That wasn't how Sophie would have put it. A team conjured images of them working together toward a single goal. If Joy had an endgame in mind to their perpetual trek from one end of the country to the other, she certainly hadn't shared what it was. Sophie wasn't a player in the game. She was a reluctant observer. At best, an afterthought. At worst? Who knew? Though they had scraped rock bottom a time or two, Sophie had the feeling they had yet to hit it. If that day ever came, she had no doubt it would be every woman for herself.
"Quiet," Joy warned. Picking up a suitcase, she cracked open the hotel room door. Peering right, then left, she motioned for Sophie to follow.
Great. Sophie sighed. They were skipping out on their bill. It wasn't the first time. Joy always looked for crap-hole establishments—with male managers—that were willing to take cash under the table. Flirting and a couple of bucks usually got them a room. Joy's ample cleavage allowed them to stay past the first night. After that, it was down to how much shit the manager was willing to swallow. The promise of sex went further with some men than others.
"Just a second."
Ignoring Joy's hissed warning to get in the car, Sophie sprinted back to the room. With a sigh, she dug thirty-four dollars out of her pocket, tossing it onto the bedside table. The manager was a nice guy. Stupid. But a lot of men fell into that category when it came to her mother. The money didn't begin to cover what they owed. Sophie found it a way to assuage her conscience. Her way of convincing herself that she was better than the woman who gave birth to her.
The second Sophie was in the car, Joy hit the gas. As always, their room was the last unit and the greatest distance from the office. It made getting away so much easier. No fuss. No muss. At least for Joy. She dropped her bombs from a distance. By the time the impact was felt, she was long gone.
"Where are we going?"
"Newt has invited us to stay with him for a little while."
This was a new twist, Sophie thought. Since it was the second time her mother had said they were both going, it might actually be true. Occasionally, Joy went away with her current man for a long weekend. But stay for a little while? Sophie included? That didn't happen often. And if history were any judge, it wouldn't end well. The last time wasn't that long ago. Almost a year to be exact. After a few days filled with either heated arguments or pouting silence, they ended up stranded in Poughkeepsie. The gentleman friend stole their car and their clothing. The only reason he hadn't gotten away with their money was that Sophie followed her instincts hiding what little they had where neither adult could find it.
With a sigh, Sophie looked out the window. How could Joy learn from her mistakes when she never admitted to making any? According to her mother, the disasters were never her fault. So she kept repeating them. Over and over again.
"You said that Newt lives out west?"
"That's right."
"How far? We'll be lucky to make it to the county limits in this rusty bucket of bolts," Sophie warned.
Their current transportation had been little better than when Joy acquired it last month from a used car salesman one town over. Wisely, Sophie had refrained from pointing out that if a beat-up old Ford Escort was the best she could do, Joy had been grossly exaggerating her talents.
"We aren't driving. Newt is. He has a brand-new Escalade. That's a Cadillac. Top of the line." Joy practically vibrated with excitement.
"How do you know?" Sophie wasn't averse to a little luxury. She had never ridden in a new car of any make or model. However, Joy tended to exaggerate. A lot.
"He let me drive it. There is no mistaking that smell. Fresh from the factory."
For now, Sophie would take Joy's word for it.
"Any chance you can tell me where we are going. Other than west?" They were in California. There wasn't much west left. Unless Newt could magically drive them to Hawaii.
"I don't know, Sophie." Joy's tone was impatient. "You'll find out when we get there."
"Or I could simply ask Newt."
"No." Joy shot Sophie a warning look. "Don't start asking Newt a bunch of questions. Be polite. And keep your thoughts to yourself. Understand?"
"What's the problem with asking where he's taking us?"
"Once you start, you don't know when to quit. The last thing I need is for him to get annoyed and dump us a hundred miles from nowhere. "
Sophie frowned. "Didn't he think it strange that you wanted to meet him in the middle of the night?"
"Newt likes to get an early start. His son's birthday is tomorrow. Talking him into leaving extra early wasn't a problem."
"But—?"
"Newt is taking us to his home. That's all you need to know."
Sophie's heart leapt to her throat. Home. Just the word was enough to set her pulse racing. So many meanings. A million interpretations. For Sophie, the concept seemed like a dream. A place where she belonged.
There would be no more limping from town to town. Someplace permanent where Sophie could attend school on a regular basis instead of a week here or a month there. A chance to make friends who lasted beyond a tentative hello and no goodbye at all.
Home. Sophie didn't know what it looked like, but she knew what it represented. She held onto the dream—the only one she allowed herself—while her mother pulled her from town to town. The longer hopes and dreams remained unfulfilled, the heavier they became. Sophie's slight shoulders were strong, but there was a limit to everything.
She kept her dreams buried for a reason. It hurt to get her hopes up only to have them broken into a million pieces. Newt. His ranch. His home. Sophie couldn't let herself think of it as real. Not with Joy calling the shots. Her mother had the attention span of a gnat. Always looking past what she had. Certain something bigger and better was just around the corner.
Calling herself the biggest kind of fool, Sophie gave herself a shake. She was getting ahead of herself. Chances were high that something would happen to prevent them from leaving town—let alone reaching this so-called ranch.
Joy slowed the car, coming to a stop next to a deserted row of parking meters. Without a word of explanation, she exited the vehicle.
"I know what you're thinking." Joy kicked the temperamental trunk. Once. Twice. Third time's the charm.
"I doubt that." Sophie removed her suitcase and the paper bag.
"You think that I'm afraid to let Newt see the kind of car I drive."
"Close enough," Sophie muttered as they started their walk. Actually, for once, Joy was spot on.
"Trust me, missy. You are not as deep and mysterious as you want to believe." Joy wobbled down the uneven sidewalk in a tight skirt and five-inch heels. "One day you'll understand why I do the things I do."
That seemed unlikely. Sophie was happy in her sneakers and old jeans. No matter her age, Sophie couldn't see herself in her mother's shoes. Figuratively or literally.
"I'll let you in on a little secret. Men want perfection. Newt likes the idea of helping a woman who is slightly down on her luck. But I can't actually look like I need his money."
"It's better to trudge down the street in the middle of the night than roll up in a crappy car?"
"Yes." Joy set down her suitcase, giving herself a moment to catch her breath. "Besides, he won't see me trudging. When he comes down to the lobby, I'll be waiting. Fresh as a daisy."
"The sweat rolling down your face isn't very daisy-like," Sophie pointed out.
"That's what bathrooms and a change of clothes are for." Determined, Joy picked up the suitcase and her pace. "I've never let a man see me when I'm not at my best."
"What about in the morning?" Sophie had seen Joy when her eyes were rimmed with mascara, and her hair was standing on end. Before noon, Joy tended to look like a frightened raccoon.
"I make certain to wake long before he does. I sponge myself off—a shower would spoil the illusion. Brush my teeth. Put on new makeup. Fix my hair. Then I sneak back to bed before he knows I was gone."
"It sounds exhausting." And ridiculous. Sophie knew that her mother's boyfriends were less than rocket scientists. But only a fool would believe that Joy woke up looking like she stepped off a magazine cover.
"It's necessary."
Joy sounded so sure of herself. So superior. So worldly. So idiotic it was all Sophie could do not to burst out laughing. Perhaps if this were the nineteen-fifties and Leave It to Beaver ruled the television airways. Or maybe—just maybe—if Sophie had lived a sheltered life without the benefit of books and the internet. If all of that were true, she might buy the line her mother tried to sell.
By association, Sophie was forced to ride a rollercoaster of secondhand disappointment and frustration. The pity was all on her side. Not for herself. She could picture the day when all of this was a distant memory. On her own. Away from her mother's drama. Sophie pitied her mother because no matter what, Joy would never change.
This was the life Joy wanted. The sad part was that whether she ever admitted it or not, she fought a losing battle. Like the Wizard of Oz, her mother was so afraid that somebody would get a look behind the curtain, she had never learned to enjoy the here and now.
"Finally," Joy said as the hotel came into view.
Their walk was probably the most exercise her mother had in years. The heat didn't help. Though well after midnight, the temperature was still in the high seventies. Breathing heavily, Joy took a handkerchief from her purse, wiping her profusely sweating face.
"Are the rooms as nice as the lobby?" Sophie knew she was gaping, but this was the first time she had seen the inside of a place that didn't rent by the hour. Everything was so clean. And the air conditioning was a slice of pure heaven.
"For Christ's sake, Sophie, close your mouth. You're acting like an unsophisticated yokel."
"Because that's what I am." Sophie wasn't embarrassed. She took a seat in one of the plush velvet chairs and sighed. This was so much better than her imagination—and her imagination was spectacular. However, picturing herself in a place like this had nothing on actually being here.
"I'm going to freshen up." Joy took her makeup bag from the suitcase before setting it next to Sophie. "Don't move. Don't talk to anybody unless they work here. And then, what do you say?"
"I'm waiting for my father." Sophie knew the drill. Adults gave well-behaved children some leeway. Especially when the child claimed a parent was in the vicinity.
Though tall, Sophie looked her age. Maybe a little younger. When she spoke, the story was different. Her mental maturity far outdistanced her body. However, she was smart enough to tone down her intellect when necessary. If somebody wanted an innocent tween, that's what she gave them.
Today, Joy wanted invisible, so that was the illusion Sophie presented. Still but observant, she sat patiently, doing nothing to draw attention. Her feet didn't swing, her hands lay unmoving in her lap. But Sophie's mind was anything but quiet. She took it all in. Every sight. Every sound. It didn't matter that this was a small hotel. Or that the patrons weren't even close to celebrity status. All around her was a different world than the one she normally inhabited.
To pass the time—and amuse nobody but herself—Sophie made up stories. For example, the couple at the reception desk. Young. Attractive. Obviously in love. Newly married, they were running away from disapproving parents. She had a job waiting for her in San Francisco. He was a hopeful author. She would work while he completed his half-finished book. When it hit the bestseller list, she would go back to college. Perhaps they would start a family. The future was limitless as long as they were together.
Then on the opposite end of the happiness spectrum, the man waiting near the entrance looked uncomfortable. The man speaking earnestly to him was his lover. Married, they met on the down-low whenever possible. The smaller, animated speaker stated his argument for the umpteenth time. They should confess everything to their families. Didn't they deserve to be with each other—the person they loved? From the first man's reaction, it didn't seem that he agreed. Sophie didn't try to feel sorry for the men. Her sympathy lay with the deceived wives—not the cheaters.
Enjoying the game, Sophie looked for another target for her harmless musings. Dismissing several possibilities, her gaze came to rest on a tall, lean man who seemed to be looking for somebody. Handsome. Not too young. Not too old. Sophie wasn't very good at guessing ages. For her story, she settled on forty-five. Maybe a little younger. His dark-blond hair was worn short, and he was clean shaven. In his hand, he held a cowboy hat. That was interesting.
His boots were in the same vein. Blue jeans that looked like they were straight from the store. A crisp white shirt, tucked in, fastened with silver snaps. Neat as a pin, and a little nervous if the way his fingers clutched the brim of his Stetson was any indication. He had a kind face. Sophie hoped whoever kept him waiting was worthy of that kindness.
"Well? What do you think?"
Not exactly a miracle, but Joy had worked wonders on herself. In Sophie's opinion, the makeup was too heavy, and the dress was still too short, but Joy's long hair hung loosely around her shoulders softening her look considerably.
Knowing her part in this play, Sophie said her lines without a stumble or stutter.
"You look beautiful. Not a day over twenty-five."
Thirty-five was more like it. But Sophie wasn't supposed to mention her mother's real age. Ever. One of Joy's hard-fast rules.
Happy, Joy scanned the room. Slowly, her smile widened, and her body took on a sultry pose.
"There's Newt."
Sophie turned. She should have guessed. The cowboy with the kind face waved his hat. As he made his way toward them, her emotions were mixed. For her sake, she wanted Newt to be a good man. For his sake, she hoped his skin was thicker than it looked.
"One more thing," Joy whispered to Sophie out of the side of her mouth. "I'm your sister. Don't forget."
Sophie watched as Newt swung a laughing Joy into his arms. Sisters. Not the first time they had perpetrated that particular deception. Maybe it was his sweet smile or the warmth in his deep blue eyes. Something about Newt made Sophie want to tell him the truth. Damn Joy and the consequences.
"Is this your little sister?"
"That's right." Perhaps sensing Sophie's hesitation, Joy sent her a warning look.
"Hello, Sophie." Newt took her hand in his. "Are you ready to go home?"
That one word sent all others from Sophie's brain. She swallowed hard.
"Home?" she asked hopefully. When Newt nodded, his kind eyes crinkling at the sides, the hope in Sophie's heart canceled out her twinge of conscience. Taking a deep breath, she smiled. "Yes, sir. I am."
One Way or Another: A Friends to Lovers Contemporary Romance (The Sisters Quartet Book 1) Page 28