She ran her fingertips along the pointed edge of the envelope, then slid her finger underneath the flap. It opened easily. Inside was a folded sheet of paper that matched the envelope. Smooth and thick. But when she unfolded the note, a thin rectangular piece of paper fell from its folds and fluttered to the ground.
A bus ticket.
Star hopped down from the wall and snatched the ticket off the ground. She stuffed it back into the envelope and shoved the envelope deep into the pocket of her coat. Lucy had sent her a bus ticket.
Guitar music and laughter floated from behind her. The same two girls who’d camped by her spot the other day sat cross-legged on the ground with their guitars. They must like the smell of chocolate too. Star sat down so that her back rested against the wall and listened to the music.
She wanted to read the note. Her fingers reached into her pocket, touched the stiff edge of the envelope, hesitated. What good could possibly come from some old lady? More than likely she wanted to help her find her parents or call her caseworker, or maybe she was a front for a sex trafficking ring. Star gave a bitter laugh. Those fuckers preyed on girls like her, but an old woman like Lucy really didn’t fit that mold. She slid her hand out of her pocket and shoved it under her thigh. Maybe she’d read it later, or maybe she’d throw it away.
For the rest of the day, she managed to ignore the note. She bought a hot chocolate with the money from Jess and sipped it, trying to savor every bit of chocolate and sugar that touched her tongue. It went cold before she reached the bottom, but even cold it was still good. When the streetlights flickered on that night, a thin layer of coins and a few crumpled bills lay piled in her paper cup. Along with the remaining money from Jess, it wasn’t a bad day. Satisfied, she pried apart her little fabric change bag, slid the money inside, and tucked it under her shirt.
The night air held a deep chill that poked through the thin spots in Star’s wool coat. Three sizes too big, it did little to keep her warm anyway, but it was all she had. She pulled it tight to her body, shivering, and moved quickly down the street. Night made her feel visible to all the wrong people.
Just before the sun dropped behind the mountains, Star wolfed down a fast-food hamburger and drained a small cup of water, tossing the trash into the bin before flinging herself under a bench. When she curled up against one end, her entire body was almost hidden from view, making her feel protected and safe. The wide bench had three sides made of solid concrete, and with her small frame, she could almost pretend she was alone. Except for the guys sitting on a bench on the opposite side of the street, talking to one another, their voices raised. They sounded high or drunk or both, but they didn’t seem to know she was there, and that was good.
She tried to tune them out, but when she did her thoughts went immediately to the note. It felt heavy in her pocket, as though it were made of metal instead of paper. When she couldn’t fight her curiosity a minute longer, she dug her fingers deep into the pocket of her coat until she touched the small plastic flashlight, the kind someone might put on a key chain. Then she pulled out the bent and crumpled envelope. The thin beam of the flashlight shook. She tightened her grip to stem the trembling in her hand and pulled open the note. In the same delicate script, it read:
Dear Girl,
Here is what I know:
You watched your best friend die.
You are not a liar unless you need to be.
You are not an addict, but you do let something rule your life. Fear.
You think you are better off alone.
Everyone deserves a second chance. Consider this your invitation to come and stay at my house. Use this ticket to take the 401 to Pine Lake. From the bus stop, walk west on Main Street for one block, take a right at the Mountain Market. Follow the path to the house at the top of the hill that overlooks the lake. Ring the doorbell.
Lucy
The letter turned blurry, and Star was surprised to find she was crying. She wiped her eyes on her shoulder. For a second she felt a lightness touch her heart at the thought that somebody, even an old-ass lady, had noticed her. But it was gone just as quickly. She hadn’t just watched Jazz die. She’d been the cause of his death. And she deserved everything that had happened after that night.
She reread the note. You think you are better off alone. Lucy was right there. Star deserved exactly that. She crumpled the letter into a ball and shoved it into her pocket, then took out the paperback book she kept tucked inside her coat. Reading helped her disappear into a pretend world where her own didn’t exist. She flipped to a dog-eared page and began to read, trying to push the invitation to Pine Lake out of her mind. However sincere Lucy’s offer, it was nothing more than a fantasy. So she began to read, huddled under her coat, using her hair as a pillow, until her eyelids grew heavy and she fell asleep.
Star woke up to a muffled sound from outside the bench. Something was wrong. The air still had the bite of darkness. Too early to wake up. She was curling deeper into her coat when she felt something touch her knee. Her eyes shot open. A face peered at her through the open slats.
Before she could cry out, a hand grabbed her ankle, and Star flew out from under the bench, her skull scraping across small pebbles on the pavement. Two forms huddled above her, faces in shadow beneath wide-brimmed baseball caps.
They grabbed her clothes. Tugged her coat aside. One knelt on her shins while the other straddled her waist. He pushed and prodded, then fumbled with the hem of her shirt. She screamed, and he covered her mouth and nose with the moist palm of his hand. She kicked her legs, tried to buck them off, but she couldn’t breathe from the weight of their bodies trapping her to the ground. Her pulse throbbed in her neck, her body stiff with panic.
She felt the sharp point of a blade press into her cheek, and time seemed to stand still. She’d been lucky so far, stayed low, kept to herself. It was a risk to be alone on the streets, but it was one she’d been willing to take. Now she wanted nothing more than to be anywhere but here. Fear lodged itself in her throat, made her want to cry and scream at the same time.
In the dark, she couldn’t make out the face that swam into her line of vision. All sharp angles and deep hollows that made it look like a mask. Breath that smelled like skunk and onion. And then he spoke, and her stomach churned. “I see you, bitch.” Shred.
Her skin went cold, and she again struggled against their weight, trying to free her arm or foot, anything, so she could dig her fingernails into his eyes, knee him in the nuts. Shred laughed, and the sound made her scream into his hand. She was trapped.
His fingers tugged at her coat, found the string around her neck, and pulled; the bag slid easily out from under her shirt like a traitor. Tears slid down her cheeks, but she couldn’t cry. She felt everything and nothing, and with his weight on her chest she couldn’t get enough air to keep her thoughts from scattering. Through black spots in her vision, she saw him slash through the cord, look inside, and grin.
Star moaned. Her money, all her money. As he shoved the bag into his pocket, she felt something expand inside her chest, pushing against her insides, squeezing her heart until it burst like a balloon. Her head fell to the side, and she closed her eyes. Her will to fight rushed out of her in a whoosh that left her limp. This was it; he would do with her whatever he wanted, take whatever he wanted, because he could. She was nothing but a street kid. Nobody cared what happened to her. Nobody. The truth of it slithered through her insides until she felt empty.
Cold air swept down and around them along with the sound of feet thumping on the pavement by her head. Her eyes flew open in time to see a round black object launch out of the night and hit Shred in the temple.
“Ow! The fuck?” he said, and kneed her in the groin when he stood. She whimpered in pain.
Shred and his buddy loomed above her and stared into the alley. With their attention diverted, she scrambled to her feet, gasping for air. She looked frantically down the dark street. If she ran, they’d follow, but for the moment she was
free, and it buoyed her enough to make her want to fight. Maybe today Shred would be satisfied with just stealing her money. She straightened her spine and raised her fists, but then she noticed a little boy standing in front of Shred. Her scalp tingled. It was hard to tell in the dark, but it looked like his sweatshirt was red. She squinted. It couldn’t be the same boy she saw with the old lady. He stood facing Shred, hands shoved into his sweatshirt pockets, head pointed down. He kicked something black and heavy between his feet like a soccer ball.
“You want to die or something, shithead?” Shred took a step closer, his hands balled into fists.
The boy darted behind a dumpster. Star inhaled sharply. Run, kid! She wanted to yell, but fear squeezed her throat shut. Shred glanced at her over his shoulder as though to remind her that he hadn’t forgotten. A thin black line inked down the side of his face. She felt cold all over. He’d kill the boy for that.
When Shred approached the dumpster, the knife gripped in one hand, a shopping cart loaded with black trash bags appeared from the other direction. It wobbled erratically over the pavement before smashing into his knees. He sprawled forward and landed with a grunt on top of his buddy, his knife clattering to the ground. The cart toppled, scattering bags across the pavement. One split open, and the smell of unwashed wool coats, cotton gloves, and hats filled the air.
A hunched form appeared beside the cart, bearing a baseball bat raised high above his stooped shoulders. Star sucked in a breath and lowered her fists. Mel. The tails of Mel’s black trench coat brushed the ground when he brought the bat down onto Shred’s calf. Shred howled in pain.
Mel’s eyes were huge beneath his tight black skullcap, red rimmed and watery, giving him the look of a charging bull. He bent down and picked up the knife, sliding it into his pocket. As Shred’s buddy rose to his feet, Mel pulled the bat to the side, the tip swinging in the air, ready to take another swing. The guy took one look at the bat and Mel, and he ran, leaving Shred writhing on the ground alone.
Mel lowered the bat until it rested on the back of Shred’s neck. He looked up at Mel through the corner of his eye, his back rising and falling with his rapid breaths. “That fucking hurt, man.” He started to rise but halted, his eyes locked on something behind Star.
She turned. From the other side of the street, she saw two dark, hulking shapes advancing toward the three of them. The homeless men from the bench. Mel lifted his chin in their direction, and they halted. Shred noticed, and his head dropped to the pavement with what Star thought might be defeat. Mel lifted the bat and pointed it down the street. “Go,” he said in a deep, cracked voice.
“Fuck, man, you’re not my problem—she is.” Shred scrambled to his feet, stumbling on his injured leg, and shot Star a burning look before limping into the night.
Her legs gave way then, and she sank to the bench. She let her fists relax until her fingers spread wide, and she stared at the way the blood flowed back into her hands, turning the flesh a light pink. She shoved her right hand into her pocket and to the very bottom, where her rock lay snug against the polyester lining. Her thumb sought its smooth surface and rubbed along a much-worn path. Thoughts crowded inside her head, pushing to get out. Shred. The boy. Her money. She tried to stitch the fragments together into something coherent. But it was all too much, and her mind emptied until she was numb.
She watched Mel collect the spilled garments and stuff them into trash bags, tossing them one by one into his cart. When he was finished, he ambled closer to her and carefully laid down a pair of gloves beside her on the bench. She stared at the gloves and listened to the cart rattle down the street, rusted wheels squeaking in the silence that followed.
The sun stabbed holes into the night sky, and from the street behind her came the screech of brakes, the puff of doors opening. The buses were running. Time to get up. She pulled her coat tight around her body, and with a final wary glance in the direction where Shred had run, she hurried down the street with no plan, her heart pumping so fast it left her breathless.
A cold breeze moved through her hair, lifting its tangled knots away from her face and bringing with it the heavy scent of chocolate. Instead of lifting her spirits, it assaulted her—clinging to the skin inside her nose, coating her throat, and stinging her eyes. Reminding her of everything she didn’t want.
The whine of a city bus rumbled past, emitting a puff of black exhaust that knifed through the suffocating aroma. She leaned against a parking meter, staring at her scuffed boots over the ratty hem of her coat.
I don’t want to be alone anymore.
She squeezed her eyes shut, shook her head. It didn’t matter what she wanted. But the loud crunch of brakes weakened her resolve, and her eyes flew open in time to see a bus sliding to a stop a few feet from where she stood.
The 401.
She touched the pocket with the balled-up letter and crinkled bus ticket.
The bus doors inched closed. She curled her hands into fists, bit her bottom lip.
I’m tired of being alone.
Star lurched forward and ran, thumping on the glass door with one hand. The driver pressed his lips together as he eyed the ticket she held against the window. Despite the suspicious squint of his eyes, he opened the door. She jammed her ticket into the slot and stumbled to the very back, where she fell into a seat and rested her forehead against the greasy window, her heart pounding in her ears.
When the bus jerked forward, acid bubbled up from her throat, and she winced. What had she done?
An hour and a half later, the bus pulled to a stop in the middle of a two-lane street. The driver twisted around and said in a flat voice, “Pine Lake.” She didn’t move at first, frozen to her seat with her thoughts spinning. Outside the bus the world had never looked so different. A blue sky clear of buildings and billboards and power lines. Squat buildings with colorful painted signs surrounded by steep mountains carpeted in green pine trees. Her hands shook as she took out the note and read it one more time. Lucy knew something, and Star was going to find out what. She stuffed the letter inside her pocket and felt her back relax, filled now with a new kind of determination. Maybe it was time for her to stop running from the truth.
She made her way to the front, gave the driver a half-hearted wave, and stepped out of the bus. The quiet that followed seemed unnatural, devoid of the constant hum of people and cars and machines. She stood on a wooden sidewalk, breathing in cool air that tasted like water and wood mixed with the sour smell of her wool coat and unwashed hair. Star had never breathed in anything so clean or ever felt so filthy. She looked up the mostly empty street to see a wooden sign hanging over the walkway with the words MOUNTAIN MARKET.
A man in a red flannel shirt and work jeans passed by, barely containing his interest or the wrinkle of his nose. Star shrugged, shoved her hands into her pockets, and ran her fingers over the rock. She pulled out the envelope and scanned the letter one more time, straightened her shoulders, and began to walk down the uneven sidewalk.
CHAPTER FIVE
JESS
“Did you check the calendar today?” Lucy’s voice came from behind her.
Jess glanced over her shoulder. “First thing this morning, but since the day looked free, I thought I’d give my bonsai trees a little attention.” Jess stood in front of her bedroom window, where she had placed the trees. She held a pair of scissors in her hand, trying to mimic what she’d seen Mr. Kim do on pruning days. He’d made it look effortless and easy, but to her the tiny trees looked too delicate. Jess had no idea what she was doing. Chance’s bonsai tree had never seemed to need anything other than the occasional watering and picking of dead leaves. Now, seeing Chance’s tree side by side with Mr. Kim’s trees, she realized just how poor a job she’d done. Instead of shiny leaves, the tiny branches had grown thin and bare. Compared to the others, it looked overgrown and gangly.
“She’s coming,” Lucy said.
“Ebee?” Jess said, half listening. She set the scissors down, picked up a wet
cloth, and began cleaning dust off the small leaves. The bonsai as a whole weren’t doing well; their leaves had turned dull, and she’d found a handful each morning on the table and floor. She couldn’t bear the thought of watching them die because of her ineptitude. She rubbed a cloth over a dull leaf. The small plant had been a gift to Chance from one of his friends. Jess didn’t know who. He had loads of friends at school, but he seemed to keep to himself at home, content to play in his fort, read books, and bake cookies with Jess. She felt a sharp pain in her chest. The last time they’d made cookies together had been on his birthday. It was the night he died. Something felt stuck in her throat, and Jess had to swallow hard.
“They don’t look so good, Jess.” Lucy stood beside her now, her black skirt swinging close to Jess’s boot. Jess inhaled; she loved the way Lucy smelled, a mixture of orange peels and lavender that made Jess relax.
“I wonder if it’s the altitude,” she said.
Lucy pointed a long white finger, touched the thin trunk of Chance’s bonsai. “What happened to this tree?”
Jess sucked in her bottom lip. She found herself sharing bits and pieces with Lucy, sometimes about Chance and sometimes just about herself in general. Lucy still hadn’t asked anything more about her son than Jess was willing to offer, and Jess suspected that it was her way of giving her the space she needed until she was ready. Jess was growing very fond of Lucy and her ways. “That tree was my fault. I don’t have much of green thumb, and I had no idea the level of care a bonsai needs until I met Mr. Kim.”
Lucy didn’t respond right away, and they stood in silence, contemplating the bonsai.
“It belonged to your son?” Lucy said quietly.
Jess stiffened, her mouth dry, and wrapped her arms tight across her chest, trying to push back the sorrow that filled her body like sand. “I found it after everything happened . . .” Her voice trailed off, ragged. She coughed and tried again. “It was next to the oatmeal raisin cookies on the kitchen table. A beautiful little plant on top of a birthday card someone had made out of pink construction paper, glitter glue, and stickers.” She laughed softly, but it came out broken and sad. She ran a finger under each eye and continued to stare at the tree because she knew that if she met Lucy’s gaze, she’d start to cry.
The Secrets of Lost Stones Page 5