October 1, 2004
Nova Scotia, Canada
Rose stepped out the door of the motel room and shivered, wrapping her arms around herself. A chill breeze tossed her red curls around her face, obscuring her vision. She pulled them back impatiently, holding them in place with a rubber band.
Daffodil came to stand beside her, also hugging herself against the morning chill. "Damn, but it’s cold."
"A lot colder than California or Arizona at this time of year."
"Well, it is Canada. We can’t expect it to be as warm as the southwestern United States."
Rose shivered again, pulling her jacket more tightly around her. "You ready for work?"
"Yeah. More or less."
After several months in the wilderness or on the outskirts of civilization, the advancing season had led them to seek more steady work and a warmer place to stay. They still could not work legally in Canada, so they had taken housekeeping jobs with a wealthy family who didn’t mind breaking the law as long as they could pay their illegal employees less than what they were worth. It wasn’t Rose’s idea of a good job, but at the moment, it was the best they could do.
Setting out along the street, Rose glanced at Daffodil, who was hunched against the chilly breeze. "Do you ever think about going back to the United States?" she asked.
"Yeah. Sometimes."
"Maybe we should. We’re citizens of that country, so we can work anywhere and not have to worry about being caught, and we can demand decent wages."
"I kind of like Canada."
"So do I, but I don’t like being cold and hungry—and that’s what we’ve been for the past month."
"What, you don’t like that motel?"
"Let’s just say that mud is cleaner, smells better—and you don’t have to listen to people who are renting by the hour."
Daffodil laughed. "An apartment would be cheaper in the long run."
"But we can’t afford one now…we’d have to save up for it. And what if someone wanted to check our credentials? The motel doesn’t care, but an apartment owner…"
"Do you want to go back to the United States? The paper says they’re getting more divided every day—this presidential election is one of the most divisive in the country’s history."
"At least we’re citizens. No one’s going to throw us out of there."
"So you want to go back."
"Yeah, I’m starting to think so. I mean, could it be any worse than walking three miles each way to work at crappy jobs that barely pay enough to live indoors? We’re just lucky we get breakfast and lunch there, or we’d really be in trouble. And what will we do when it snows? Think of how long the walk will be then—and I don’t think our generous employers will make us live-in maids."
"You’re starting to sound like me."
"I know. I’m seeing the world more and more from your point of view. I guess you’re rubbing off on me."
They walked in silence for a while, each lost in their own thoughts. Rose tucked her hands deep into her pockets, glancing at Daffodil occasionally. Since the summer night when they had kissed in their tent on the bank of a river in Saskatchewan, nothing more had happened between them. Rose didn’t know whether to be disappointed or relieved. She wasn’t sure how she felt about a more intimate relationship with her best friend, but Daffodil’s interest had been flattering, if nothing else. But Daffodil had backed off after that, and any attempt on Rose’s part to bring up the subject had made her stammer, blush, and change the subject. Rose had seen her looking at her a few times, but nothing more.
"How long do you think it would take us to get to New York City?" Daffodil asked, bringing Rose out of her reverie.
"What?"
"How long do you think it would take us to get to New York City?" Daffodil repeated. "’Cause I know a guy there who can get us jobs in a nightclub."
"What kind of jobs?" Rose looked at her suspiciously. She’d had her fill of working as a stripper.
"Serving drinks, cleaning up, that kind of thing."
"I’m underage still."
"You can serve drinks, just not pour them. And nothing’s stopping you from cleaning after the crowds go home."
"And you’re sure this is all these jobs entail? No stripping or…other stuff?"
"I’m sure. I’ve worked for this guy before."
"What’s his name?"
"Roland de la Maize."
"Roland of the Corn?"
"Hey, it’s his name. It’s not like he had any choice in the matter."
"Well…I don’t know. If you’re sure he’s legit…"
"I’m sure. You’re the one who was wanting to go back to the U.S."
"True."
"So, how long do you think it will take us to get from here to New York City?"
"Since we can’t afford airfare or even bus fare the whole way? That depends on how far we can hitch rides in the right direction."
"So, maybe a few weeks?"
"Maybe. If we’re lucky and don’t get stuck somewhere."
"Do you want to go or not?"
"Let’s finish out the week here and collect our pay, and then we’ll head south. Wherever we wind up, maybe it’ll be a little warmer."