The Girls of No Return Read Free Page A

Terri broke the silence. “Well,” she said, “as you can see, Margaret, we are quite done with lunch.” She smiled at Margaret knowingly. I wouldn’t have been surprised if she had winked.
    â€œAh,” said Margaret. “Well. That’s good timing. I have Bea waiting outside.”
    â€œOh,” said my dad, opening his wallet and throwing a few bills on the table. “You should have said something. We don’t want to keep her waiting.”
    â€œNo, we don’t,” said Margaret. “She’s a temperamental old thing.”
    We trooped outside to the dirt parking lot in front of the diner. Across the street, I could see that the town’s only store, a pawnshop, was open for business. Other than that, the street was quiet. Mountains rose up on three sides of us. If this was going to be my nearest post of civilization for the next year, things were looking grim. It had taken us a good six hours to drive to Hindman from our house in southeastern Idaho, and as far as I could tell, the school was still miles away. This was not the kind of place you’d ever hitchhike out of.
    We stopped in front of an old station wagon, rusted and black with a thick yellow stripe running around it. “What say you, Bee?” asked Margaret, and I got it, and smiled, and then erased the smile with a shrug.
    â€œAh,” said my dad. “So this is the official school vehicle.” He didn’t look especially pleased. “I would have expected a van or bus.”
    â€œOh, we have those, sure,” said Margaret. “But I had some errands in town.” She waved vaguely in the direction of the deserted street and patted the car. “Anyway, I thought I’d drive Lida to school in style. Less room to get lost in.”
    â€œWell. I see,” said my dad, even though it was clear that he didn’t.
    â€œThis should be everything,” said Terri. In the approximately five seconds that we had been standing next to Bee, she had managed to bound over to our car and bring my bag back with her. “I’ll just put it in the back, then?”
    â€œI’ll miss you too,” I said sarcastically.
    Terri gave me a look like I had just slapped her. She set the bag down heavily on the dirt and ran a hand through her hair. “It’s a long drive, Lida,” she said. “I didn’t want to keep Margaret waiting.”
    â€œSure,” I said. “Whatever.”
    Margaret slammed shut the back door of the station wagon and dusted her hands on her overalls. My bag sat in the backseat like an overweight child. “Farewells take many forms. Luckily, we have lots of chances to practice in this life.” She smiled at my dad and Terri, and rested one hand lightly on my shoulder. “Lida, it’s time to go.”
    My dad walked over and engulfed me in a bear hug. I kept my shoulders stiff, but I didn’t push him away.
    â€œBe good, Bun,” he said. “We’ll be talking soon.” He stepped back and looked up at the sky, blinking.
    â€œLida,” said Terri, moving toward me. “I’ll —” She stopped when she saw my outstretched hand. She shook it. Neither of us looked at the other.
    Margaret opened the passenger door for me. “It might be hard to believe,” she said, “but in the grand scheme of parent-child farewells, you are all behaving with impeccable decorum.” She shook my father’s and Terri’s hands. “Lida will be safe and healthy at Alice Marshall,” she assured them. “She may even be happy. That piece is up to her.” She turned and smiled at me. “Ready?”
    I nodded. I looked once more toward the dusty diner in the dusty town, the street that seemed to go nowhere at all, the pawnshop where people traded in their old hopes for chances at new ones. I took it all in, and then I looked at my father and Terri.
    â€œGood-bye,” I said to their