We are quiet and tired from the long ride in the car so we stop at the roadside shop that serves the huckleberry milkshakes.

I stop in the middle of the store and stare into the eyes of the deer head, because I think there is still someone in there, staring back at me. Nothing ever really dies.

My brother pulls on my mother’s sleeve. She is tired. She has her sunhat on. She is happier to be here than we are, still. I don’t think she can be unhappy here. I can still see the water at the bottom of her hair from when she swam in the river. 

I did not swim in the river. I think there are monsters in the river. I think they live between the rocks. Nothing ever really dies, but no one comes out of the river except for her. I think she is invincible. And not in the way that children think their mothers are invincible, because I am twelve years old, and that means I am not a child. I think my stepfather wanted her dead, but he couldn’t manage. He could kill me if he wanted. She's invincible, though, which is why we’re all still here. She goes in the river and comes back out, and no one else does, and the monsters under the mossy rocks are too scared of her to touch.

I walk up to the t-shirts. There is one with the outline of Montana on it. I’m not very patriotic. I want to buy it anyways.

I look at the price tag. $23. I put it back on the hanger. I’m not Jeff Bezos. That’s more money than I want to spend on a shirt.

My little brother has followed me. His eyes are small. They are like mine, but greener — the pretty side of hazel. His hair is blonde because he takes after our mother. He is still smaller than me. I want him to stay that way. How does someone hide behind you if they’re taller? Maybe I should get boots.

I give him a hug. It is cold outside. It’s a school day. We shouldn’t be in Montana.

My mother buys us both huckleberry shakes and asks if we want burgers. Her eyes are still red. Invincible people aren’t soulless. She really did love him. She still does.

“Where are we going?” I finally ask her.

She gives me a hug. We are hugging a lot today. “I don’t know, baby.”

“How about Aunty?” I suggest. Aunty is nice. She is big and gives good hugs, and smiles real nice, even though she smokes too much.

My mom nods. I am taller than her now. I am not very tall. It is so much harder to be the tallest than everyone tells you it is. Especially when you’re not the tallest, just the tallest on your side. “Aunty is good. Just for a few days.”

We get back in the car. We do not get burgers. No one is hungry.

My mom turns on the radio, pushing in one of her DVDs. It’s something nineties, something she grew up with. Tupac, I think.

He made me leave my house. I want him dead. Nothing really dies. There’s no getting out of this now.

I think there are monsters in every river, but the Bitterroot is the only one I’m sure of. I’ve seen it, I swear I have. It touched my leg. It stared at me before I jumped from the bridge. It showed up in my toilet when I went back to our friend’s house, really. It followed me all the way home and it’s still following me now. It’s why my luck’s so bad. It’s why I’m failing my math class.

The first time I met my stepfather, he was crawling out of the lake. He was a real monster. I know my mom’s invincible, but I think it’s made her reckless. She married one of the monsters cause they never bite her, and now he’s biting and she don’t know what to do with it.

I drink my huckleberry shake. It’s a good shake. You never get huckleberry flavour in Washington.

We’re going to Aunty’s cabin. A monster is in my house, laying in my mother’s bed. It’s a school day. I should be there.

I’m in Montana. We pass the spot where my Great Uncle died. “Died.” I don’t think things die until everyone forgets about them.

The sun is high up in the sky still, even though we’re two hours ahead. I hope it won’t rain. I hate it when it rains.

My mother asks if we want to stop by the river. “Yeah,” I say. “I want to swim.”

“It’s too cold,” my little brother complains. I shush him. We stop by the river.

I have to slide down the rocky hill, leaning back to keep my balance like my dad taught me. It kinda hurts my feet, cause now I don’t have shoes. I don’t wanna get ‘em wet.

When I finally get to the river, I stick in my foot in to lour out the monster. “I want you to take him back,” I whisper to the silty shore. I know the monsters can hear me because they’ve been attracted by the smell of my flesh. “My momma married a sea monster, and you guys need to take him back. C’mon, you gotta. I’ll never litter again, I’ll never use any plastic, promise. I know you don’t like me, but that’s alright, I just need the one thing.”

Mom finally slides down the rock herself. She takes her jean shorts off, and then she’s only in the swimsuit and flip-flops, and she steps into the water. My foot is already numb, so I yank it out. Told you she was invincible. No one steps into cold water that easy.

My little brother is last down, cause he’s not very good at climbing. I sit back on the rocks, soaking up the sun.

Aunty’s is still an hour away. I want more huckleberries. For once, I want to be in school.

She’s smiling, but I don’t think my momma’s really happy here. I don’t think anyone is.

That’s what monsters do when they follow you. Montana would be a lot happier if it just dammed up the rivers.

Even when they eat people, I don’t think the monsters are all that happy, either. I think they might be sadder than all of us combined.

A dead fish washes up on the shore. I think that means “deal.”