Late August 2016

I wake up one morning alone in the van. I sense Pixie's absence before I confirm it, glancing behind the passenger's seat to see the wadded up clothes/bed soaked with urine. Oh shit. I know what this means. In a second I'm up and frantically looking for her.

The last time this happened she ran into a Target and hid in the dressing room for an hour. She goes into these fits sometimes. It's like she gets trapped inside her own head, in the memories, and she can't come back. Anything from a nightmare to a smell or song can trigger them.

"Pixie!" I yell through the open back door.

My heart is racing, and I'm out of that van in a second, running around the parking lot like a lunatic. Last night I parked in front of a gym so we could get showers. Saturdays are always shower days because the larger crowds give us more cover. In the same strip-mall there's a little grocery store too. I was planning on going in there and stocking up on some supplies later today.

God, what if the cops already have her? Or what if she wandered near the road and someone grabbed her? I try to calm down and think rationally.

That's when I spot Olaf on the ground next to a drainage ditch by the road. I run as fast as I can. She couldn't have drowned. God, I hope she didn't drown! I follow the trickling, dirty water to its source, which is a gaping drainage pipe. There's less than five inches of dirty rain water and garbage trickling out of the mouth, and there's Pixie inside of it like a little water-logged bird, knees up, head down.

"Pixie!" I shout, crouching into the pipe to grab her.

She screams and starts flailing as soon as I touch her. I don't have time to talk her back to reality or calm her down. Someone will hear and call the cops. I scoop her up, grab Olaf and run for the van. Her feet and hands are kicking and hitting me with all the force in her five-year-old body as she tries to twist out of my arms. I lift her into the back of the van and climb in behind her, shutting the heavy doors behind us. We're safe for now but not in the clear. I take her two tiny shoulders and hold her in place as she kicks and screams.

"Pixie, it's okay. Look at me," I say, and I force her chin up.

Her eyes... God I hate that look. I call them doll's eyes. I don't know where she goes inside her head when she has those eyes, but Pixie sure as hell ain't here. To her, I'm just another monster who's going to hurt her. She's completely detached from reality.

I have no clue how to bring her back, so I start singing: "Do you want to build a snowman?" I hear her breathing change from frightened gasps to a more even rhythm. Her eyes are starting to focus on my face, and I can tell she's coming back. Encouraged, I keep going. "Come on let's go and play. I never see you anymore, come out the door, it's like you've gone away-"

"We used to be best buddies," she whispers, hiccuping.

"And now we're not."

"I wish you would tell me why." And now she's sniffling and the ghost of a smile appears on her face.

I almost collapse with relief as I pull her into my arms. She keeps singing that stupid song, and I rock her back and forth and kiss her hair. Her pajama bottoms are soaked and muddy, and she reeks of piss. Good thing it's shower day.

"Come on, let's get cleaned up," I say with a smile.

"But I'm all wet and dirty! I look gross!" she sobs again, pulling at her pajamas.

"Come on, we'll clean up and then get breakfast," I assure her, "You're always pretty, Pixie. You never look gross."

I finally get her out of the van and into the two-story gym. The man at the front desk looks up at us and his expression changes from welcoming to wary.

"Can I help you?" he asks, eyes narrowing with suspicion.

"I'm really sorry, but my dad's in here, and my little sister is really sick. I just need to go get him," I say.

I've got Pixie in my arms, and it helps that she's still crying.

"I can page him," the man says, "You can't go in without a membership card. What's his name?"

Behind me, a group of people open the door. I have a second or two to make this work.

"He's right there! I can see him over by the weights. I just need to-"

"Fine. Go on," he says, too distracted by the customers behind me to argue.

Perfect timing. I hurry past the desk and follow the signs to get to the locker rooms on the lowest level. I'll have to sneak Pixie into the guys' locker room. I pop my head in the door to see what I'm working with. Not bad. There's only one other old guy in here, and he looks ready to leave. Pixie and I wait outside until he goes, and then I quickly usher her inside.

Thankfully the showers at this gym provide us a little privacy with a door that locks, a toilet and a single shower stall all in one private room. It beats the hell out of showering out in the open with a bunch of old naked dudes, which I've had to do before. On those Saturdays Pixie doesn't get a shower at all. I'll have to remember this place so we can come back here.

I help Pixie strip off her PJ's and underwear and stop up the sink with a paper towel so I can start filling it with warm soap and water while she showers. They're the only pajamas she has so tossing them isn't an option. I leave her PJ's soaking in the sink as I turn on the shower. The only way I can wash her hair is if she sits on the floor of the shower like it's a bathtub. I sit down on the toilet lid so I can reach her easily. With one hand I grab my backpack, which holds most of our stuff, and dig for the bottle of shampoo that I've made last all summer. I squeeze a small amount into my palm.

"Scoot over here, Baby Girl," I say, "I'm getting my clothes all wet."

Pixie scoots across the slimy shower floor closer to the curtain where my hands can reach her. She's fine as I wash her hair, but she freezes and jerks away from me when I try to touch her anywhere else. We go through this every time I make her take a shower.

"It's okay," I say gently, "I'm not gonna hurt you. I'll never, ever hurt you. I promise."

She whimpers and shakes her head. It kills me that she still doesn't trust me completely. It's been three months on the road, and I don't know if she'll ever heal or be normal. If I was too late taking her, I will never forgive myself.

"Pixie, look at me," I say. She turns her big green eyes on me. "It's me. Austin. Have I ever hurt you?"

She shakes her head. "No."

"Will I ever hurt you?"

She shakes her head again. "No."

"Exactly. So can I clean you up?" I ask.

She finally nods. "Okay. I guess."

Her body is rigid but at least she's stopped fighting me.

"There. All clean, Princess," I smile.

Pixie smiles back at me and stands up, holding out her arms for a towel. Outside the door I find one that feels fairly dry in the dirty towel bin and bring it back to wrap around her shoulders. Then I wring out her PJ's and hang them from the hand dryer. I wash her underwear with one hand while the other presses the button on the dryer to keep it on. They'll still be wet, but she can't walk out naked.

"I've gotta shower too so you'll have to wait outside. Just go right outside the locker room. If anyone asks what you're doing say you're waiting for your daddy," I tell her.

Once she's gone I take a record-breaking quick shower, wash my dirty clothes in the sink and throw them back on soaking wet. There's no time to dry them. My shoes squish with water as cold rivulets from my soaked, heavy jeans drip down into my socks. Great.

"Your pants are all wet!" Pixie says, leaning away from me when I take her hand outside the locker room.

"I like them this way," I smile, trying to act like this is the most awesome thing I could ever do on a Saturday morning. She's just five so she mostly buys my happy-happy bullshit, but I worry about the day she's gonna see right through it.

"Can we get chocolate doughnuts?" she asks happily, and no matter how cold and uncomfortable I am, I'm just glad she's no longer crying.

"Sure, whatever you want," I say.

The store next to the gym is called The Natural Way, a real organic, hippie-type place. The prices are outrageous, but I pick up two small boxes of the cheap, waxy-chocolate kind of doughnuts because they're buy one get one free. I also grab two bananas because I know Pixie needs fruits and veggies and I'm always forgetting that shit. Then I take our stuff up to the register. I'm glancing around nervously, trying to see if anyone is looking at us, but no one even glances our way. That's pretty typical, and it's the way I like it.

Dallas is a huge city. That's why I chose this place for us to get lost in. That and the mild winters. Until my birthday we're staying on this side of the state line, maybe even for good. The cost of living's cheap down here. I could get a little apartment and a job pretty easy, and Pixie could start kindergarten next year. She'd only be a year late, and maybe I could go back to school too... I shake the dreams out of my head before I can get too hopeful. Focus on the now. Now, we're living in a van and trying not to get caught.

The soft wad of money in my hand is damp from my jeans. I keep this rubber-banded wad of cash on me at all times. Some of the money is mine from when I saved in Oklahoma. Some of it's from jobs I do when I can. Some of it's from handouts. But none of it is from stealing. I'm pretty damn proud of that. This is the money I'm gonna use to start a life for us.

The girl at the cash register is cute. It's been a long time since I've seen a hot girl and my body reacts immediately, heart pounding, blood going places I can't control. She's got red hair tied up in a bun with wisps coming loose around her face. Her skin is creamy white, and I imagine tracing the collar bone I can see in the V opening of her shirt with my thumb. I really wish my pants weren't soaking wet. I also wish I'd shaved this morning or that my t-shirt didn't look like something I found on the side of the road (actually, I took it from a gym locker last week).

"Hi," the girl says, not even looking at me.

"Oh look, Olaf! Look it's Elsa!" Pixie starts shouting.

She's jumping up and down pointing at these balloons on display next to the registers, the kind you pay to have blown up for you. The cashier is looking at us now, and she's smiling at Pixie. Damn, what a smile. I feel myself turning red because I know I look like a homeless piece of shit.

"I see you've got Olaf there with you," the pretty girl says.

Pixie shuts down immediately, and I feel her scoot behind me, clutching my hand.

"She's shy," I mumble.

"Why are you soaking wet?" she asks me curiously.

"Long story," I say, which is true enough.

The pretty cashier shrugs and scans our doughnut boxes and pretty much goes back to ignoring us.

"Those are buy one get one free," I say when I see the price go up on the screen.

"Oops, sorry. They didn't come up as BOGO. I'll have to get my manager to manually enter it." She waves over a gray-haired man at the next register, and he nods and holds up a finger to tell her to wait.

To a normal person this would be a minor inconvenience. To me, it's a mini-apocalypse. Thoughts are racing through my head like,"What if we're recognized? What if the manager is suspicious of a skinny kid in pajamas and a teenager with soaking wet clothes? What if..." My heart is pounding and I feel incredibly itchy in my wet jeans. I can't wait to get back to the van, change into something dry, eat doughnuts and forget all about this shitty morning. I decide things can only get worse, and right on cue Pixie starts whining.

"Austin... I'm hungry. What are we doing? Why aren't we leaving?"

"I know you're hungry. Just be patient," I say.

In my fist I'm clutching our money so hard I can feel my fingernails digging marks into my palm.

"I want my doughnut!" she whines.

"Pixie, just-"

"BUT I'M HUNGRY!" she cries, and people start looking at us.

"Your name is Pixie?" the pretty cashier asks.

Pixie just stares at her.

"Her name is Emmie. I call her Pixie," I say, and I can hear that I sound pissed off.

"Oh, I just thought you might be named Elsa. You look just like her," the girl says.

Aurora. That's what her name tag says. Damn, what a name. It's like royalty. A princess's name. I've never known anyone with a name like that. I see Pixie smile as she moves around me.

"Elsa's my favorite! I want to be her when I grow up and live in Disneyworld. I think you look like Anna," Pixie says softly, embarrassed. It's the most she's said to any stranger. Ever.

"Well thank you. I like Anna. Would you like a Frozen sticker?"

Without waiting for Pixie's answer, Aurora grabs one of the kids' activity books off the rack of magazines next to her register. Pixie glances up at me, nervous.

"It's okay," I say with a smile.

Aurora holds out an Olaf sticker from the activity book, and Pixie gingerly reaches forward to take it. She's momentarily distracted from the doughnuts as she plants the sticker right on her cheek, and I feel a surge of relief and gratitude towards this pretty girl. Just then the manager comes over to enter the sale, and the moment passes.

"Thank you, Aurora," I say.

"It's Rory," she shrugs, handing me the bag of doughnuts.

"Oh. I like Aurora," I mumble, and she looks at me, her smile faltering for a moment as she takes in my appearance.

All of the sudden, I just want to get out of here.

"Thank you," she says, but me and Pixie are heading for the door so I barely even hear her.