she’s ever known. She’s acting out. The only cool you can keep is your own.

      “Bree.” Lilah began again by greatly modifying her tone. She looked directly into the rebellious hazel eyes. “Grace…your mother…was the most honest woman I’ve ever met. She wanted nothing but the best for you. How do you think she’d feel if she saw you trying to shoplift?”

      Bree shrugged with classic impenetrable sedition. “Not as bad as she’d feel if she knew you wouldn’t buy it for me.”

      The last of Lilah’s anger deflated like a popped balloon. With no job, she’d been trying to carefully budget their cash. Yesterday she had limited the between-meal treats to three a day. Today, at Bree’s insistence that she was going through a growth spurt and needed extra calories, Lilah had amended the limit to six. She didn’t know what was right anymore.

      “Look, Bree…” Clutching the candy bar in a death grip, she took a stab at reason and compassion. “I know this is a really, really difficult time for you. I wasn’t much older than you are now when my mother died. It’s awful, and it’s probably not going to get a whole lot better right away. At least, it didn’t for me. But if you could just give me a chance here, I bet you and I…you know…I bet we could be friends.”

      Bree rolled her eyes. Frustration rocketed up Lilah’s body. Maybe she ought to buy the candy. Maybe she ought to buy a lot of candy and eat most of it herself.

      Suddenly she noticed a bulge in Bree’s pocket, a bulge that had not been there before. Disappointment sucked her heart to the pit of her stomach.

      “Did you take anything besides the Carmello?”

      Bree responded with a stone-faced stare.

      Lilah raised both hands.