“I'm not angry with you, Regi,” Gill says, taking a waterlogged exit out of the flow of traffic, our tires splashing mud and leaves against the guardrails on either side. “And I'm sorry I dragged you into this, truly I am, but—”
“But the payoff was colossal, I get it.” I raise my hands up, copper bracelets jingling. The smell of my perfume drifts in the air between us, the scent of peonies suddenly cloying. I roll the window down a crack and let cool droplets of water splatter against my face. “Besides, my position at the store made it an easy gig and all that. Stop apologizing, Gill. It's not like you forced me into this, remember? I made my own choice.”
I don't let myself wonder why I made the choice to begin with. All that matters now is that I've got a chance at a fresh start, an easy life, an opportunity to sit back and figure out exactly what it is that I want from this spinning hunk of dirt. I want to prove to myself that I'm more than stardust, some cataclysmic chain reaction that started with the Big Bang and ended up with little ol' me. I want to feel again, really feel something like I did when I was a teenager, before everyone significant in my life died or left and drew open this gaping hole in my heart.
I grind my teeth again and roll the window down a little further, closing my eyes against the spray of cool autumn rain.
“We're here,” Gill says, not bothering to acknowledge my statements. Why should he? After today, we might see each other one, maybe two, more times. Me and him, we're just strangers now. “Reservation's under the name Mia Logan, credit card's in your bag.”
“I got it, Gill,” I tell him as he pulls the car up in front of the lobby, “I know the plan.”
I shut the door and step back, pausing to say something, anything to him before he leaves, but the window's being rolled up, and the gray Taurus is disappearing into the grainy gray of the storm.
By the time I hit the hotel room, exhaustion is already sinking its ugly claws into me, drawing me onto the bed without even bothering to climb under the covers. As soon as my head hits that pillow, I'm done for, lulled into a solid sleep that even my anxiety can't find a way to penetrate. Everything else fades away—Mathis, the heist, the day long plane ride, the hotel employees raising their eyebrows at my bare feet—even thoughts of Cliff and Solène whisper away and leave me with … memories.
Sixteen is a rough age.
What a crock.
I roll my eyes and flip through the songs on my iPhone, looking for something cheery and upbeat. Outside, the sky breaks into pieces and sheds the tears that won't fall from my eyes. I can't cry anymore; I refuse to.
“Dad is dead,” I whisper, but the words don't drop me to my knees like they used to. Three years now and I can say that without having a panic attack. Still, what my mom's doing seems like a slap in the face—both to me and my sister. To Dad. “I hope that wherever you are,” I say, brushing my fingers across a picture of Dad and me at the St. Patrick's Day Parade, “you can't see what she's doing. It's not right.”
I start a playlist titled 'CHEER UP, BITCH' and shake out my shoulders. I can't believe my mom's trying to chalk up my attitude to my age. It's not the decade and a half that I've lived, or the many years I'm lacking on her, it's the fact that my dad is dead and gone and nobody can replace him.
Cancer.
I fucking hate cancer, especially the kind that sneaks up on you and bites you in the ass. Dad was healthy; nobody in our family ever died from cancer except my Great Aunt Blythe and she smoked. Dad just … he ran a lot and he didn't wear shirts. Or sunscreen. The poison, it got into his skin, and now here I am, pushing aside my curtains and looking out the window, at the car that's pulling up outside.
My sister, Anika, already bailed to live with our grandma, left me here to face this crap alone. But that's because she's selfish, always has been, nothing like an older sister is supposed to be. Mom needs us, not in spite of the bad decision I think she's making but especially because of it.
The doors to the car open and I back away. I don't want to see Cliff, the man my mom's going to marry, even if I like him. And I especially don't want to see his seventeen year old son either.
I hold my arms out to either side and fall back on my bed, the music drilling its way into my skull as I mouth the words and wish I was somewhere else, anywhere else, but here.
After a dozen or so songs, I realize that nobody's going to come looking for me. Either … they're trying to respect my privacy or … they don't care. Truthfully, I'm not sure which one's worse right now.
Curling onto my side, I close my eyes and let sleep take me. When I open them, I'm face to face with a boy, a boy with dark hair and gently parted lips, a pair of earbuds stuck in his ears, and the prettiest blue eyes I've ever seen, like two icebergs ringed in sapphire. Ethereal.