Wrong Way Summer

by Heidi Lang

  “That’s not spying,” Claire finished. “It’s just luck.”

  Her brother grinned. “Are you breaking a rule?”

  “No!” Claire said immediately. She chewed her lip, then added, “Maybe just a little.”

  Patrick put his fist out, and after a few seconds’ hesitation, Claire bumped it with her own.

  They slipped out of the van, and headed down the street. The woman’s brick house looked totally ordinary. Claire opened her mailbox.

  “Claire!” Patrick hissed.

  “Just checking, okay?” There were only two envelopes and a Dog Fancy magazine, all addressed to a Mackenzie Sullivan. This must be the “Mac” Julian had mentioned.

  Claire shut the mailbox, thinking again of the postcards Ronnie had given her. Ronnie would be so interested in this secret meeting between her dad and a mysterious woman. Claire knew her friend would want to hear all about it, and stealth mode, and heading east. Maybe she would send her a postcard after all. She didn’t have to draw on it, but Ronnie needed to know about these new developments.

  “Who do you think she is?” Patrick asked, cupping his fingers around his eyes like a pair of binoculars.

  “Maybe an old girlfriend?”

  Patrick stiffened. He dropped his hands and turned to face her. “That’s not funny.”

  “It wasn’t supposed to be.” Claire pictured her dad the way someone else might see him, with his plaid shirts and ridiculous hats, and his stubble from not shaving in two days. Not that he ever managed to grow more than a few patches of facial hair. She tried to imagine him dating someone, and the picture of her mother swam through her memory, her mother with her short hair and laughing face, that stranger in the photo Ronnie had shown her. Claire wished she’d never seen it; it made it impossible to remember what her mother used to look like.

  “Why would he be visiting an old girlfriend?” Patrick asked.

  “Maybe he’s . . . I don’t know.” Claire shut the mailbox.

  “Mom’s going to come back, you know,” Patrick said.

  All the air left Claire’s lungs. “What?” she gasped.

  “That’s really why we’re in a van. We’re going to rescue Mom. Just like Wrong Way Jacobus rescued that lady in New York.”

  Claire took a deep, slow breath, everything inside aching. For a second, she’d thought Patrick knew something. “Patrick . . .”

  “Don’t give me that look. I’m not being a baby, okay?”

  “But, rescue Mom from what?” Claire crossed her arms. “You know she’s not actually trapped by the troll king, or stuck in a lion’s den, or . . . or whatever silly story Dad comes up with next. They’re just stories. You know it. We both know it. She’s just gone, okay?”

  “Whatever, Claire. You’ll see.” He looked so certain, with his large blue eyes all screwed up, his lips pressed together. It was the face he wore when he was deadly serious about something, usually a troll hunt or a new video game.

  Claire fought down a burst of anger. Her brother was old enough to know better. It was their dad’s fault, always telling stories. For a second she almost told Patrick about the divorce papers she’d found, but she stopped herself. Her dad should be the one to tell him about those. Instead, she squeezed her hands into fists, then said, as calmly as she could, “Mom’s been gone almost eight years. Don’t you think Dad would have gone after her years ago if he thought he could bring her back?”

  Patrick looked stubbornly away, but his lower lip quivered, and just like that, Claire’s anger wavered too, growing heavy and sad, like a balloon filling slowly with sand. She shook out her fingers. “I guess we’ll see,” she sighed.

  “Yeah. We will.”

  It was too hot here, even outside the van, the air humid and sticky. “Let’s take a walk, okay? Dad might be a while.”

  Patrick looked like he wanted to keep arguing, but then his face brightened. “I think there’s a park down there! Want to race to it?”

  “Sure—” Claire started. Before the word had left her mouth, Patrick took off. “Hey, not fair!” And by the time she caught up to him, she’d almost, almost forgotten about the woman with the pretty hair, and Patrick’s theory, and her mother.

  CHAPTER 14

  Claire tilted her head. “Do you hear yelling?”

  “Nah, that’s just the soccer players over there.” Patrick jerked his chin over to the nearby field where a group of kids kicked a ball around.

  “No, it’s not them.” She knew it wasn’t because one of the players was an extremely cute boy, tall with thick, curly black hair. He’d smiled at her when she and Patrick first arrived at the park, and she’d been sneaking glances at him ever since.

  More yelling.

  Claire frowned. “It sounds like—”

  “Dad.”

  “Yeah, kinda.”

  “No, it is Dad. Look.” Patrick pointed. Their dad was jogging toward them, and he never jogged. For a man who had so much energy, he’d always hated exercise for the sake of exercise. “What’s the point?” he’d say. “I could burn just as many calories fixing the ole car, and at least then I’d have accomplished something.” Unless it was hiking. He’d hike all day if you let him.

  “He looks mad,” Patrick whispered.

  “Definitely,” Claire whispered back.

  Patrick inched closer until his shoulder brushed her side. It made her feel strangely powerful, like she was Wrong Way Jacobus holding her bread-weapon, ready to defend her innocent little brother.

  “I’m totally blaming you,” he added, and suddenly he didn’t seem so innocent anymore.

  “I told you to wait in the van,” their dad snapped as he got within range. Both Claire and Patrick flinched back. “Do you have any idea how I felt when I got back there and you were both gone?” He crossed his arms, nostrils flaring. “Now, I’m pretty lenient, but that is not acceptable. Not when we’re on the road. I need to know you’ll stay where I leave you.” He gave them both one last searing look. “Let’s go.” He turned and strode back across the park. For someone so concerned with their whereabouts, he didn’t bother to look back and see that they were following him.

  They followed him anyhow. Where else would they go?

  “I thought you were going to blame me,” Claire whispered.

  “I still might,” Patrick said. “But I think right now it would just make him angrier.”

  When they got back to the van, their dad unlocked the doors and threw them open, every movement jerky, his face locked in a scowl.

  “Careful or your face might freeze that way,” Claire said.

  His scowl grew more fearsome.

  Patrick elbowed her in the side and shook his head. Then he turned to their dad. “Why did you want us to stay in the van?”

  “Because I wanted this to be a short stop. I didn’t want to have to go traipsing all over this town.”

  “Who was that lady?” Patrick mirrored his dad’s posture, crossing his skinny arms and standing with his legs hip-distance apart.

  “I told you, she’s an old friend.”

  “Claire thinks she’s an old girlfriend, and that’s why you didn’t want us to meet her.”

  Claire was both annoyed that her brother had dragged her into this and impressed by his manipulative skills; by asking these questions, he’d put their dad on the defensive. Now their dad either had to give them information, which he hated to do, or backtrack.

  She didn’t give her brother enough credit.

  “Why would you think that?” their dad finally asked.

  Patrick shot Claire a look. Now she was in the hot seat. “Because . . . she has princess hair?” It sounded so dumb, the moment she said it, but it was too late. “And you totally shut us out,” she added.

  “She’s not an old girlfriend,” he sighed.

  “Told you,” Patrick whispered smugly.

  Claire rolled her eyes. “Then who is she?”

  “She’s . . .” He put a hand to the back of his neck, rubb
ing the muscles there like he used to do after a long day of work. “She’s your mom’s old college roommate.”

  “Oh,” Claire and Patrick said.

  “Yeah. Oh.”

  “Why did you want to see her?” Claire asked.

  “Oh, just a trip down memory lane. You know Julian used to go out with her?”

  “What? Really?” Claire couldn’t picture that pretty lady with all the hair dating Julian and his soul patch.

  “It’s how I met your mother, actually.”

  Was this . . . something true? Claire studied her dad’s face. He didn’t look angry anymore, or eager the way he usually did when spinning a tale. He didn’t look like anything at all, his face completely blank. It made her nervous, like she was watching her father get erased from the inside out.

  And then she realized he’d told them something true . . . to distract them from something else. The real reason he’d wanted to visit this woman, Mackenzie.

  “Would you look at that?” he said abruptly, shielding his eyes against the sunlight and staring at something behind them.

  Claire turned. The first thing she noticed was the entire pack of dogs headed their way. Then she realized they were all leashed to two people, a grumpy-looking man with too-long hair and a surprisingly beautiful woman, both wearing hip packs and walking like this was something they did every day.

  “Do you think they’ll let us pet their dogs?” Patrick rubbed his hands together like he might leap out and snatch one.

  “You could ask,” their dad suggested.

  “I wouldn’t,” Claire warned. “That man looks like he wants to murder you and turn you into dog food.”

  The man in question scowled at her.

  “I think he heard you,” Patrick whispered.

  The woman looked friendlier, at least. She smiled as they got closer. “Nice van! Are you all camping?” she asked.

  “We’re hashtag vanlifing,” Patrick said.

  “Well, aren’t you cute.” She slowed down, peering through the open doors.

  “What is this, a walk or what?” her companion demanded.

  “Just a moment,” the woman said. “I’m interested in this van.”

  “Be interested on your own time, then. We’re on dog time here.”

  The woman rolled her eyes. “I’ll add an extra minute to the end of their walk, okay, Wes?”

  “Good business, dog walking?” Claire’s dad asked, eyeing all the dogs. There were eight . . . no, nine. Actually ten, Claire realized; Wes, the grumpy dog walker, had a small pup half-hidden behind the larger dogs in his pack. It looked just like a little wolf.

  “Don’t even think about it, buddy,” Wes said. “There are more than enough dog walkers in this town.”

  The woman laughed nervously. “Yes. Well. We’d better get going.” She clucked at her pack, and all of them moved forward except a yellow Lab, who moved sideways instead, leaning against Patrick.

  “Aww.” Patrick pet her on the head.

  “Sweetpea!” Wes barked, and the lab reluctantly moved back into formation. “No petting the dogs. They’re working. As are we.” He shot one last glare around at everyone, then flicked the leashes like the reins of a horse and set out.

  “Good luck with your vanlife!” the woman called as she hurried after him. “Don’t you think we could use a van like that?” she said to Wes as she caught up. “We could fit all the dogs in at one time and . . .” Her voice faded.

  “Dad?” Claire said.

  Her dad blinked. “Sorry. Distracted.”

  “She was a very pretty lady,” Patrick said. “Even if the man looked like he might be part troll.”

  Their dad laughed. “You might very well be right about that, Patrick. No human can scowl quite so ferociously. Now, let’s roll, eh?”

  They all piled into the van. Somehow Patrick ended up in the copilot seat, with Claire stuck on the cooler in back. She definitely underestimated him.

  Their dad started the van. “Want to know something funny?”

  “Always!” Patrick said.

  “Depends on the definition of funny,” Claire said.

  “Well, I’ll let you be the judge. But you know this van? Before she became Van-Helsing, adventure seeker, she actually belonged to a dog walker.”

  “Really?” Claire asked.

  “Oh yeah. I’ve never seen so much dog hair in my life. I hosed it down before I brought it home.”

  “There was still a lot of hair under the flooring,” Patrick said.

  “How . . . how did you get the van from the dog walker, Dad?” Claire asked.

  “Ah, now that’s an interesting story,” he started.

  Claire sighed. “Never mind.” She turned away and tried to focus on the trees outside the window. She just wished her dad trusted her enough to tell her the truth about things, but if he couldn’t even tell her where he got this stupid van, then—

  “Remember last month when I was working all those extra hours?” he said.

  Claire blinked. “Um, yeah?” she managed. “For Meredith, right?”

  “I was working on this van. Meredith called me when it came in.” He tapped the steering wheel proudly. “She knew I’d always wanted a van.”

  “Good ole Meredith,” Patrick said, quoting the line their dad usually used for their old neighbor. She’d moved to the other side of town a few years ago, but she still occasionally gave their dad work in her auto mechanic shop. Even though he wasn’t “technically” qualified, so she paid him in cash under the table. Sometimes too much cash; Claire remembered hearing her dad argue on the phone a few times that she’d paid him for a full day when he’d only been in the shop a few hours. But she never took money back, and eventually her dad stopped arguing. Still, on those days he’d be extra quiet, and he’d go to bed early. Like it was somehow more exhausting getting paid for work he hadn’t done.

  “Apparently a dog walker Meredith knew was looking to get out of the business, quick.”

  “Was there a scandal involved?” Patrick’s eyes widened.

  “Oh, undoubtedly. It’s a cutthroat world, the world of dogs. Always being hounded.”

  “Dad,” Claire groaned.

  He grinned. “Come on, you can’t blame me for that one. It was practically howling for me to use it.”

  “Stop. It,” Claire said.

  “Hey, I almost said it was a dog-eat-dog world, but that felt too obvious. Low-hanging fruit.”

  “You can’t congratulate yourself for not saying something if you then go and say it.” Claire shook her head while Patrick giggled in the front seat. “Stop laughing, it’ll only encourage him.”

  “Fine, fine. Anyhow, this scandalous dog walker had been having some engine trouble with her Sprinter, and rather than getting it fixed, she made a deal with Meredith and just traded it in for something smaller. And then Meredith made a deal with me: if I could fix it, plus help out in the shop a few hours here and there, then she’d sell it to me cheap.” He tapped his fingers against the steering wheel again. “So. That’s where I was going all those hours. And that’s how I got this van.”

  “Oh,” Claire said.

  “Oh is right. It’s not a great story. There are no heroics. Just an old man with a sore back making it sorer.”

  “You’re not that old, Dad,” Patrick said.

  “Thanks, son.”

  “You’re welcome.” Patrick tilted his head, his lips curling into a mischievous smile, the one that showed off both dimples and all of his teeth. “Is it true you had a pet dinosaur when you were my age?”

  Their dad broke into a loud, surprised laugh. “Well played, sir.”

  “Chomps put me up to it.” Patrick patted his stuffed animal on the head.

  “Chomps isn’t very kind, is he?”

  “He is a dinosaur, Dad. He eats people.” Patrick shrugged.

  “Hmm, fair point.” Their dad lapsed into silence as outside, the houses gradually became smaller, the yards going from jewel green to
dusty brown, some of them overflowing with rusty, banged-up cars. Eventually those houses and cars were replaced by old brick buildings with shattered windows. They reminded Claire of weeping eyes and broken-toothed mouths, of old men with sore backs making them sorer.

  They made her think of the steel factory back home, the one that had closed down years ago and changed everything.

  She turned away from the scenery, glanced at her dad’s hunched shoulders and white-knuckled hands, and knew he was thinking the same thing. “Dad? Can you tell us a story?” The words slipped out before Claire thought about them, before she even realized she was asking.

  Her dad’s head jerked up, eyes meeting hers in the mirror.

  It was too late to take her question back, so Claire didn’t bother trying. Instead, she asked, “Can you tell us about Evangeline Rose?”

  CHAPTER 15

  “When we last left off,” their dad began, “Wrong Way and his new friend, Johnny, had just ridden across the country on the fastest pair of horses in the world, ole Flash and Dash.”

  “I thought they were the fastest horses in all of New York,” Claire said.

  “If they’re the fastest in the world, that would make them the fastest in New York, too,” Patrick said. “Obviously.”

  “Listen to your brother, Claire-bear. Kid’s got brains, just like his old man.”

  Claire sighed. This is what she got for asking for a story.

  “But when they arrived in California, Edgar quickly noticed three things. The first: there was no gold lying around. The second: there were way too many people. And the third? The third thing he noticed was Evangeline Rose.”

  “She’s not a thing, Dad.” Claire narrowed her eyes. “And don’t spend an hour telling us how beautiful she is again, either.”

  “I’ll keep it to half an hour, tops.” He chuckled.

  Claire just waited him out, her face like stone.

  “You know I love it when you make that face. That terrifying, soul-crushing face.” He made an exaggerated shudder. “So. Moving right along . . . After our hero and his friend wandered through San Francisco for a week and determined there was no gold, Johnny became angry. ‘I told you we should have just stolen the horses and been done with it,’ he yelled at Edgar. ‘All those weeks working, and now we’ve missed the gold rush!’