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I was eighteen, and legally, they couldn’t stop me even if it meant turning up on their doorstep and demanding an address. I just wanted to know if Penny was okay.
Ineededto know.
Her feelings might have changed toward me, but mine hadn’t.
I loved her as much now as I did the day he took me from the Freeman group home.
The envelope changed everything though—my uncle was right all along.
The first time I’d asked about riding out to Lancaster to see Penny, Uncle Ant had reminded me that I couldn’t just turn up at the Freemans’ house. There were rules and protocols about that kind of thing. I’d asked if I could call instead. He said no. Email. Another no. So I did the only thing I knew how. I waited until the house was quiet, and my uncle had finally retreated to bed. I made it as far as the thirty-three before a police car pulled me over. Turned out Uncle Anthony really did know everyone in the city, including the local PD. A couple of cops had recognized the black Prius my uncle insisted I drive once I passed driver’s ed.
It wasn’t until the third time I tried to sneak out that Uncle Anthony really lost his shit.
Officer Dalty walked me to the front door, the third time in less than three months, and waited until my uncle answered. He’d thanked the officer, grabbed me by the scruff of my neck, and hauled me inside.
“Sit,” my uncle commanded, the vein pulsating in his neck.
I dropped into one of the leather chairs and glared at him. It was the first time he’d ever gotten physical with me, but he didn’t scare me. After all, I’d survived Derek Freeman and lived to tell the tale. What worse could my own uncle do?
“Do I need to ask you where you were going or were you trying to drive out to Lancaster again to see that Wilson girl?”
Penny, her name’s Penny.
I remained silent. We both knew where I was headed.
“Blake, have I not already explained that you can’t just turn up on their doorstep?”
“Why not? I just want to see her, to make sure she’s okay. It’s been months, and I haven’t heard back from her.”
Uncle Anthony walked over to the cabinet pushed against the wall and poured himself a glass of whiskey. “Have you considered that she might not want to write you back? That maybe she has moved on with life?”
No.
No.
Pain ripped through me. I hadn’t forgotten about her. Not a single day went by when I didn’t think about Penny. She wouldn’t just forget about me.
Would she?
“You’re wrong. Are you sure you gave them the letter?”
He nodded. “Max hand delivered it himself.”
“Maybe if we talk to the social worker. You must have their number, right? The ones who helped you find me?”
Something passed over Anthony’s emotionless face. It was quick, there and then gone, but I saw it.
“What? What aren’t you telling me?” I stood up, too restless to sit. Everything pissed me off lately. It was here—this place—the money, the luxury—it was all too much.
My uncle regarded me for a second and then swirled his whiskey around in the glass. It sloshed up the sides, and he brought it to his lips and knocked it down in one. He placed the glass on the table dividing us, and said, “I had to pull a lot of strings to get you here, Blake. Strings that usually take a long time to move. It would be bad for a lot of people if we draw attention to your situation.”
Situation? Is that what he thought of me; I was a fucking situation?
“You bought me, didn’t you?”
I don’t know when it all started to click into place, but Uncle Anthony’s admission seconds ago was the missing piece of the puzzle. He hadn’t just used his position as one of the top lawyers in Columbus to get me out of the group home; he’d paid them off.
“You make it sound like I committed a heinous crime,” he scoffed, turning his back on me to stare out the window. “I saved you, Blake.”
