We got out of the car and crossed the driveway, veering around a line of cars with motors running. Exhaust fumes hit my lungs, and coughs wracked my body. "What are they doing with their motors running?" I managed to get out between coughs. "Why don't they park?"
Margo's eyebrows went up as though my question puzzled her. "It's a drive-thru, Kindra. For people who don't want to eat in."
Oh," I said, feeling stupid. This was the very reason I had badgered Mom and Dad to take me to the city. I didn't know anything normal people knew.
We entered the restaurant, and the smell of fries and hamburgers mixed with the recently inhaled car fumes nauseated me. I pressed a hand to my mouth and hunched over, pressing my other hand against my abdomen. "I'm going to barf," I managed to say between stomach spasms.
Margo was again at my side, supporting me. "The bathroom is this way." She guided me toward the back of the building. We reached for the restroom door just as it swung open toward us and a startled woman said, "Sorry," and slid on past us. Margo caught the door before it closed and hurried me inside.
I ran for one of the stalls and made it just in time to hurl the contents of my almost-empty stomach into the toilet. When I finished, I looked for a handle to flush the disgusting mess away, but there was none. Puzzled, I stepped out of the stall. "There's no way to flush—"
Before I could finish my question, there was a sudden roar from the toilet and the sound of water running.
Stunned, I asked, "How?"
"There are sensors," Margo explained. "I'm not sure how they work, but they can tell when you leave and the flush is automatic."
"Okay," I said and went to the sink to wash my hands. There were no handles to turn on the faucets. "So how do I turn these on?"
"Motion will do it. Just move your hands back and forth under the spigot."
"There—on the side of the sink."
Wondering what Margo thought of my ignorance, I soaped my hands and washed them. Then I shook off the excess water and looked around for the paper towels. Not seeing any, I was ready to dry my hands on my skirt when Margo said, "The hand drier is on the wall. Just hold your hands under it."
I did and warm air blew out.
"Rub your hands so they will dry faster," Margo instructed.
While I did that, I swallowed. There was a nasty taste in my mouth. "I hope Brian isn't ordering a hamburger for me," I said.
Margo stroked my hair. "He won't order without us."
I pulled away again. I could see the hurt on her face, but I couldn't help it. I didn't like strangers being so familiar, no matter how nice they tried to be or who they said they were. "I don't know what to call you, either of you," I said.
"I'm your mother." Margo's voice broke. "I'm your mother." Her jaw tightened, and her blue eyes flashed in anger.
My whole body stiffened at her claim. "Hannah is my mother, and she's dead."
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