Page 50 of Dotted Lines (Runaway 5)

“Thank you,” I said to the truck, my chin quivering. Thank you for being our home. Thank you for being our refuge. Thank you for keeping us safe.

With tears in my eyes, I took Aria’s hand. Then, like the day we’d come here, we walked, together, toward the gate.

I didn’t look at the Cadillac. I didn’t look at the tent.

I knew it would be empty.

I kept my face forward and my feet moving until we journeyed down our road one last time. Until we were at the station with bus tickets in our pockets. And as I settled into my seat on the bus that would take us to Vegas, I replayed the last words we’d said to each other before he’d fallen asleep.

“Happy Birthday, Clara.”

“Will I ever see you again?”

“I hope so. I really hope so.”

Chapter Nine

Karson

Twelve years later . . .

“It’s really you.”

Clara Saint-James.

There she was, standing in my driveway, and all I could do was grin at her like a fool. She looked beautiful. More beautiful than I’d ever imagined.

“It’s really me.” She smiled and my heart fluttered. Her smile had always hit me dead center.

The boy at her side stared up at me. Other than a quick glance, I hadn’t paid him much attention, because it was impossible to tear my eyes away from Clara for long.

God, I’d imagined this. I’d hoped for this. Just to see her again, in the flesh, and know that she was safe. Know that she’d found a new life. Know that she was happy.

“What are you doing here?”

“It’s a long story.” She waved a hand toward her car.

I followed the movement, taking in the classic Cadillac. It was a stunner, but nothing like Clara. The hood ornament, a V embossed with red and gold and silver, glinted under the sun. It looked familiar. Too familiar.

I knew that ornament.

I knew that car.

“Wait. Is this . . .”

Clara nodded. “Looks a little different than it did back in the day, huh?”

“What? How?” My jaw dropped as I rushed to the car, splaying my hands on the cherry-red hood, the metal still warm. I walked along the Cadillac’s side, inspecting and savoring every inch. “I can’t believe it. I can’t believe this is the same car. It’s incredible.”

The Cadillac was a dream. It looked nothing like the rusted heap it had been so many years ago. The interior was refinished in a white, soft leather. The dash, which had been cracked and busted, was new. The polished chrome accents sparkled.

I had no idea what had brought this car and Clara to California, but what a Sunday surprise.

Skimming my fingers over a rear fin that bordered the broad trunk, I touched the car again just to prove it was real. “I bet I won’t find peanut butter and honey stashed in here like we used to.”

She scoffed. “Most definitely not.”

“How?” Clara was the best of this surprise visit, but the car was the literal red cherry on top.