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It was obvious from the moment my uncle opened the door that he hadn’t expected to see me again. I almost didn’t recognize him myself. It’d been so long since I’d seen his face, but the dark-brown eyes gave him away. They’re the same color as my eyes, and my dad’s eyes. It’s one of the few things I remember about my dad, aside from the sound of his Harley rumbling in the driveway.
I catch the bus on the corner, taking a seat in the back, and pull out my sketchbook to pass the time until my stop. I don’t even bother gazing out the window at the buildings passing by. If I never see this part of town again, it’ll be all too soon.
Chapter Two
Teagan
I take the grimy elevator up to the third floor of the extended-stay hotel. My Uncle Craig takes so long to open the door I start to wonder if he’s even home.
"Hey, kiddo.” His gaze darts behind me, as though he’s checking to make sure I wasn’t followed, before he sidesteps to let me into the room. “Come on in.”
I breathe through my mouth, guarding against the tang of sweat and old take-out.
"You hungry?” he asks. “I've got half a sandwich in the fridge."
"I already ate,” I tell him. It’s a lie, but I don't feel like spending the rest of the night with my head in the toilet. Craig’s a total pack rat. You can't trust anything in his fridge, except maybe the alcohol.
His cell phone jingles in his pocket. I hang out in the living-slash-kitchen area, shifting my weight while Craig takes the call. He says, “Yeah,” a few times, mumbles something about a check getting lost in the mail, and then hangs up.
“Sorry about that.” His gaze sweeps the messy living area. “Jesus, there's no place to sit in this dump,” he says. Like a stranger must’ve snuck in and trashed the place in the few seconds before I showed up. He drags a pile of clothes from one end of the couch to the other. “Go on, sit down. Put your feet up.”
As soon as he looks away, I cover my hand with my shirtsleeve and dust the crumbs from the cushion before sitting down.
Glass clinks as he rummages around in the fridge. I hope he’s not going to try to feed me again. “You wouldn’t believe how much the vultures around here charge for an oil change,” he says. “That hundred you gave me last week is long gone.”
A heap of unopened letters covers the end table beside the sofa. I scan the return addresses of the envelopes on top. Experian. TransUnion. Equifax. I pretend not to have noticed the envelopes marked “past due” as Craig hands me a beer.
“Thanks.” I crack open the can and drink. The bitter bubbles bite my tongue, but I force myself to swallow.
My uncle leans against the kitchenette’s messy countertop. “You got any more money for me?”
I pinch the beer can between my knees and unzip my backpack. He rubs his hands together as I pull out the folded wad of cash.
“Somebody’s been working hard.” He takes the wad from me and thumbs through the bills. “This is really gonna help move things along, Teagan.”
It hurts to watch him pocket such a large portion of the cash I worked so hard to save, but cars cost money to maintain. I can either pay him now or pay him later when we get stranded on the highway in New Mexico.
“I was hoping I could stay a while,” I say. “Just until it’s time for us to go.”
He pushes his glasses further up his nose. “They kick you out of the group home?”
“No, I left.”
“They just let you walk out?”
“Well, yeah. Today’s my birthday.”
He waits for me to explain further. I pretend it doesn’t sting a little that he fails to acknowledge my birthday. Craig is never going to be the kind of uncle who pats me on the back and says, "I’m proud of you.” That’s fine. At least he doesn't talk down to me, which is more than I can say about the other adults in my life.
“I’m eighteen,” I explain. “That means I can age out of the system if I want to.”
“Why would you want to do that?”
“Because we’re leaving.”
“Well, yeah, sure. But not right this second.” He waves his hand around at the messy suite. “I’m not exactly set up for guests here. Where the hell would you even sleep?”
“I’ll take the couch.”
