So Widowmaker rides behind us.
I endure.
Because apparently this is what growth looks like.
Humiliating.
Hot Mama steps up to Amelia’s window before we pull out. Amelia rolls it down, and the Oregon air comes in cold and pine-sharp.
The crown behind Amelia’s ear is hidden under her hair, but I know it’s there. I saw it last night, small and black. Every time I think about it, something ugly moves under my ribs.
“They marked you.”
“They helped me.”
“Both can be true.”
She has barely spoken about it since.
Hot Mama leans into the window, one arm braced on the door. “You remember what I told you.”
Amelia nods.
I look from one to the other. “Anybody want to share with the class?”
Hot Mama’s eyes slide to me. “No.”
“Didn’t think so.”
“You got a smart mouth, Kentucky.”
“I’ve been told.”
“And a jealous streak.”
“I ain’t jealous of a tattoo.”
She smiles. “Baby, you’re jealous of a road.”
That shuts me up.
I hate that.
Hot Mama turns back to Amelia. Her voice softens, but not enough to be harmless. “You call if you need us.”
Amelia’s hand tightens in her lap. “Thank you.”
Hot Mama’s smile fades for one second.
“Don’t thank women too much for helping you live. It gets heavy on both sides.”
Amelia swallows.
Then Hot Mama reaches through the window and touches two fingers to Amelia’s jaw. “Caroline’s girl.”
Amelia closes her eyes.
When she opens them, Hot Mama steps back.