Runaway Road

by Devney Perry

  They bolted from the truck before answering.

  I shot Brooks a glare as he rounded the hood to open my door. When my foot hit the concrete, I opened my mouth to demand details about this low-key thing—and a crowd of people rushed out of the house.

  Wyatt got swallowed up first. Then the swarm descended on us.

  “Hi, Londyn.” Brooks’s mom enveloped me in a hug. “We’re so glad you could come today.”

  “Thanks for having me . . .” I looked at Brooks in panic. What was her name? He hadn’t told me their names.

  “Ava,” he mouthed.

  “It’s lovely to meet you, Ava.”

  “My, you are pretty.” She winked at me, then pulled Brooks into a hug. “Hello, son.”

  “Hi, Mom.” He tucked her into his side just as I was wrapped up again, this time by Brooks’s father.

  “Carter Cohen. Great to meet you.” He slapped a hand to my back.

  Whoa. He was as strong as Brooks. “You too.”

  He released me, grinning from ear to ear as the rest of the people around us started tossing out names I had no hope of remembering. I got lost in the handshakes and hugs.

  I met Brooks’s sister and her husband while their two small children chased around Wyatt’s legs. There was an aunt and a great aunt. There were five or six uncles, or was one of them a cousin?

  It took me the entire day to get it all straight, but by the time dinner was over and I was sitting on the back deck, I’d finally put names and relations to each face. I’d even managed to figure out which twin uncle was Henry and which was Harry.

  Brooks and I were sharing a lounge chair. When I’d moved to take my own, he’d hauled me down on his lap. His fingers idly caressed my bare knee.

  “So?” Brooks raised an eyebrow as he spoke low so only I’d hear. “What’d I tell you?”

  “It was fun.” I smiled. “You have a wonderful family.”

  “Sure do.”

  He was fortunate. He knew he was blessed. These people were genuine and kind. They’d pulled me into their family today like I’d been here for years. Like I’d be here for years.

  Brooks, Wyatt and I were the only three guests left at Carter and Ava’s house. Everyone else had gone home about an hour after dinner, but we’d been in no rush to leave. I wasn’t ready to end this day yet.

  We’d spent most of the morning and afternoon on the lake, alternating groups on the boat to go skiing or surfing or tubing. Once the boat was docked, we’d played lawn games, holding competitions in bocce ball and cornhole. I’d laughed more today than I had all year. I’d also discovered I had a competitive streak when it came to lawn darts.

  After games, we’d congregated on the sprawling deck, eating a feast that Ava had prepared, forgoing some of the outdoor fun. Brooks had promised me that feeding us was her kind of fun.

  Ava was an authentic mother, nurturing and kind. Today was the first time I’d seen one in real life.

  This entire experience was a first. This family laughed and teased one another. When they asked about each other’s jobs or homes or cars, it was with genuine interest. They knew what was happening in each other’s lives because they weren’t only blood relatives, they were friends.

  I hadn’t had that since the junkyard.

  Thomas was an only child and his parents lived in Boston for a third of the year, at most. I’d missed feeling like I belonged to more than just one person. That if I needed help, I’d have an entire posse at my back.

  I wouldn’t forget these people. I wouldn’t forget this day.

  Maybe this remarkable family wouldn’t soon forget me either.

  “I’m hungry,” Wyatt announced from the seat beside us.

  “Seriously?” I asked. “You just ate a full rack of ribs, two ears of corn and half a dozen rolls.”

  Yes, I was keeping track of Wyatt’s food consumption. It was fascinating, seeing a boy with not an ounce of fat eat more than I did in a week.

  He shrugged. “But I didn’t get dessert.”

  “Pie.” Brooks sat up, taking me with him as he stood from the chair. “Wyatt’s hungry and I want pie.”

  “The diner?” Carter stood too, holding out a hand to help Ava from her seat.

  “I hope they have a slice of pecan left,” she said, smiling as she led the way into her house.

  The kitchen was state of the art, but there were magnets on the fridge, holding up art made by Carter and Ava’s grandchildren. Pictures adorned the walls instead of expensive paintings. The house had beautiful furniture, each piece top of the line, but comfortable. I wouldn’t be afraid to sit on a couch and tuck my feet up.

  It was a home and the heart of this family.

  And I don’t belong.

  The realization slammed into me as I walked down the hallway and passed a collage of framed Christmas cards. An overpowering urge to get in my car and drive far away hit. This life wasn’t mine. I’d pretended today, but this wasn’t my family. It never would be.

  It was time to go.

  The urge to leave settled deep in my bones. I’d had the same feeling at sixteen years old. Again, at eighteen. Again, at twenty and twenty-one. And again, weeks ago, when I’d packed up and left Boston.

  It was time to go.

  I followed Brooks to his truck, hopping in and buckling my seat belt. Then I wrapped my arms around myself. Maybe if I squeezed hard enough, the feeling would go away. Though my mind knew it was time, my heart wasn’t ready to leave, not yet.

  One more day.

  “You okay?” Brooks asked as he got in the truck. “Cold?”

  “Just a little.” I forced a smile. “Nothing some pie won’t fix.”

  He turned the heat on for me, even though it was still sweltering outside.

  I focused on the drive to town, on the homes and the trees and the quiet neighborhoods. The unsettling churn in my gut was still there when we reached the diner, but it wasn’t nearly as potent. It faded to ignorable as we crammed into a booth.

  “I’m squishing Londyn.” Ava shifted in the seat. “Should we get a table instead?”

  “No.” I touched her arm before she could stand. “I don’t mind the squish.”

  I was sandwiched between her and Brooks on one side of the booth while Carter and Wyatt were in the opposite. I didn’t have a ton of room, but Brooks tossed his arm over the back of the seat so I could burrow into his side.

  The waiter came over and we all placed our pie orders. He’d just collected our menus and disappeared to the kitchen when another figure appeared at the end of the table.

  Brooks’s spine went rigid as we all stared up at his red-faced ex-wife.

  “Mom?” Wyatt’s forehead furrowed. “What are you doing here?”

  “You called the cops on me?” she hissed at Brooks.

  Oh, shit. When? I thought he’d decided to leave it alone yesterday when we’d left the garage.

  “I told you I would,” he said. “You crossed the line.”

  “No, you did.” Moira pointed at him. “I didn’t do anything to her car.”

  “Mom.” Wyatt stood, placing his hand on her arm.

  She turned her eyes up to her son. They softened, pleading for him to believe her. “I didn’t do anything to her car.”

  Uh . . . I didn’t know Moira, but that sounded a lot like the truth.

  Wyatt gave her a sad smile, then pulled her in for a hug.

  She held him tight, then let him go and was out the door as quickly as she’d appeared.

  “What was that about?” Carter asked Brooks as Wyatt took his seat.

  “Someone’s been vandalizing Londyn’s car,” Brooks answered. “Keyed it last week. Poured paint all over it. Yesterday, we found all four tires slashed.”

  Ava sucked in a sharp breath, covering my hand with hers.

  Carter hung his head. “When’s that girl gonna learn?”

  “It’s okay,” I told the table, my eyes aimed at Wyatt, whose shoulders were hunched forward. “It�
�s just a car and I’m only passing through. On Monday, this won’t be a problem.”

  Brooks’s arm tightened around my shoulder.

  “Are you sure it’s Mom?” Wyatt asked his dad.

  “I don’t know, kid. I wish I could say it wasn’t, but your mom’s done stuff like this before.”

  “I know she flies off the handle, but she’s been different lately. Happier, I guess. She’s been seeing this guy and he’s . . . nice.”

  “She has?” Brooks leaned forward. “Who?”

  It wasn’t a jealous question, more concern that another man was hanging out with his kid and he was just learning about it.

  “A guy from Oak Hill. They mostly go out when I’m with you, but I’ve met him a couple of times. He seems like a good guy. He mellows Mom.”

  “Hmm.” Brooks’s forehead furrowed.

  “Did you consider it might not be her?” Ava asked. “I know you two have had a rocky relationship, but Brooks, I know that girl. And while I wouldn’t put it past Moira to do something foolish in the heat of the moment, that didn’t sound like a lie.”

  “No, it didn’t.” Brooks ran a hand over his face. “Damn it. I’ll call her tonight,” he promised Wyatt. “I’ll make it right.”

  Wyatt sighed, picking up his fork. “Thanks, Dad.”

  “So . . .” Carter met Brooks’s gaze, then they both turned to me. “If it wasn’t Moira, who is vandalizing your car?”

  Chapter Thirteen

  Londyn

  “What’s all this?” I asked Brooks. His kitchen island was piled with plastic food containers, each with the lid securely shut.

  “A picnic.”

  “Really?” I smiled. I’d never gone on a picnic before, not a proper one. The days at the junkyard when we’d eat on our laps in Gemma’s tent didn’t count.

  Brooks walked to the large pantry off the kitchen and came back with a basket. It was a rich, tawny cedar with a red, white and blue plaid lining. The lids flipped up from the middle, one side at a time.

  He owned an actual picnic basket. Why did that make me want to cry?

  I looked away, blinking and swallowing away the emotion. I’d been on the verge of tears for hours. Tomorrow was Monday and I’d been letting my upcoming departure stain our day.

  Brooks and I had spent the day together doing normal things any person did on a Sunday to prepare for a workweek.

  We’d gone to the grocery store. I’d had to hide my quivering chin in the checkout line for no good reason other than we’d piled our stuff together on the conveyor belt. My bottle of body wash and toothpaste had been sandwiched between a bag of baby carrots and jug of cranberry juice. The cashier had rung it all up and Brooks had helped pack everything into his reusable grocery bags. I’d stood by, not listening as he’d chatted with her because I’d been trying to figure out why I’d been so close to crying. Was it the baby carrots or the blue grocery bags?

  I’d analyze it later when I was on the road.

  Just like I’d analyze why I’d gotten choked up in the laundry room earlier. I’d washed all of my clothes in Brooks’s machine today, preparing to pack them into my suitcases. When I’d poured the detergent into the machine, the scent of his clothing and bedsheets had brought out a miserable sting in my nose. One tear had actually escaped before I’d shut the others down.

  It was definitely time to go.

  Hopefully tomorrow my car would be ready too, and I could escape Summers before it became another cage.

  “How did your call with Moira go?” I asked Brooks.

  A crease formed between his eyebrows. “As good as expected. She’s pissed and has a right to be pissed. But she won’t stay mad at me forever.”

  “That’s good.” I looked around the kitchen as he finished up. The smell of bacon hung in the air from this morning’s breakfast. “Where’s Wyatt?”

  “He went to Moira’s.”

  “Oh.” A sting laced my heart. Was he coming back? Or had I missed my chance to say goodbye? While Brooks and I had run errands today, Wyatt had been at home. He’d been on the couch in the living room, his eyes glued to his phone. He’d been in the exact same spot when we’d returned.

  Then I’d left for thirty minutes to take my clean clothes to the motel. I hadn’t noticed his truck was gone when I’d walked back. “I guess . . . will you tell him goodbye for me?”

  Brooks abandoned the basket and came around the island, wrapping me in his arms. “He’ll be back in the morning before football practice. He just went to stay at Moira’s so we could have some privacy.”

  “Oh, good.” I relaxed into his arms.

  “Come on.” He kissed me on my hair and let me go to collect the picnic basket.

  As I followed Brooks through the house, my eyes zoomed around, soaking in a final farewell. There were two bedrooms on the main floor. One was Wyatt’s and the other Brooks had turned into an office, while the master and another bedroom were upstairs.

  It wasn’t the pieces or the layout of this house I’d remember. It was the sense of peace and comfort. Nothing matched and there was no theme. The artwork was random, some photographs and some prints scattered throughout. The furniture was leather in varying shades.

  Nothing here had been styled or decorated. When I thought of the interior designer Thomas had hired to incorporate my tastes into his home, I let loose a wicked smile. She’d hate that Brooks’s toss pillows were actually used to support heads while watching football games on Sundays. She’d hate that the coffee table didn’t have a single coaster.

  Brooks opened the back door that led to the outside deck. The instant he passed the table covered with a white umbrella, I knew exactly where we were headed.

  “The rock?”

  He grinned down at me as we crossed the grass, both of us in bare feet. “Thought it would be appropriate for our last dinner. Have it where we had our first.”

  “That sounds wonderful.”

  I’d been waiting all week for Brooks to ask me to stay again. But he hadn’t, not once, since I’d turned him down, probably because we both knew the answer wouldn’t change. My tires would show up at the garage tomorrow. He’d work on them as soon as they arrived, then I’d be on the road. My goal was to make it to Kentucky and stay in Lexington or Louisville tomorrow night.

  For the foreseeable future, I’d stick to the interstate. No off-road detour would ever compare to this stop in Summers. California was waiting and I was anxious to see what—and who—I’d find.

  “I’ve been thinking about something,” I said as we reached the rock and situated ourselves in our normal spots. We’d gotten lucky for the night and the heat had given us a break. The humidity was thick but it was bearable for dinner.

  “What’s that?” Brooks set the basket aside, giving me his full attention.

  “I’m going to Temecula. I figure that’s the best place to start my search for Karson.”

  “Agreed.”

  “Maybe . . .” I mustered up the courage to voice a thought that had been plaguing me since leaving his parents’ house yesterday. “Maybe I should find out what happened to my parents.”

  He blinked. Twice. “Why?”

  “I’ve thought more about them these past couple of weeks than I have in years. And being around your parents made me wonder about my own. Maybe it’s a crazy idea and bound to be a disaster.”

  “I’d say it’s normal for a child to want to know about their parents.”

  “They never tried to find me.” My gaze drifted across the water. “If they did, they didn’t try hard, but I’m still curious. I left them as an angry, neglected teenager. Maybe seeing them as an adult will give me some closure.”

  What if they’d turned their lives around? What if they hadn’t? I wasn’t sure how I’d feel if I found them in the same dirty trailer—or the cemetery. Had I become an orphan while traveling the country? Did I want to know badly enough? Did I have the courage to show up at my former home and knock on the door alone?

&
nbsp; “What would you do?” I asked.

  “The truth?” He raised an eyebrow and I nodded. “Fuck ’em. They don’t deserve you.”

  That’s what Gemma always said. None of our parents had deserved us as kids.

  “You’re probably right. I’ll think on it longer.” Maybe by the time I hit Arizona, I’d have my feelings about them in order. “Let’s eat.”

  “This isn’t fancy.” Brooks opened up the basket and took out a green container for me, then another for himself.

  “I don’t need fancy.” My favorite sandwich was still peanut butter and grape jelly. I’d eaten countless numbers of them. In Boston, I’d sneak into the kitchen on late nights when I couldn’t sleep and make one for myself. The chef kept the supplies in the pantry for me, despite Thomas’s insistence that we could afford decent sandwich ingredients.

  My heart craved simplicity, like a picnic on a rock.

  I popped the top off the plastic container and the smell of bacon and tomato and bread wafted into the air. I inhaled the scent of my second-favorite sandwich. “So that’s why you hid some bacon from Wyatt this morning.”

  Brooks chuckled. “I knew it would be safe in the vegetable drawer, tucked under the lettuce.”

  He finished taking out the containers from the basket. When it was all laid out, he’d packed us a feast, including some of the potato salad Ava had made yesterday. Brooks must have noticed I’d gone back for seconds. We ate without fanfare, enjoying the food and a Sunday evening with the lake glittering under the descending sun.

  We didn’t fill the hours on the rock with conversation or questions—there wasn’t much more to say. The light faded and my eyelids drooped, but I couldn’t find the strength to leave. Brooks didn’t seem to want to leave our spot either. Our spot. God, I hoped he never let another woman kiss him on this rock.

  We sat there until the blue sky darkened and the white crescent moon peeked out from behind the trees on the horizon.

  “There’s a star.” He pointed above us. “Make a wish.”

  I closed my eyes, sending my wish to the galaxy, knowing this one wouldn’t come true. “Done.”