then reached up to reset the indicator a second time.
That’s when the engine went dead.
The RV drifted right, picking up the rumble strip again, vibrating the chassis like a jaw under a dental saw. I tightened my grip to correct course, but the power steering didn’t respond. The front tire went off the edge of the asphalt and onto the soft shoulder. I stomped on the brake pedal—but the power brakes had failed, too. The wheel tugged at my grip; I resisted. The front bumper clipped a creosote bush. Then another. I was driving on dirt now, parallel to the highway but breaking away fast. We were headed straight for a third bush, and I couldn’t turn the wheel. The bush went under the RV with a horrendous scraping sound.
I needed to get the power steering back online. I reached beneath the column and turned the ignition key. Nothing.
Shit.
The RV ran over more low scrub. The squeal of wood on metal was earsplitting. I turned the key again; nothing. I bounced in my seat as the left front tire ran over a skull-sized rock. The trailer tugged at the back end.
I tried the key a third time, and now the engine roared to life. I cranked the wheel, applied the brake. There was a sound of buckling metal, and then a tremendous SNAP, and my breath caught. The RV ground to a stop.
I sat there shaking, my heart thudding in my throat. Then I set the parking brake, unfastened my seat belt, and started toward the back.
“Dad?” I called out. “Dad!”
“Ellie!”
The accordion door opened, and Dad stood on the threshold looking pale and disoriented.
“Oh God. Dad, are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” he said, leaning against the door frame. “What about you? Are you hurt?”
“I’m all right,” I said, and saw a thin stream of blood trickle down from his scalp. “You’re bleeding!”
He reached up to touch the spot. “That damn cabinet came open, and I hit my head on the corner of the door.” He produced a handkerchief from his pocket and held it to the spot.
“You should sit,” I said.
He waved a hand, dismissing my concern. “What happened?”
My calm seemed to crack all at once, and I collapsed into him, shaking. “There was an alarm—water in the fuel or something. The engine died, the steering locked up, and I couldn’t turn. I tried, but . . . it just ran off the road!”
“It’s all right,” he said, kissing the top of my head. “It’s all right. You’re alive, I’m alive.”
I pushed away, took a deep breath, looked around. My laptop was on the floor, along with Dad’s journal and my empty thermos. The pantry door had slipped its bungee cord, spilling cans and boxes everywhere. A package of pasta had burst, scattering spirals across the aisle.
“We can clean up later,” Dad said. “Let’s go check out the damage while it’s still light.”
CHAPTER 13
THE TRAILER LAY ON ITS side in the dirt. The struts that had connected it to the hitch were twisted as if they had been wrung out by a giant. Dad retrieved his key ring and opened the padlock. We had to pry the door open.
The sub trunk lay in splinters on the trailer’s side, which was now its floor, and Dad’s trap case had come apart at the hinges. Coins and playing cards were strewn about like shrapnel. Miraculously, the dove cage had survived, and the twelve birds inside cooed indignantly.
I looked at Dad. His eyes didn’t seem to be calculating damage, but rather, counting the dead.
“Dad,” I said. “I’m so sorry.”
I wanted his arm around me. I wanted him to tell me it was all right.
“See what you can you salvage,” he said. “I need to check the bus.”
My hands shook as I dug through the detritus, sorting out what could be saved and what was lost. I replayed the crash over and over. The dash lights going dead. The steering locking up. I should have braked sooner. I should have tried the ignition first.
Ella, ella, eh, eh, eh . . .
I began to pile the usable props on a tarp next to the bus; the hopeless remains I left in a heap inside the broken trailer. All the big stuff was wrecked: the guillotine, the sub trunk, the spike box. Thousands of dollars, hundreds of shows, all gone in a moment. The fishbowl Dad used for his mock truck drop had shattered. I grabbed the red toy truck, looked down at it in revulsion, and