AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“I think it’s already tomorrow,” he said with a smile as he walked down the steps. “I’ll see you later today.”
I nodded and opened the door of the guesthouse and stepped inside. Before I closed the door I saw Russell walking across the lawn, breaking into a half jog as he got closer to the house.
Inside, I poured myself a glass of water, found a charger in the kitchen drawer, then plugged in my phone. I had texts from Katy and Didi that I knew I had to respond to, but at the moment, I didn’t feel up to getting into everything—and I was sure both of them were long asleep. Instead, I just texted that Silverspun hadn’t turned out how I had expected, but I was okay, and that we’d catch up tomorrow. Then I turned off the lights in the kitchen and living room and walked down the hallway, glancing at the Russell picture as I went—but not letting myself linger by it too long.
I saw that my duffel was there, and my clothes were washed and folded neatly on the bed—or at least, they probably had been at some point. Now, there was a Great Dane lying across them.
I eased them out from under Tidbit, grabbed my toiletry bag, and got ready for bed.
Since Tidbit was literally taking up the entire bed, I decided to let sleeping dogs lie, and gave his head a scratch before I headed into the other bedroom. This one was done in greens, with a huge photo of the Central Park Carousel, the lights slightly blurred, hung up above the bed.
I got under the covers and turned off the lights, my eyes closing as soon as my head hit the pillow. But a few moments later, the door swung open and Tidbit was standing in the doorway, looking at me with an expression I could only describe as betrayed.
“Um,” I said to the dog. “Sorry. I—” But before I could finish, he’d clambered onto the bed and curled up—well, as much as he was able—along the foot of it, his giant head resting against my leg.
After a moment, I realized there was something so comforting about it—the warmth of him, the weight on my feet, his steady, snuffling breathing. I closed my eyes again, and felt myself falling asleep in the most literal sense—dropping into it as though from a great height.
And when I opened my eyes again, the sheets were twisted around my legs, the dog was snoring on the pillow next to me, and it was morning.
III Waking Up in Vegas
Friday 12:15 P.M.
I hadn’t been driving on the freeway long when the line of cars ahead of me slowed, then slowed even more, and then finally came to a halt. It was early afternoon on a random Friday—the traffic shouldn’t have been a problem, but welcome to Southern California. My dad, for a while, had done a bit about how he thought everyone’s car out here should be outfitted with a little ticker where they could type in exactly where you were going, and why. So when you found yourself in a random, not-rush-hour traffic jam, you could at least understand the reason it was happening.
I checked the clock, and tried to assure myself that I was still okay on time—that I could still make it. But after everything—after all my big talk about schedules and commitments and timing, after all the texts to organize this weekend—I really didn’t want to be the one who showed up late.
My phone buzzed in the console, and I saw Romy’s number pop up on the screen. I hesitated for a moment, then pressed ignore. There would be a lot more Romy in my future, so I wasn’t sure I wanted to engage with her sooner than I had to. And if it actually was an emergency, I reasoned, she’d leave a voicemail. It was enough that she’d been texting me constantly all week—I didn’t need more of it.
I waited a second—no voicemail—then switched off the podcast I’d been listening to. I turned on the radio—Mariah Carey was playing, no surprise—and then switched to my most recent playlist.
I scrolled until I found my favorite song—the one that had been in heavy rotation for the last month. I pushed play, then rolled my window down.
I looked at the map and did a quick calculation in my head. I was okay on time. And by the end of today, I’d be in Nevada—and once I got there, everything would be smooth sailing. Hopefully.
The car in front of me started to move, and I turned up the volume. “Darcy!” Wylie Sanders wailed through the Prius’s not-great speakers. I pressed on the gas and drove forward.
CHAPTER 15 Monday
6:30 A.M.
I stood by the door of the guesthouse, an impatient Great Dane next to me, feeling a distinct sense of déjà vu as I looked around, trying to remember if I’d forgotten anything.
After I’d woken up, I’d collected my—fully charged!—phone and saw an email from my dad. He had sent a picture of a giant fish he’d caught with my uncle, and told me he was planning on being home by three, but he’d call when he hit the road. He also mentioned that he hoped I’d gotten home okay last night, and that he couldn’t wait to hear about the show.
My heart was hammering as I typed out a reply—well aware that as far as my dad was concerned, I’d arrived last night and had just been home this whole time. I kept things vague and upbeat, saying I was good and looking forward to seeing him later this afternoon. Then I’d found the bus terminal and looked up departure times from Vegas to Union Station. I was relieved to see they left almost every hour, but just to be safe, I knew I wanted to be on an early one—nine was probably the latest I could push it if I wanted to beat my dad home. I wasn’t worried about missing my red-eye to New York—I didn’t need to be at LAX until ten tonight, and that was probably even a little earlier than necessary.
Once I felt like I had a handle on what needed to happen—an Uber to the bus station, bus to LA, arrival home before my dad—I set my phone aside. Of course, there was a second part of my itinerary that came after I got home. I had to finish packing, and then my dad and I had a plan. Dinner at Town, our favorite pizza place, the one we’d been eating at on Friday nights since I could remember. Then back home to load up my bags. And we’d swing by the In-N-Out in Raven Rock for milkshakes for the drive to LAX. We’d park and my dad would go into the airport with me as far as he was allowed, to see me off. And then… I would get on the red-eye that would take me to the East Coast, and college.
I took a quick shower and got dressed (mentally thanking Chloe for the incredible luxury of clean clothes). Then I packed my things, grabbed a banana and a little bag of almonds from the basket in the kitchen, and dropped them, along with my charged phone, into my canvas bag. I picked up my duffel and tent, and gathered up the clothes Chloe had loaned me. Then I headed for the door, the dog trotting along with me.
I turned and gave the guesthouse one last look. I was still amazed that it somehow conjured up New York for me so easily, despite the fact that I’d only been there once in my life. And even though this shouldn’t have been a surprise, it hit me that starting tomorrow I would be living somewhere that was only an hour from New York City. And as I looked at the city’s iconography all around me, I felt a little excited thrill in my chest thinking it.
When Tidbit started to whine quietly—it seemed like the canine equivalent of clearing one’s throat—I headed out and closed the door to the guesthouse behind me. Then I walked across the damp grass, Tidbit practically prancing as he led the way toward the main house. I’d leave a note on the counter, saying goodbye—and I’d just cross my fingers that the security people would be working this early and would see me when I waved, to open up the gates.
I pulled open the glass door to the kitchen, then closed it immediately once Tidbit and I were inside. He made a beeline for his food and water bowls, and I smiled as I realized this was probably why he’d been so eager to get indoors.
“Morning.”
