by Devney Perry
There was no turning back now. The Cadillac had sat in my garage for too long as it was. Maybe it would have been easier if not for the track record with these handoffs. For every trip this Cadillac had taken, one of my friends had found love.
Londyn had met Brooks in West Virginia, thanks to a flat tire.
Gemma had returned to Montana and found Easton waiting.
Katherine and Cash had fallen in love on the sleepy highways between Montana and Oregon.
Aria had come to Arizona and realized the hate she’d harbored for Brody had actually been affection.
I had no delusions that this trip would result in a major life change. I fully expected to be the one woman who returned home single. Months of preparing myself for that reality hadn’t made it easier to swallow.
Yet there was that glimmer of hope I’d buried deep. It mingled with the fear because, unlike my friends, I hadn’t set out into the unknown unsuspecting.
I knew exactly who I was seeking.
Had his smile changed? Did he grin like he used to? God, I hoped so.
I hoped that whatever had happened to Karson in the past twelve years, his smile hadn’t dulled. Because on my darkest nights, when the ghosts escaped their confines at the California border and drifted into Arizona, it was the memory of Karson’s smile that chased them away.
That, and my son.
August stirred, blinking heavy eyelids as he came awake.
“Hey, bud.”
“Are we there yet?”
I gave him a sad smile. “No, not yet. But we’re getting closer.”
He sagged in his seat, his eyes still sleepy and his cheeks flushed. “Mommy?”
“Yeah?” My heart squeezed each time he slipped and called me Mommy. One of his friends at school last year had told August that he called his mom Mom and not Mommy. From that day forward, I’d been Mom except for the rare moments when he was still my baby boy.
“Do you think we can go swimming as soon as we get there?” he asked.
“Probably not right away,” I said. “First we need to stop by my friend’s house. Remember?”
“Oh, yeah. Is it going to take a long time?”
“No, not too long.”
“Then we can see the ocean, right?”
“Yes, then we’ll see the ocean.”
August yawned but sat straighter. His eyes lost their sleepy haze and his gaze flicked out his window, chasing the sage brush and sand that bordered the interstate. “What do you think is more scary, a shark or a lion?”
This boy would never know how grateful I was for his questions. He’d never know that he kept me grounded. He kept me sane. He kept me going. “That depends. Is it a hammerhead shark or a tiger shark?”
“Hammerhead.”
“A lion.”
He nodded. “Me too.”
The questions continued until the open road clogged with vehicles and the Cadillac was swallowed up in traffic. August was about to come out of his skin by the time we made it to the outskirts of San Diego.
We stopped for lunch and August devoured a well-earned Happy Meal at McDonald’s. Then after a refill at a gas station, we loaded up once more for the drive along the coast. After we passed the city, the Sunday traffic moved in the opposite direction, most people returning home after a weekend trip.
Thirty miles outside of Elyria, the ocean came into view, and I decided to pop off the interstate for a quieter highway that hugged the coast. August’s eyes were wide as he stared at blue water and the waves glittering under the bright July sun.
“Let’s do something fun,” I told August, touching the brake to ease us into a turnout along the road.
“What?” He bounced in his chair, then his jaw dropped when I moved to put the convertible top down. “Cool!”
We both laughed as I pulled onto the road. August’s hands shot into the air, his hair, in need of a cut, tousling in the salt-tinged wind.
He needed sunscreen. He should be wearing sunglasses. But for thirty miles, fun was more important than being the responsible mother every moment of every day. That and I didn’t want to do anything to ruin that smile on his face.
I needed that smile as the nerves crept in, twisting up my insides and making it hard to breathe. So I braced my knee against the wheel and raised my arms. “Woohoo!”
“Woohoo!” August cheered with me.
His laughter was the balm to my soul, and I soaked it in, reminding myself that this was August’s trip too. This was his summer vacation to the ocean, something he could brag about on his first day of first grade this fall.
Vacation. We’d explore the oceanside. We’d shop for souvenirs we didn’t need and eat too much ice cream. We’d have a fun trip, then go home. Brody had volunteered his jet to save August from a two-day return trip in a rental car.
The speed limit dropped as we passed a sign welcoming us to Elyria.
I gulped.
My phone chimed with directions through town toward the address I’d entered days ago. Brightly colored shops lined the main road. A couple crossed the road ahead, each carrying surf boards. Signs for parking areas sprang up every few blocks, directing people toward the beach.
Later I’d explore this charming town, but at the moment I kept my focus forward, listening intently to the navigation. When I turned down a side street, I was so anxious I didn’t bother taking in the neighborhood around us.
Then we were there. Karson’s address. The destination was on our left.
I slowed the Cadillac to a crawl in front of a white stucco house with arched windows and a terra-cotta roof. The tiled walkway to the front door was the same rich, caramel brown as the clay. Two baby palm trees towered over the green yard, and off to the side of the house was a garage.
I pulled around the corner, parking in the driveway. The thunder of my heart was so loud I barely registered August’s question.
“Mom, is this it?”
I managed a nod as I turned off the car and unbuckled my seat belt. Then I stared at the house. How would I make it to the front door? Maybe I should have called first. Karson might not even be home. If not, I guess we’d come back later.
But this was definitely his house. I double-checked the number beside the garage door.
“Can I get out?” August asked, already unbuckling his harness.
“Sure.” I’d need him with me for this.
I climbed out of the car, walking on unsteady legs to his side to help him out. Then with my son’s hand in mine, I stood in the driveway and let the sun warm my face. The sound of the ocean was a gentle whisper on the air. The scent of salt and sea hit my nose.
Aria had lived on the Oregon coast for years, and though the smell was similar, there was something sweeter in the Elyria air.
Karson had always said he wanted to be close to the ocean. He’d wanted to learn how to surf. I was glad he’d gotten that wish.
The sound of a door opening caught my attention and I turned, just in time to watch a tall man with dark hair step outside. A short-trimmed beard shaded his sculpted jaw. He was wearing a pair of khaki cargo shorts slung low on his narrow hips. His green T-shirt stretched over his broad chest and clung to the strength in his biceps. His feet were bare.
Karson.
My heart skipped.
He’d grown up. Gone were the lanky arms and legs. Gone was the shaggy hair in need of a cut. Gone was the youth from his face.
This was Karson Avery, a man who stole my breath. But he’d done that at nineteen too.
Those beautiful hazel eyes studied me, then darted to the car as he came toward us. A crease formed between his eyebrows as he took it in. Then they moved to me and that crease deepened.
My stomach did a cartwheel. Please recognize me.
If he didn’t . . . I clung to August’s hand, drawing strength from his fingers. It would break my heart if Karson had forgotten me. Because in all these years, he’d never been far from my mind.
Karson’s feet stopped abru
ptly and his entire body froze. Then he blinked and shook his head. “Clara?”
Oh, thank God. I swallowed the lump in my throat. “Hi, Karson.”
“I can’t believe it.” He shook his head again, then his gaze shifted to August. “Hi there.”
August clutched me tighter and murmured, “Hi.”
“Is it really you?”
“It’s me.”
“It’s really you.” A slow smile spread across his face, wider and wider.
It hadn’t changed. There, on the face of a man, was the smile from the boy I’d loved.
The boy I’d loved before his life had gone one direction and mine had gone the other.
And between us streaked those dotted lines.
Chapter Two
Clara
Twelve years earlier . . .
“Here.” Aria tossed me the dry-erase marker.
I caught it and rubbed my fist on the van’s wall, erasing yesterday’s number. Then, popping the cap, I wrote today’s number in blue. The sharp scent of the marker had become the smell of hope.
Sixty-one.
We had sixty-one days until our eighteenth birthday. Sixty-one days until we could leave the junkyard as legal adults and get on with our lives. After three years of living in this van without electricity or heat or air conditioning, our time here was coming to a close.
I’d thought as the days had ticked away, I’d be more excited to say goodbye to this shitty old van. I guess leaving any home was hard, even a dirty one. Even my uncle’s. Though any shithole was better than living under that bastard’s roof.
“Are you sure you don’t want to go to Montana?” Aria asked from her bedroll where she was bent, tying her shoes.
The laces had been white at one point, just like the laces on mine. But after nearly three years, they were permanently a brownish red—the color of the dirt outside that we did our best to keep from tracking in.
“I don’t know.” I shrugged. “That’s where Londyn, Gemma and Katherine went.”
“Exactly my point.”
“Don’t you think we should, like, find our own place?”
“Yeah,” she muttered. “I guess so. Then where?”
“LA?”
“Hell to the no.” She stood up and plucked her favorite black hoodie from the backpack that was her closet. “I want out of California. Forever.”
“I just want out of this freaking town.” I took one long look at the number on the metal wall, then recapped the marker and tossed it into my wooden crate.
Sixty-one.
The excitement would come. Eventually. Right?
“Will you water my plants for me today?” Aria asked.
“Sure.” I had nothing else to do.
On the days when I wasn’t working, life in the junkyard was boring. The day would stretch without TV or a phone or . . . anything. So I’d water her plants. I’d sweep out the van with the handheld broom I’d gotten from the dollar store a couple years ago. Both chores would take an hour total. Then I’d have to find something else to do.
“What do you want me to bring you back from the restaurant?” she asked.
“Food.”
My answer was the same as always. Just like Aria’s answer on the days when she was stuck here and I went to work at a truck-stop diner. I washed dishes for six dollars an hour. It was below minimum wage but since the owner paid me in cash under the table and didn’t ask questions about why I hadn’t been in school all last year, it was worth the cut.
Staying off the grid was the only way we’d made this living arrangement work.
For sixty-one more days, Clara Saint-James was a ghost.
Then Aria and I would leave here and rejoin society with a real address and social security numbers and birth certificates—the documents tucked away beneath my bedroll in a plastic bag. We’d made sure to take them from our uncle before we’d run away.
Maybe when we got out of here, we’d actually get driver’s licenses. A credit card. A bank account.
“Any requests?” Aria asked. She worked as a dishwasher too at a greasy spoon about a thirty-minute walk from here. The owner of her restaurant had actually asked for an application.
Aria had listed me as her mother’s name, the junkyard as our address. Thankfully, they hadn’t tried to call the fake phone number she’d put on the application. Or if they had, they hadn’t asked why the call hadn’t gone through.
Like me, she was paid under the table, so why her boss had needed an application, I wasn’t sure. Whatever the reason, all that mattered was that we both worked in restaurants. The food was worth more than the hourly wage.
On the days we worked, neither of us had to worry about a meal. And normally, there’d be enough left in the kitchen for an extra sandwich or two to bring home.
“Ham and cheese,” I said. It was Karson’s favorite, not that I’d tell Aria that was the reason I always asked for it.
“’Kay. I’m out.” She stood at the mouth of the van, waiting.
I walked over and wrapped my arms around her.
The night our parents had died, I hadn’t wanted to give my mom or dad a hug good night. I’d been in the middle of a game of Fallout on my PlayStation. I’d gotten to level eight and the blocks had been falling so fast. My fingers had flown over the control. And when my parents had kissed me goodbye, when they’d told me to have fun and be good for our babysitter, I’d dismissed them with a grunt.
Hours later, on their way home, a drunk driver had crossed the center line and crashed into their car.
Ten-year-old me hadn’t understood that life was short. I’d been so worried about a stupid video game that I hadn’t hugged my parents goodbye.
I wouldn’t make that mistake again.
“Be careful.” I let Aria go and watched as she hopped out of the van.
When her shoes hit the dirt, she looked up at me and waved. “Bye. Have a good day.”
“You too.”
I didn’t like the days when we walked into town alone. Yes, we’d been doing it for nearly three years, but that didn’t mean it was safe. Until we were gone, until we left Temecula and turned eighteen, we would never be safe. Not until we had control over our own lives.
Aria didn’t head for the small gate in the junkyard fence that served as our own personal door. Instead, she rushed over to Lou’s shop, disappearing into the bathroom.
I stayed standing at the end of the van, waiting until she came out. Then with another wave, she disappeared through the rusted cars and stacks of metal parts.
I sighed, scanning my rust-colored world. Everything here was tinged orange-brown. Some of the old cars still had flecks of paint—teal or black or red. This van had once been white. But with every passing day, the colors disintegrated, little by little. Chip by chip. It was a losing battle against the wind and the sun and the rain and the dust.
The only bright, fresh color came from Aria’s plants. She’d been growing more and more this year, ever since the girls had left.
I think she missed Londyn and Gemma and Katherine more than I did. Not that I didn’t miss them. I did. I missed our friends. It was just . . . easier with them gone.
I didn’t have to work so hard to hide my crush on Karson.
Instead of masking it from five people, I only had to hide my true feelings from two—my sister and Karson himself.
Easy when I was here alone.
The sun would be warm today, perfect for growing, so I hopped down from the truck and found the old coffee can that Aria used to water her plants. It rested by one of the truck’s flat wheels.
Our home wasn’t fancy but it kept the rain out, mostly. And the mice. It was an old delivery vehicle, the back a rectangular metal box. It had gotten into an accident at some point, hence its lifetime membership in this graveyard with the other broken-down heaps.
The front end was smashed. The hood was a crumpled piece of metal, and wherever the engine was, I doubted it had survived. But the box was mostl
y solid. The few jagged holes in the metal siding let in some natural light. We’d covered them with plastic shower curtains to keep out the wind and water and bugs.
It was time to replace the curtains. They were tinged with dirt and film. But with only sixty-one days to go, I didn’t see the point in wasting the money.
Inside the truck, Aria had her side and I had mine. At the foot of each of our bedrolls rested our backpacks. By my pillow, I kept neat stacks of tattered romance novels I’d bought for a dime at the thrift store. Most I’d read ten or eleven times.
The books formed a little shelf of sorts to hold a bottle of water, a flashlight and my battery-powered alarm clock. At night, that shelf also held the foldable knife I’d stolen from Uncle Craig.
I patted it in my pocket, feeling its weight against my hip. That knife went with me everywhere, even in the junkyard.
Taking the can, I walked toward the shop. It was one of two buildings in the junkyard, the other a shack where the owner, Lou Miley, lived.
Lou’s windows were arguably dirtier than my windows, but at night, they let out enough of a glow that we knew Lou was inside. In the winter, a steady plume of smoke would stream from his metal chimney and the scent of a campfire would fill the air. Lou was a recluse most days. He’d venture outside only when necessary to run the yard.
I cast a quick glance at his shack, sniffing bacon in the air. The kitchen window was cracked and Lou must have had a nice breakfast.
My stomach growled. The granola bar I’d scarfed earlier would have to do until Aria came home from work. We needed to get to the grocery store and pick up some more bread and peanut butter, but I didn’t get paid until Friday.
And I refused to raid our savings.
Alongside the plastic bag of legal documents under my bedroll was another full of cash. Half of everything Aria and I made went into that pouch. It was our future, and we’d built it with sheer determination and discipline.
We were saving up to get out of here. That money was going to be the foundation for the days when we could afford bacon for breakfast.
And a stove.
And a refrigerator.
Shoving the hunger aside, I walked to the shop. It stood nearly three times as tall as Lou’s shack, tall enough that all of his equipment could fit inside.