by Meg Jackson
“I am putting myself in Tricia’s shoes. Sexy handsome gypsy hero wants to take you somewhere special? Come on, Ricky. We both know what that’s like. You don’t always end up making the best choices,” Kim said, and Ricky bit back a smile imagining Kennick and Cristov’s reaction to that.
“Hey,” Cristov said. “You James sisters aren’t much better.”
“Yeah,” Kennick chimed in. “We take offense to that.”
“Well, don’t,” Kim countered. “Because I married you anyway, remember?”
“I’m sure it’s all fine,” Cristov said. “We’re nearly at the trailer now. Damon probably left a note saying where he was going and all that. You know he’s not big on talking these days, and he probably thought we’d have something to say about it.”
“We do have something to say about it,” Ricky grumbled into the phone. She ran a palm over her eyes, pinching the sides of her nose. “I’m going to call Tricia now, you guys let me know if you find a note or whatever.”
“Baby, try to stay calm,” Cristov said, his tone lowered slightly as though Kennick and Kim couldn’t hear him perfectly well.
“I’m fine, Cris,” she said. “Talk to you soon.”
Hanging up, she dialed Tricia’s number; it went straight to voicemail. She left a message, a casual what-the-hell-are-you-doing message. Then she got up and went to her little balcony, overlooking Kingdom. It was past 9 on a Tuesday night, and the sleepy little hamlet was doing what it did best; sleeping. Only a few lights illuminated the summer evening. She closed her eyes, and when she opened them again, she tried to see the town as Tricia saw it. Someplace she belonged – and yet never would belong again.
I understand that you want to leave it all behind, Ricky thought. But you left us behind too. And the last time we couldn’t find you…
She didn’t let herself linger on that thought. Instead, she grabbed her keys and went down to the car. If Tricia wasn’t going to be sleeping there that night, there was no reason for Ricky to sleep alone.
12
Morning found Tricia and Damon back on the road after a breakfast of oatmeal and pop-tarts, enjoyed in the cool mists of early summer. They were headed towards the Outer Banks in North Carolina, which Damon jokingly referred to as “an amusing diversion worth the waste of half a day.”
Tricia pulled her phone from her bag. She’d kept it off for the first day and a half, but now felt compelled to check it. Ricky and Kim would definitely have been trying to get in touch with her. Probably her parents, too. As she turned the phone on, she noticed Damon sending her a wary glance. She ignored it and waited for the phone to boot.
As expected, it started buzzing wildly as voicemails and texts filtered in, one after another. A part of her wanted to smile at this; she felt a little like a teenager who snuck out. A bigger part of her understood that the last time she’d been unreachable, her life had been in immediate danger, and her friends and family would be in a panic. She scrolled through the texts from Ricky and Kim and her mother, each one asking where she was, if she was alright, what the hell she thought she was doing.
“Popular girl,” Damon said, acting distracted but obviously unsettled.
“Everyone wants to know where I am,” Tricia said as she started to type out a text.
“Tricia,” Damon said, his voice having a hard edge to it. “I’d rather…”
She stopped typing, looked at him expectantly. He shifted in his seat.
“You should tell them you’re okay, but…can you not tell them where we’re going?”
There was a faint pleading to his tone that made Tricia’s eyebrows raise.
“Um,” she said. “Why?”
“Ricky and Kim talk to Kennick and Cristov,” he said.
“…and?”
“And they don’t know where I’m going, and I’d rather they not know.”
Tricia bit the inside of her lip. That didn’t sound good. That didn’t sound good at all. The Volanis brothers were basically attached at the hip. If Damon was keeping this – whatever this was – from his family…
“Why?” she asked again. She felt entitled to an answer. She wasn’t just along for the ride – well, she was, in the most literal of terms, but she still didn’t know why the ride was happening at all. Damon glanced at her, torn.
“They wouldn’t understand,” he said, simply. “They wouldn’t – they’d try to talk me out of doing what I need to do. But what I need to do….well, I need to do it.”
“Okaaaay,” Tricia said, her fingers still poised over the little on-screen keyboard. “That’s not exactly an answer, Damon.”
“Ah – I know it’s not,” he said. “Listen, Tricia, you do whatever you need to. Tell whoever – tell them whatever you need to. I’m not going to leave you at a rest stop if you tell them. But just…it would, uh, it would mean a lot to me if you trusted me on this. What I’m doing in Miami, it has nothing to do with you. You won’t be in any danger. I promise.”
She looked at him, then back down at her phone. Her fingers hovered over the buttons. The last sentence; we’re going to Miami. She moved her thumb over the backspace button and held it down until that last sentence disappeared. She pressed send.
“Your secret’s safe with me,” she said, trying to sound cheery. His shoulders fell with visible relief, his jaw releasing tension.
“Our secret,” he said, turning to her with the hint of a smile.
“Our secret,” she agreed, looking out the window once more, letting the phrase settle in her mind. Our.
She glanced at the phone one more time and noted that it was time for her pill, then turned it off. Digging through her bag, she found the container and popped her daily baby-preventative, sipping on some water to wash it down. She saw Damon looking and hoped, for no reason she would admit, that he knew what she’d just taken. It might come in handy if he ever decided to go through with that promise about seduction…
13
He would say:
“Last time we were in North Carolina, Cristov nearly killed himself when he stuck his head out the car window and hit a beehive.”
Or she would say:
“So I got a lot of money out of it, but…well, it just felt confusing. Like I won the lottery, but the ticket nearly cost me my life, and it definitely cost me a big chunk of my sanity.”
He would joke:
“I’d like to start a restaurant called ‘Spaghett About It’…”
Or maybe the joke would be more like:
“What’s the difference between a garbanzo bean and a chick pea?”
“What?”
“Pervs wouldn’t pay $40 to have a garbanzo bean on their face.”
“Ew!”
And sometimes she would muse:
“Oh, Kill Devil Hills – this guy, Greil Marcus, he wrote a book about Bob Dylan and some of the stories are set there. It’s also where the Wright brothers had their first successful flights. It’s also a song on Tyranny of Souls. I hate Iron Maiden, though.”
“So how do you know it’s one of their songs?”
“To be honest, I have no idea…”
It hadn’t taken much for Damon and Tricia to open up to each other, and their second day of driving was all pillow talk – it just took place behind the wheel, and before they’d ever had sex. Damon’s bad jokes happened to be right up Tricia’s alley, while Tricia amazed Damon with her catalogue of odd facts, a occupational hazard of working as a librarian; it was amazing the sorts of questions people came into a library with, and even more amazing still that Tricia somehow always knew how to find the answers. That was her job, though, and she did it well.
As they bore down on the Outer Banks, feeling sand under the tires and salt in the air, Tricia changed the playlist from old, classic country to surf rock, with Damon’s approval. They sang along to Pet Sounds while rolling down Route 158 to Kitty Hawk, where Damon parked and pulled Tricia out into the heat of the day.
“This is worth a few extra hours
of driving,” Tricia mused as they began to stroll along the beach. “Not that I’m doing any of the driving, but…”
“Your job is more important,” Damon said. “You’ve got to look pretty and play good music.”
“And laugh at your jokes,” Tricia teased, trying to fight the blush that threatened her cheeks at being called pretty. She was never such a schoolgirl with guys, but Damon had that effect on her.
“Jockey’s Ridge is up that way,” Damon said, pointing along the curved shoreline. “But it’s tourist season. Probably crowded.”
“This is fine,” Tricia sighed, kicking up sand as she walked. “Jockey’s Ridge sounds like a bad cousin of jock itch, anyway.”
Damon laughed, leading her towards the smaller dunes that lay nearby. They walked in silence, listening to the waves and the seagulls, for a while, enjoying the day and each other.
“My name is Damon, and I like bad puns, smelly cheeses, and long walks on the beach,” Tricia teased, darting ahead of him slightly along the hilly sand. They were coming up to a large dune; Tricia’s dress fluttered, clinging to her body, while the sun reflected off her dirty blonde hair, making it shine like gold. Her skin, tanned and slightly sandy, seemed to sparkle. Damon caught up to her quickly, looking at her with eyes that stopped her teasing immediately.
He put his arm around her waist, and pulled in gently. She turned, putting one hand on his chest. We’re going to kiss now, she thought, and felt a girlish flutter in her stomach.
“The sun should shine like this all the time,” he said, and with his free hand he brushed a bit of hair from her cheek, though the wind blew it right back onto her face. “It looks good on you.”
His hand on her waist squeezed once, then released. Tricia, confused, leaned in. But Damon was already turning away. Tricia’s mouth was caught between a smile and a frown, and the crease between her eyes showed her confusion. He gave her a half-smile, eyebrows raised, then grabbed her hand. His large palm, calloused and worn, pulsed against hers.
“That was rude,” Tricia said, trying to sound offended but biting back a laugh as Damon took off running, dragging her behind.
“What was?” Damon said over his shoulder, trotting with heavy steps through the sand. He was pulling her up, up, struggling vertically along a towering dune.
“You…didn’t…kiss…me…” Tricia managed to say between panting breaths. He kept up a steady pace until they were at the top, looking down, Tricia suddenly dizzy with the new height, the new landscape – they weren’t more than a few yards from where they’d started, but the world looked different from higher up, the sands shifting in the wind and the coastline daunting.
“Don’t worry,” he said, whispering in her ear now as he twirled her forward so that she stood in front of him, her back to his chest. His words struck chords all down her ribcage, turned her spine into a lightning rod. “I will.”
Tricia paused, waiting a long moment, savoring the heat and weight of his body against hers.
“Promise?” she said, the word barely a whisper.
He nuzzled against her shoulder and didn’t answer, but he didn’t need to. She could feel his desire for her as he pulled her back tighter against his body. There was an unmistakable hardness between his legs, pressing against her thighs. That was promise enough. And it kept her heart racing, long after her body had recovered from the climb.
14
Tula looked flushed when Kennick, her cousin, opened the door. A thin sheen of sweat stood out on her forehead, her eyes were bleary.
“Where’s Damon?” she asked. Ricky appeared behind Kennick in the doorway, and Tula’s eyes gravitated towards her, deepened slightly. The whole tribe – Cristov, Kennick, Ricky, and Kim – had gathered in the trailer to discuss where Damon was going, and why. There had been no word from him, and only the vaguest of “it’s fine” texts from Tricia. Two days later, everyone’s nerves were well on their way to frazzled.
“Damon…we don’t know where Damon is,” Kennick said, immediately concerned by the crazed, fevered look in Tula’s face.
“Shit,” Tula hissed, running a hand through her dark hair. Now, Cristov and Kim crowded in the doorway behind Ricky.
“Come in,” Kim offered, when it became apparent that everyone else had forgotten how to act like a human. “Sit down. Let me get you some water.”
There was a moment of general confusion as the four figures in the doorway navigated their way back into the small kitchen, bumping into each other, each overcome with their worst nightmares unfolding in their imaginations. Kim poured some water into a glass and handed it to Tula, whose hands were shaking. Tula slid into the counter at the kitchen table; everyone else remained standing.
“I had a dream,” Tula said. “About Damon.”
Cristov and Kennick exchanged a glance. Tula was a drabarni, a psychic of sorts. For most people, gypsy fortune-tellers were scam artists. Tula was the real thing, inheriting her powers from the grandmother she shared with the Volanis siblings. Ricky and Kim exchanged a glance, too. Unlike their men, they were less convinced of Tula’s powers. They weren’t raised to respect things they didn’t understand. To the Romani, Tula’s powers weren’t magic mumbo-jumbo. They were a fact of life, a sense as strong as sight or smell, but only granted to some.
“What happened?” Cristov said.
“Blood,” Tula said, looking up at the group from her seat at the table. “Damon was speaking to me, but I couldn’t hear any of it. And then blood came; from his eyes, his mouth, his nose, his ears. More blood than a body can hold. He’s in danger.”
“Where is he?” Kennick asked, even though that was the exact question Tula had asked when he answered the door. She shook her head, looking down into the glass.
“I don’t know,” she said. “I didn’t…I didn’t see that. I’ll try to see it. I’ll do everything I know to do…”
“Wait,” Ricky said, holding out her hand with her palm out. “It was a dream. I mean, not every dream means something, right?”
Tula’s glare betrayed her emotions as she looked at Ricky.
“Do you think I don’t know the difference between dreams that mean and dreams that don’t?” she snapped. Ricky recoiled, knowing that she was in the minority in the room – even Kim had more faith in Tula than Ricky. “I’m telling you, my cousin is in trouble.”
Tula drank deeply of the water, then looked around.
“Where’s Mina?” she asked.
“She’s with Ana,” Cristov said. “At the store.”
“You’ll need her, when you find him,” Tula said, leaning back, looking exhausted. “You know she’s the only one who can talk to him.”
Kennick bristled, but Tula shot him a withering look.
“You might be rom baro, but Damon…”
“Is Damon,” Kennick finished, shoulders slumping.
“Well, what the hell is it that we have to stop him from doing?” Cristov said, and Ricky could tell how hard he was working to keep his voice from rising to a yell. Cristov had no patience, not like his brothers. If it were up to Cristov, they would jump in their cars and drive in random directions – chasing their tails.
“Hurting himself,” Tula said, voice flat. “Your brother, our Damon, is a violent man. But he’s most dangerous to himself.”
“He’s not a violent man,” Kim said softly, drawing all the attention in the room to her. “He’s not violent.”
“You don’t know him like we do…” Kennick started to say, a gentle correction.
“No, I don’t,” Kim said. “But I know him. He may be a fighter. He may have done violent things. But he’s not a violent man.”
Kennick held his wife in his gaze, trying to seek out her meaning. She wouldn’t make such a claim, especially in the company of those who knew Damon as intimately as they, without a reason. She met his eyes.
“He’s a protector,” she said. “He wants to keep everyone safe.”
“What the fuck are you talking about, Kim
?” Cristov erupted, tearing the charged moment in two. “You and Nick need to stop staring at each other like you’re in the middle of a tantric fuck marathon. Who gives a shit whether Damon’s violent or protective or whatever. He can be a secret Nazi for all I care, I’m not letting him get hurt or killed! Not before he…”
Now, it was Ricky’s turn to look at Cristov, wordless meaning passing between them.
“Not before he lets me finish that stupid-ass lighthouse he wanted on his abs,” Cristov finished. Tula raised an eyebrow.
They ended the conversation there; Kim went to pick up Mina so they could discuss it further, and Tula returned to her own trailer, where she would try her most potent – and dangerous – methods to draw out some concrete meaning from her dream. Later, she returned to the Volanis trailer with a bloody nose and nothing more to offer.
“What are we going to do?” Mina asked, sitting between her brothers at the small kitchen table. In the silence that followed, you could hear the clock ticking.
15
Camped out in Ocracoke, near the Atlantic waves, Tricia and Damon moved in surprising synchronization, considering it was only their second night together. She set up camp, he gathered wood. She built the fire, he played guitar. When the fire was small and hot, Damon prepared dinner. Tricia did most of the work since Damon did all the driving; though she offered, again and again, to drive for a few hours each day, he always refused.
“I like driving,” he would say. “And I don’t let anyone touch my baby.”
That “baby” was a twenty-year-old Crown Victoria. It was, admittedly, well kept, and Damon had made customizations that made it feel modern, like the CD player and new, leather seats. Tricia wondered, though, what made it so special to Damon that he’d rather constantly pay for repairs and upgrades, which would surely cost more in the long run than just buying a new car.