Abbie Bacilla

Stories from Abbie Bacilla

“Baby, it’s 5:55!”

I opened my eyes to see her in the air mattress next to me. It was hot in the back of our van, except for two battery-run portable fans we had picked up at Wal-Mart before the trip. They were my idea; Hayden never planned ahead. She just told me “We’re going to Arizona” and expected us not to die of heat immediately when we hit the Texas border.