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  Paloma cupped her palm over Cassidy’s forehead. “Oh my God, you’re burning up. Ken!”

  Ken stumbled into the room, groggy and disoriented. “What is it? What?”

  “She’s burning up. We need to get her into the car.” Paloma could picture the emergency room, hear the beeps, picture them carrying her daughter away from her. She shouldn’t have thought about the other babies. She was being punished for resenting her child.

  “Paloma, it’s a fever. Did you take her temperature?” He left and returned with a glass thermometer.

  Paloma held Cassidy’s hand as the mercury rose. Ninety-eight. Ninety-nine. At one hundred, it stood still.

  “She’s okay,” Ken said.

  “Okay.” Paloma sighed. “We’ll watch her.” Ken stumbled back toward the bedroom and Paloma curled up next to Cassidy, the heat radiating from her daughter more effective than any woodstove.

  Now, like then, Paloma wanted to cradle her daughter, to protect her from fear and danger. She wished Cassidy were small again, so that she might wrap her in her own body—envelop her with her love.

  “Oh, baby,” she said into the receiver. “Come home. You can always come home.”

  Cassidy

  Cassidy reminded herself of the positives as she packed, pulling underwear from the dresser drawer, balling it up, and stuffing it into her bag. She would be there for Grandma Jane. The baby would grow up in the woods. She’d get to play in the creek. They would garden together and with Paloma. She’d get over her distaste for goats’ milk. Cassidy wondered how hard it was to raise the little fainting ones. This baby was basically going to have her childhood, she realized, and sighed. She’d loved her childhood. But would this baby have her adolescence, too? She couldn’t think that far ahead.

  Cassidy picked up a pair of black pleather flats that barely contained her swollen feet, then set them back down. She’d leave them here for Noeli.

  She raised a small glass hummingbird to the window and watched the blue light filter through its delicate wing. She’d picked up the trinket at the Victoria Gardens Farmers Market and held it in her hand as she walked between the tents, careful not to bump into any of the hundreds of strollers and shaded wagons that well-dressed mothers pushed and pulled through the Disneyesque downtown of the outdoor mall. She’d made eye contact with the children as she passed them, clutching BPA-free sippy cups and holding colorful silicon-covered tablets.

  Cassidy was having a different kind of child. Her baby would not be like the girl at the health department, but it would not be like these children either, and for that she was grateful. She would give the hummingbird to her mom for her new home.

  Across the hall, Noeli’s laptop played the digital version of the Bleachers album they’d bought at Amoeba. Cassidy would give up every positive on the list if it meant Noeli would forgive her. She tried not to think about what Noeli was doing in her room, instead focusing on packing the few things she didn’t want to leave behind. So much for making good memories with this band. Cassidy wondered what the memory of this time would feel like in her body.

  Squeezing her last pair of underwear into the bag, she thought again about her childhood. It was the right way to have a childhood, it seemed. Another kind would be lacking. This was why parents signed their kids up for ballet, why they tried to re-create the holidays their parents created for them, and why they wanted their kids to attend their alma maters. It was why Paloma wanted so badly for her to be a lesbian. She looked out the window as a man selling corn from a rolling cart walked by, his skin thick from a life in the sun. It wasn’t about living through your children, the way people thought. It was about your children living you—your life and experiences.

  Cassidy understood that this was kind of fucked-up, but, she thought, it was a forgivable kind of fucked-up—an instinctual one. It was how people ensured the survival of their legacies. Every living species tried to reproduce by passing down its genes, its DNA. This was part of what made us human, though—the genes weren’t enough. Everyone wanted their stories and experiences to live forever, too.

  Of course, there would be things totally unfamiliar to her—some new sport or camp she couldn’t imagine, whatever new technology sprung up, but in Buckhannon there would be other things that would not have changed since she was little. There would be the same rickety rides at the Strawberry Festival each May, the same drippy rocket pops at the pool concession stand, the same snowy hills to sled at the farm.

  Cassidy pictured Grandma Jane and her childhood. In West Virginia, some things would be like they were twenty years ago. Still others would be exactly the same as they had been for her dad and grandma. In West Virginia, this child wouldn’t just relive Cassidy’s childhood—she would relive Ken’s and Jane’s, another positive. Cassidy wrapped the hummingbird carefully back in its tissue paper and box and put it in the laptop case she’d use for a carry-on. She zipped her bag with a satisfying zup zup zup. The positives would have to be enough.

  Cassidy

  As Noeli drove Cassidy to the airport, Cassidy thought of the last time they were there together—the hike on the way home, how vulnerable Noeli had seemed, and how close she’d felt to her. There was no trace of that vulnerability now.

  Noeli turned the volume up on the iPod, which was usually on shuffle, but was currently playing a full Dresden Dolls album—angry, sad, carnivalesque. Cassidy’s list of positives felt pathetic here in the car, where she could smell Noeli’s apple shampoo.

  As the music blared, Noeli drummed on the steering wheel with her fingers and stuck her tongue in her cheek.

  “I’m sorry I didn’t think about Redlands from your perspective,” Cassidy shouted over the pummeling piano. “I was just so taken with how cute it was and—”

  Noeli cut her off. “It’s not really an apology if you make excuses.” She closed her mouth again and ran her tongue back and forth over her teeth.

  “I wasn’t trying to make excuses!” Cassidy yelled. “Can you turn this down? Christ.”

  Noeli conceded with annoyance.

  “I was just saying—” Cassidy’s voice was still too loud, so she lowered her volume. “I was saying, I thought we both wanted to live somewhere that felt like a place worth living in.” Noeli didn’t respond. “And you’re not apologizing either.”

  “So you were apologizing to try to get an apology from me?”

  Cassidy was silent now. It was what she wanted—if not an apology, then at least some kind of resolution, but it was clear she wasn’t going to get it. The baby’s head was down now, pressing directly on her cervix, its feet in her ribs. She thought back to that morning in the living room, sitting on the arm of Abuela’s chair, watching Hollywood Squares.

  “I’m going back to West Virginia today,” she’d said during a commercial.

  The old woman had looked at her and squeezed her hand. “Vaya con Dios,” she’d whispered as tears appeared in both of their eyes. It wasn’t fair that Cassidy had to lose Abuela, too.

  Large concrete letters—LAX—greeted them at the airport. Noeli navigated expertly now, driving directly to Cassidy’s terminal, unbuckling her seat belt, and getting out. She walked carefully around to the back, opened the trunk, and lifted Cassidy’s suitcase. It would be a lot easier, Cassidy thought as she struggled to hoist herself from the seat, if Noeli were an asshole.

  “It’s heavy,” Noeli said, lifting the bag onto the curb.

  “Yeah.” For a moment their hands touched as they both gripped the plastic handle.

  “I’ll see you later,” Noeli said, pulling hers away. Businessmen rushed past wheeling black carry-ons.

  “Noeli, we can’t leave things like this.” Noeli was silent. “We can look at San Bernardino, maybe—” Noeli glanced at the time on her phone and Cassidy sighed. “Thanks for the ride.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  “And for every
thing. For taking me in. For everything you’ve done to help me feel at home.” Cassidy moved to hug her, hesitating in case she resisted. She imagined sparks, tearful apologies on both sides. Noeli didn’t retreat, but neither did she return the embrace. It was cold and casual, barely acceptable for acquaintances.

  Cassidy let go. “Noeli, I’d go anywhere for you. I mean it.” But Noeli’s curls were already bouncing toward the car.

  Cassidy watched as Noeli reentered the Accord, waited for an opening in the traffic, and drove away. Heaving her suitcase of things that would no longer occupy drawers and shelves in Noeli’s home, she sulked through check-in, then to security, where the TSA officer glanced at her belly and waved her out of the X-ray line and over to the regular metal detector.

  Of course an apology didn’t fix things. An apology didn’t make Cassidy a better person. She’d broken Simon and she’d hurt Noeli, she thought as she waited for her carry-on to emerge from the scanner. She deserved to be alone.

  There were people here who had just been on the other side of the world. Cassidy sat at the gate, thinking and watching the planes come and go. There were people here who would be on the other side of the world tomorrow.

  She should call Simon, or at least text, tell him she was coming back, apologize profusely. She took out her phone, preparing to move the message from her mind to the screen, to send it through the ether to Simon’s beat-up old flip phone, but halfway through, she paused.

  What was she trying to accomplish? Simon would be better off not knowing. Messaging him would be selfish. Maybe she should text Noeli and try to apologize again, take her time, think over what she wanted to say. But Cassidy knew it was no use, that she’d fucked that up irreparably, too.

  Still, she couldn’t put down her phone. She wanted the dopamine, she realized, the excitement of doing something on her phone and watching it morph into possibility and affirmation. All around her, people were buried in their own phones, typing away.

  Across the aisle, a Pomeranian rested on its haunches, its majestic coat puffed out like a lion’s mane. Cassidy and the Pomeranian locked eyes, the only two creatures fully present in the moment. She could tell Simon about the dog. That wouldn’t be misleading and maybe it would open things up for them to be friends again, she thought, beginning to form the text in her mind. But it wasn’t fair to Simon and she knew it. She couldn’t use him as her dopamine dealer when she had no intention of giving him the oxytocin he’d want in return.

  For the first time in months, she checked her cam site messages. There were dozens of them, and they were full of genuine concern and care. Quietly, she took her things to the bathroom and closed herself in the stall, and then, taking a deep breath, hit broadcast. Her guys joined immediately and the chat box flooded with their messages.

  OMG SecreC! is it really you?

  It’s a miracle!

  She’s back!

  My prayers are answered.

  Then, as they saw her surroundings, the messages appeared even more quickly.

  A public show?

  OMFG

  Why did I jerk off earlier? I knew I should have waited

  C, you are an angel

  “Hi, guys,” Cassidy said as quietly as she could. “I have something to tell you.”

  Please say you’re staying

  We missed you

  We love you

  Are you doing a crazy public show?

  Where are you? Are you back in Cali?

  “So . . . it’s been a while and some things have changed.” Cassidy tilted her phone down to point at her belly. She bit her lip and held her breath as she brought the camera back up to her face.

  CONGRATULATIONS

  U are so cute

  Hottie Mama!

  MILF

  OMG great news!

  Tokens began to roll in, and Cassidy laughed in disbelief. “Aww, thank you so much, guys.” Tears appeared in the corners of her eyes. “I was so nervous to tell you.” More tokens and more compliments appeared.

  Don’t be nervous, we love you

  Happy for you

  You’re always sexy!

  Baby bumps are hot

  “Aw, you are all seriously so sweet. I have to go. But I won’t abandon you like that again.” She blew kisses and ended the broadcast, left the stall, and returned to the gate.

  Cassidy shifted in the padded seat and put a hand to her belly. The baby was still, so she prodded her uterus until it squirmed in protest. As it kicked and pushed, Cassidy observed the people rushing past—coming and going, coming and going. Announcements from other terminals floated in and out of her ears without comprehension and the scent of cinnamon rolls wafted across the terminal, making her stomach growl. She still couldn’t believe her fans had acted like she’d never left. They’d been right there waiting for her, and not one had said anything mean about her transformation. They had opened their arms and let her back in.

  The Pomeranian sniffed the air and licked its thin lips and Cassidy thought of the classmates she would run into, her parents’ friends, and the people at the courthouse protest. Everyone from Buckhannon would be so smug about her coming home. But, she resolved, she was going to become a better person. Grandma Jane would always let Cassidy back in. Paloma would always let her back in. Simon would always let her back in. And in a way Cassidy understood but couldn’t articulate, West Virginia would always let her back in.

  She would be there for the people who mattered. She would be less selfish, for her baby. The positives she’d listed earlier—family, space, history—weren’t just a coping mechanism. Maybe West Virginia wouldn’t always be the best thing for her child, but it was the best thing for now.

  “Now boarding for Pittsburgh,” the woman behind the desk spoke into the intercom.

  “I’m coming now,” Cassidy whispered, and rubbed her belly. “We’re coming home.”

  Paloma

  As Paloma drove toward Pittsburgh, she thought of their family trip to the state fair. Ken had been sent to cover it for the paper, so she and Cassidy had spent most of the week alone together.

  The building with heritage crafts had felt like stepping into a West Virginia of the past. They passed displays of apple-head dolls and toys made of wood and twine. Quilts hung on huge ropes from the high ceilings, separating the open space and giving it the feel of a carpet store. Paloma lingered over blown glass and handwoven baskets while Cassidy kicked at her tennis shoes, bored until Ken appeared behind them.

  “I’ve got a few hours,” he said. “Is it time for rides?”

  “Yeah!” Cassidy cheered, and they skipped off toward the Ferris wheel.

  Paloma took the crumpled fair schedule from her bag and unfolded it. An old-time Appalachian band was due to play at a small stage in ten minutes. She walked that way, past sunburned teenage boys in undershirts and Mennonites in suspenders and bonnets.

  As she found a seat in the center of the metal bleachers, the musicians tuned their instruments. They were all old men at least in their sixties, except for the banjo player, who looked about twenty. Her braided hair fell down her rose-printed cowgirl shirt, almost to the banjo’s rim, as she smiled in turn at the bassist, guitarist, and mandolin player. Paloma felt a pang of jealousy. She had been young and adventurous once too. Behind the band, salesmen hawked hot tubs and deck stains.

  The musicians went right from tuning into “Country Roads,” the young banjoist singing. A few old men in the front row slapped their hands on the thighs of their work pants, one even hollering “Woo, boys!” to the delight of the band. Paloma danced in her seat. Otherwise, the audience sat still, most more concerned with fanning themselves with their schedules or quieting their fussy toddlers with bottles of Mountain Dew than with the music.

  The song worked itself into a frenzy. The mandolin player hunched over his instrument, and the woman’
s voice cut loud and clear through the humidity. The bleachers buzzed against her thighs, and Paloma leaned her head back and clapped, overcome. She tried to remember the last time she’d danced.

  A hand on her leg startled her, and she thought at first that someone was coming on to her—someone as taken by the swells and dips as she was. It was Cassidy, though, her seven-year-old daughter, clambering up bleachers and pulling herself onto the aluminum seat, Ken behind her.

  “Mommy, you’re silly,” Cassidy said. Paloma smiled, feigning good sportsmanship, but inside, she seethed. Though her daughter had said the words, it was Ken she felt angry with.

  She had done her best not to judge the people who crawled out of the woodwork here. She remembered a woman with ratty hair and a crop top with SEXY bedazzled on the front, shoveling funnel cake into her powdered-sugar-covered face. She thought of the fourteen-year-old boys spewing racist shit behind the grandstand as they spit chewing tobacco on the ground. Paloma didn’t care about any of the looks they gave her, in her Birkenstocks and Free Tibet shirt. But it had only taken an hour of rickety rides and adrenaline for her husband to turn her back into an embarrassment in the eyes of her daughter. She put her arm around Cassidy’s shoulder and clapped her small hands in her own. She would teach her not to care what other people thought.

  Cassidy resisted at first, leaning away and letting her hands go limp. After a moment, though, Paloma felt her daughter relax into her. Cassidy closed her eyes and nodded to the bum-ditty of the banjo. Paloma was satisfied. Her daughter felt it too.

  Back at the Holiday Inn, Cassidy sat on the queen bed next to Ken, pointedly ignoring Paloma as she pulled pamphlets, key chains, and other swag from the booths in the exhibition hall from her goody bag.