Closer Home (17 page)

Without waiting for an answer, I swing around and stomp after Jim. No high-end salesroom here. No shiny cars on display. Pictures and advertisements are tacked onto a bulletin board just inside the front door. The office stinks of tobacco and sweat, permeated with burnt coffee from a pot that looks like it might have been washed about ten years ago. The desk is cluttered with papers. An ashtray overflows with stale butts. I worry about what is going on outside with the kids, but I tell myself they’ve got each other, they’ll be okay.

Buying cars is not on my top-ten list of fun things to do, even when I want a car and am shelling out the money for something I’m going to actually drive. This particular transaction is an ordeal from hell, simplified at least by the fact that I don’t need to mess around with financing and credit scores. It’s over relatively quickly. I sign my name on the check and on the papers that declare Bryce’s suicide car as mine.

Blood money.

What if Ariel really is Bryce’s kid? I don’t know what that would do to her, but I can’t imagine it would be anything good. On the other hand, not knowing might be worse, especially if none of the other candidates pan out. I’m torn by indecision. Would it be better to do everything in my power to prevent her getting this batch of DNA, or get it over with and see what fate has to say about her parentage?

By the time I walk back out into the sunlit afternoon, the keys to my new purchase clenched in my hand, I’m numb and cold with fear that Ariel will be where I left her, standing and staring out into space. I needn’t have worried. She and Shadow have moved a sensible distance from the Death Car, sitting side by side on the hood of an old Chevy. From across the lot, they look cool as cucumbers and carefree as summertime. Funny thing how looks can be deceiving.

“Tow truck should be here any minute,” Shadow calls out, as I head in their direction.

“Let’s get out of here,” I say to Ariel, as soon as I’m close enough to make eye contact. “You don’t need to do this.”

“Where’s the tow truck supposed to take the car? I didn’t know what to tell them,” Shadow says.

“Does it matter? It’s not like we’re keeping it. Pick a spot. Any spot will do. Hell, send it up to the cemetery as a last gift to Bryce. Send it to his widow. Ask the tow truck guys to take it to a junkyard. Use your own brain.”

Ariel has got all the backbone this boy is missing. “Give me the keys.”

I put my hands behind my back and shake my head. “Please let this go.”

“I have to. You don’t understand.” She’s not going to back down, but whatever’s waiting for her in that car, it’s something she doesn’t need to see.

“Fine. I’ll do it, then.” I start walking, but she steps in front of me, blocking the way.

“I have to do this myself. If I don’t, I’ll just . . . it won’t . . .” She’s so incredibly brave and annoyingly stubborn, all in one fabulous package, and she’s breaking what’s left of my heart. She reaches for my hand, and I let her take the keys.

When she reaches the Death Car, she hesitates just long enough to draw a deep breath. Her cheeks puff out and her face starts to mottle red as she turns the key in the lock and opens the door.

Even from where I’m standing, the stink intensifies. Holding her hair back with one hand, she scrubs at the dried blood on the seat with her swab. Then she turns back toward us, letting all of her breath out with a whoosh and sucking in another gulp through her mouth. I figure she’s done and at least it was quick.

“Give me your water bottle,” she demands of Shadow.

“What for?” He takes another look at her face and hands it over.

Ariel stalks back to the car, pours water onto the dried blood, and then makes another attempt at swabbing. This time she slams the car door shut behind her, then fumbles with sliding her swab into the little envelope. Her hands are shaking too hard, and she drops it into the dirt at her feet.

I run to help. The cotton is stained a dark, rusty brown. Dust and a piece of dry grass adhere to it, and I brush them off as best I can, then take the envelope and seal the damn thing up. Ariel is a shivering mess. I want to scrub my whole body and maybe my brain with antiseptic.

Putting an arm around Ariel’s shoulders, not even looking toward the sales office for Jim, who I’m sure is watching us, I head for the rental, fumbling in my pocket for the keys as we walk. I’m not wasting a second getting off this accursed lot and back to safety. Wherever that is.

Ariel moves like a sleepwalker, responding to the pressure of my arm as I guide her between the cars, stumbling over uneven patches of ground. Her eyes are glazed. Her hands are icy cold, but a thin film of sweat covers her skin. Shock, I figure. I wonder, all at once, if she’s seen the pictures of Callie lying dead under the hooves of that goddamn horse.

Of course she has. As Jim said, she’s a teenager. She’s on that laptop constantly, and I know damn well she’s googled the accident and seen every ugly rumor ever printed about Callie. There have been plenty over the years. And now this.

Helplessness floods through me. I don’t know how to help Ariel. She needs a nice, maternal woman to take her on. And grandparents. The kind who feed you cake and display your picture to all their friends and even the checker in the grocery store. Not somebody like me, and definitely not Shadow.

He trails along behind us, useless. I try to form a charitable thought about him. He’s young, too. This whole brush with the ugly side of death has got to be an eye-opener for him as well as Ariel. I don’t know anything about his family, but what sort of parents does he have that they’re allowing him to visit suicide scenes?

And then I remember. They didn’t. They have no idea what he’s doing. I’m the one who let him come here. Hell, I drove.

I tighten my arm around Ariel’s shoulder. “I’m so sorry, honey. I never should have brought you here.”

She shivers. “There was a chunk of something. On the seat . . .” She stumbles and leans against me, and I get my arm around her waist to support more of her weight. Tremors travel through her body, head to toe.

“Shh, don’t think about that. Let’s go get you a nice warm shower, okay? And then we’ll talk.”

The car is only a few feet away now, a beacon of mercy. I click the locks open with the remote.

“Go open the passenger door, Shadow. Help me get her in.”

For once, he does what I ask him without quibbling. The car is warm from the sun’s rays. It smells of car freshener and old tobacco, but that is like roses compared to where we’ve been. I ease Ariel into the seat, and she leans forward over her knees, face buried in her arms. My hand hovers over her head and then lowers, slowly, to rest there a moment. Her hair feels silken and soft to my touch, and I dare to stroke it.

Shadow’s voice breaks the moment. “Tire’s flat. Now what are we gonna do?”

CHAPTER TWELVE

I can handle a flat tire, but the timing is abysmal. Every moment we delay is another moment for Jim to change his mind and make a call. I want to dissolve into tears, to allow myself the luxury of falling apart and letting somebody else solve the problems for once. But there isn’t anybody else.

“You’d better get busy,” I tell Shadow.

He looks at me blankly. “What?”

“Change the tire. There will be a spare and a jack somewhere. Find them.”

“I don’t know how.”

All at once, I see him with different eyes. The piercings, the deliberately uncombed hair, and made-up eyes are a thin disguise for a scared little boy. He folds his arms across his chest and scowls, though it’s really more of a pout. “We can ask the tow truck driver.”

“Oh for the love of God and money! We are not paying the tow truck driver to change a tire. I’ll do it myself. Make yourself useful and find Ariel something to drink, if you can. There’s a dispenser outside the office.”

“I’ll do it,” Ariel says. Her head is still buried in her knees, her voice muffled, and I’m not sure what she’s referring to.

Watching her sit up reminds me of watching a wilting plant after it gets water, only in fast-forward. Her spine straightens. Her eyes clear. She’s still deathly pale, but her face no longer carries that lost, confused expression.

“I’ll change the tire.”

I know I’m being sexist and I shouldn’t be surprised, but I am. Back in Colville, most of the girls know at least basic car maintenance. It’s survival. There are a lot of isolated roads, and if you get a flat, you’re pretty much on your own. But Ariel’s world is a far cry from that. For some reason, I expected even a trust fund baby like Shadow to know his way around a car, but not Ariel.

“I like cars. I take shop classes.” Her face has regained a little color, but she suddenly goes pale again, eyes wide. “Oh God. Like him. Like Bryce. He must have liked cars. Maybe—”

“No way. I knew him in high school, remember? Didn’t give a rat’s ass about cars. What he liked was screwing people over. He sold cars. He didn’t work on them. Okay?”

She takes a deep breath and nods. Her eyes look up at me, blue and pleading.

“He’s not going to be the one, right?”

“Damn straight.”

“What if—”

“You go on like that, and I’ll burn that thrice-damned swab before you can send it off.”

Her lips quiver, and I prepare to backpedal, thinking I’ve chosen the wrong method to try to snap her out of it. But then she nods and gets out of the car. Her hands are still shaking, but she’s steady on her feet. “Come on, Shadow. You can help.”

I want to coddle her. Coax her back into the car, drape a blanket over her, pat her back and stroke her head. But I can see that having her do something, take action, is far more effective. She’s capable and competent. After a couple of fruitless attempts at telling Shadow what to do, she takes over and does it all. He doesn’t seem to care, just leans up against the car and plays with the omnipresent phone.

On Ariel’s command, he removes the damaged tire and sets the spare in place. Her hands are steady now, her face absorbed. She pushes back a strand of hair and leaves a streak of black along her cheek. Shadow makes a show of brushing the dirt off his hands and his jeans. He points at her cheek. “You’re all smudgy.”

She rubs at it absently with the back of her hand but doesn’t seem to care. “Do we have water? I’m thirsty.”

“I’ll get you something.” Shadow sets off toward the drink machine, not moving with any particular speed. I wonder if he’d walk any faster with the seat of his pants on fire. I keep staring at the street, willing the tow truck to appear. It should have been here by now. I should have commandeered the phone and called myself, made sure it was done right.

Jim is standing outside the office door, smoking and watching us. I don’t for a minute trust that he’s going to honor the agreement not to call the local newspaper. When Shadow saunters over and slouches in front of the machine, Jim leaves his sunny spot by the front door and goes over to talk to him. They are too far for me to hear what they are saying, and I don’t like that, either.

My skin feels too tight for my body, my chest constricted, and it’s hard to draw a full breath. Shadow nods at Jim and heads back our way, carrying a soda in each hand. One for himself and one for Ariel. My mouth feels suddenly dry and my resentment builds. One of these days, I’m afraid the pressure is going to make me explode, which will be messy.

For now, I get into the car and start the engine. It makes me feel better to have wheels. At least we’re not sitting ducks. We have options. Ariel gets into the front beside me, leaving Shadow to his own devices. After a moment’s hesitation, he climbs into the back, handing a cola to Ariel. She snaps it open and drinks without a word.

In the rearview, Shadow looks sullen and bored. He’s not playing with his phone, he’s staring out the window at the car lot. We can’t leave yet, though, because of the Death Car.

“You did call a tow truck, right? They’re coming?”

“Yeah.”

Jim could direct the driver to the car. Hell, he could even give them my contact information so they can bill me. But I don’t want anybody else to have my contact information. And I don’t want to use my credit card, not now that I’ve wiped out my savings.

Ariel’s thoughts must be tracking mine. “Let’s use my card to pay for the towing. Ricken will have kittens when that charge pops up.” She giggles, and some of the tension eases out of me. She’s recovering better than I would have expected. It seems like forever, but it’s only about five minutes before the truck rolls in. The driver is all business and doesn’t glance twice at me or Ariel, although his gaze lingers on Shadow. I peg the look as more of a you’ve-got-to-be-kidding disgust than any sort of recognition, though. He doesn’t even ask questions about the junkyard bit, just nods and says he’ll take care of it.

Relief floods through me as I pull away. Maybe Jim will keep his side of the bargain after all. Maybe everything will be okay.

We check out of our Yakima hotel and head back to Pasco. If Jim doesn’t know where we are, he can’t send any media hounds after us.

It’s a quiet trip. Ariel falls asleep almost immediately. Shadow is busy with his phone, the sound of his texting a low-level annoyance that I drown out with the radio. We stop to pick up a take-out pizza and secure a room in a motel at the truck stop, just outside Pasco. It’s not up to my Best Western standards, but for a lot of reasons, I prefer to be outside town. There’s a room available on the ground floor where I can park the car right outside the door, which is perfect for a quick getaway if we need one.

Shadow digs into the pizza as soon as we’re settled in, but he’s the only one with any appetite. Ariel takes a hot bath and then sits, staring blankly at a TV show I’m pretty sure she’s not watching. I fall into oblivion minutes after my head hits the pillow, despite the kids and the TV and the engine noise from the big trucks.

I wake to Ariel calling my name and shaking my shoulder. My eyes won’t open, and I hear her through what seems like miles of sleep.

“He’s gone.” Her voice sounds panicked.

Nightmare, I’m thinking, as I fight against the weight of sleep. But when I manage to get my eyelids unstuck, sunlight floods in through opened hotel blinds. It’s clearly not the middle of the night, like I’d expected.

Blinking, I sit up, pulling the blankets against my chest and glancing around reflexively for Shadow.

He’s nowhere to be seen. Only Ariel, standing beside my bed with her hair all mussed.

“Where’s Shadow?” My tongue feels like sandpaper and sawdust. There’s dried drool on my cheek. Scrubbing at my face with my hands, I yawn and stretch, willing my sluggish brain to catch up with the program.

“That’s what I’m trying to tell you. He’s not here. I don’t know where he is.”

“Honey, take a breath. Maybe he went to get coffee. Or for a walk or something.”

She shakes her head vigorously. “No, he would have told me. He doesn’t go off like this.”

“He did before.”

“That was different. That was a huff.”

“Well, maybe he’s having another huff. He’ll be back.”

“His stuff is gone.”

Now I’m wide-awake. “What?”

“His suitcase. Gone. His phone. His shaving kit.” Ariel climbs into the bed beside me, too far away for me to hug her, drawing her knees up to her chest, shivering. “I don’t understand.”

“Did you guys fight last night? What happened after I fell asleep?”

“Nothing. He was quiet, but he’s like that sometimes. I was really tired and he lay beside me while I fell asleep. And when I woke up—” Her voice breaks on a sob as she lays her face on her knees.

“Oh, honey. I’m sorry.” I wish there was something else to be said. “Did you text him?”

That makes her stop crying. She lifts her head and fixes me with a watery glare. “If he wants to leave, he can leave. I’m not chasing after him.”

“Good girl.”

Despite her declaration of independence, she sounds forlorn and desolate when she says, “I guess you still want to go back.”

Oh, I do. I do. But I don’t want her to just quit, either. She needs to succeed in this wild quest, or at least know she tried. “Maybe we could take a little break,” I say carefully. “Go home for a bit. Rest up. And then give it another go.”

“Maybe.” She sighs and lies back on a pillow, staring up at the ceiling. “Want to know who’s next? Maybe you could at least tell me if he’s another Bryce.”

“Sure. I can’t think of anybody worse, so maybe it will be another Timothy.”

Ariel climbs out of bed and pads over to her suitcase, digging into the front pocket. Her hands come up empty, and she tries the main compartment. Still no book.

“Shit.”

Clothes fly out of the suitcase in a mad scramble as she checks and double-checks. When she turns back toward me, her eyes are wild.

“He wouldn’t,” she says.

The fact that she’s said it tells us both that she knows he would. With a sinking feeling, I remember the look in his eyes during yesterday’s bargaining. Not shock or dismay, but a sharp interest. I’m out of bed in a heartbeat.

“Get dressed. We need to go.”

“What? Why?”

“If he ran off with your book, it wasn’t for any good reason. Media could be here any minute. We need to get moving.”

Ariel just blinks at me. “He wouldn’t,” she says again, but her voice lacks any sort of conviction.

I scramble out of bed and into my jeans, pulling on yesterday’s socks and hunting for my shoes, which have chosen this moment to go missing. Damn, damn, and double damn. We should have stayed in a big hotel. It would have been easier to sneak away. Here there’s nowhere to go but out into the parking lot. We’re sitting ducks.

My elusive shoes are in the bathroom. I have no recollection of leaving them there, or of taking them off at all. I run a comb through my hair, grimacing at my reflection in the mirror. I’m all makeup smears and wild eyes, but there’s no time to worry about that. I scoop up Ariel’s toiletries and bolt back into the bedroom, ready to throw it all into a suitcase and get moving.

Ariel is standing in front of the window, one hand on the pull cord. A block of light from the parted drapes turns her hair to white gold and casts an elongated shadow on the grimy carpet. She’s still wearing her fuzzy sleep pants and a T-shirt with bunnies on it.

“Get away from the window and come get dressed! Somebody will see you.”

She doesn’t move. Doesn’t turn. “Too late,” she says.

My heart drops like a roller coaster, taking my stomach with it. Keeping to the edge of the room, I join her at the window, only making damn sure to keep myself out of sight. What I see is worse than anything my imagination was able to conjure on its own.

It’s like a party out there.

When we rolled in last night, the parking lot was half-empty. Now it’s full of cars and panel vans. I recognize call letters for affiliates all over the state. Tri-Cities. Spokane. Seattle. Reporters, all loaded with cameras, mix and mingle, drinking coffee and chatting. There’s an argument going on between two camera-bearing men in the prime front-and-center real estate, punctuated with gesticulating arms.

For a second, I hope they’ll come to blows and the sharks will turn on their own.

And then I remember that Ariel is standing there in her jammies, for all the world to see. The fact that they haven’t noticed her yet is a miracle. Maybe if I’m quick, I can get her out of sight. But even as my hand snakes out to grab her sleeve, the tableau outside shifts.

Heads swivel toward the window in unison, as if they’re all part of one big organism instead of individual bodies. Coffee cups vanish. Cameras come up. I yank Ariel sideways. She stumbles, and before she can recover her balance, I drag her away from the window.

“What in hell were you thinking, standing there like that?”

She’s gone flatline. Her hands are cold, eyes blank, face slack and unresponsive.

“Ariel! Talk to me.”

My mother used to go away like that. It terrified me then; it terrifies me now.