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That’s what Riley imagined her big brother would say about her hair. He would be like her best friend.
The farther she got up the hill, the harder it was to breathe, and the more the wind kept trying to push her back. She wondered if her mom was up there in heaven looking down at her now and maybe trying to figure out how to help her. But if her mom was in heaven, she’d be talking to her friends on the telephone and smoking.
Riley’s legs were burning from where they were rubbing together, and her chest hurt, and if she was going in the right direction, she would have seen the sign by now. Her backpack got so heavy she had to drag it. If she died here, she wondered if a wolf would eat her face before anybody found her, and then maybe nobody would know it was her, Riley Patriot.
She still hadn’t reached the top of the hill when she saw a bent metal sign. CALLAWAY ROAD. It went uphill, too. The blacktop was crumbling at the sides, and she stumbled. Her cords ripped, and she started to cry, but she made herself get up. This wasn’t straight like the other road but had curves that scared her because she didn’t know what was on the other side.
She almost didn’t care if she died now, but she didn’t want a wolf to eat her face, so she kept going. Finally, she got to the top of the hill. She tried to look down and maybe see the farm, but it was too dark. Her toes jammed against the front of her sneakers as she started downhill. Finally, the woods opened up a little, and she saw this wire fence. The wind blew cold against her cheeks, but she was sweaty under her puffy pink jacket. It seemed like she’d already walked a hundred miles. What if she’d walked past the farm and didn’t even know it?
At the bottom of the hill, she saw a shape. A wolf! Her heart hammered. She waited. It felt like it should be morning, but it wasn’t. The shape didn’t move. She took a cautious step forward and then another, getting closer and closer until she saw that it was an old mailbox. Something might be written on the side, but it was too dark to read, and it probably wouldn’t be her brother’s name anyway, since people like her brother and her dad tried not to let everybody know where they lived. Still, it had to be his farm, so she turned in.
This road was the worst of all, gravel without any blacktop and big trees making it even darker. She fell again, and the heels of her hands stung from the gravel. Finally, she came around a curve where the trees stopped and spotted a house, but there weren’t any lights on. Not even one. Her house in Nashville had motion lights, so if a burglar came close at night it would light up. She wished this house had motion lights, but she didn’t think they had those in the country.
She hoisted up her backpack and walked closer. She saw more buildings. The shape of a barn. She should have thought about what she’d do if nobody was awake. Her mom hated getting woken up too early. Maybe her brother would, too. Worst of all, what if her brother wasn’t really here? What if he was still in Chicago? That was the one thing she’d been trying hardest not to think about.
She needed a place to rest until it got to be morning. She was scared to go to the barn, so she gazed toward the house. Slowly, she made her way up the path.
Chapter Eight
The faintest threads of morning light crept through the lace curtains in the tiny window above Blue’s head. It was too early to get up, but she’d foolishly drunk a big glass of water before she went to bed, and the gypsy caravan, for all its cozy charms, had no bathroom. Blue had never slept in a more wondrous place. It had been like falling asleep in the middle of a fairy tale that came complete with a wild, blond-haired gypsy prince who’d danced with her around the campfire.
She couldn’t believe she’d dreamed about him. True, Dean was exactly the kind of man to inspire outrageous female fantasies, but not from a realist like her. Ever since yesterday morning, she’d been too aware of him in all the wrong ways, and she needed to snap out of it.
The wagon’s bare wooden floor was cool under her feet. She’d slept in an orange T-shirt that said BODY BY BEER and a pair of deep purple tie-dyed yoga pants that had never seen a yoga class but were super comfy. After she’d slipped into her flip-flops, she stepped outside into the cucumber chill. Only the birds’ dawn songs broke the quiet—no clatter of garbage cans, shriek of sirens, or piercing warnings from trucks backing up. She headed for the house and let herself in the side door. In the morning light, the white kitchen cabinets and their bright red knobs gleamed against the new soapstone counters.
Don’t sit under the apple tree…
Dean had taped black plastic over all the bathroom doors before he went out last night, and she made her way to the downstairs powder room partially tucked under the stairs. Like everything else in the house, this room had been designed for him, with a high sink and a partially raised ceiling to accommodate his height. Blue wondered if he’d noticed how much his mother had personalized everything. Or maybe she’d simply done as he’d asked.
While the coffee brewed, she located some bowls from the boxes of new kitchenware waiting to be unpacked after the kitchen was painted. The clean plates sitting on the new countertop reminded her of the dinner she’d shared with April last night. Dean had begged off, saying he had things to do. Blue bet those things included a blonde, brunette, and redhead. She pulled open the refrigerator door to get milk and saw that he’d made a big dent in the shrimp Creole leftovers. Judging from how little of the dish remained, all that sex had worked up his appetite.
She splashed water in the sink to wash some dishes for breakfast. The white bowls had red mattress-ticking stripes around the edge, and the mugs were printed with a cluster of bright red cherries. She poured her coffee, added a splash of milk, and wandered toward the front of the house. When she reached the dining room, she paused in the doorway. Last night, April had told her she was considering having some landscape murals painted in here and asked if Blue did that kind of thing. Blue said no, which wasn’t exactly true. She did a fair amount of mural work—pets on rec room walls, business logos in offices, the occasional Bible verse on a kitchen wall—but she refused to paint landscapes. Her college professors had given her too much grief about the ones she’d done for her classes, and she hated anything that made her feel incompetent.
She let herself out the front door. Sipping her coffee, she ambled toward the steps and enjoyed the mist swirling in the hollows. As she turned to watch a platoon of birds perch on the barn’s roof, she jerked and splashed coffee on her wrist. A child lay huddled in the corner of the porch fast asleep.
The girl looked like she might be thirteen or so, although she hadn’t lost her baby fat, so she could have been younger. She wore a dirty pink jacket with a Juicy logo and muddy lavender cords that had a V-shaped tear at the knee. Blue put her wrist to her mouth to lick up the coffee. The child’s wild, curly brown hair tumbled over a round, grimy cheek. She’d fallen asleep awkwardly, her back wedged against the dark green backpack she’d shoved into the porch corner. She had olive-toned skin, bold, dark eyebrows, and a straight nose she hadn’t quite grown into. Her polished blue fingernails were bitten to the quick. But despite her grime, her clothes looked expensive, as did her sneakers. This kid had BIG CITY written all over her, which meant another wanderer had shown up at Dean’s farm.
Blue set down her mug and made her way to the child’s side. Crouching down, she gently touched her arm. “Hey, you,” she whispered.
The girl jumped, and her eyes shot open. They were the toasty brown of caramelized sugar.
“It’s okay,” Blue said, trying to calm the fear she saw there. “Good morning.”
The child struggled to sit up, and a morning croak deepened her soft southern accent. “I—I didn’t hurt anything.”
“Not a whole lot out here to hurt.”
She tried to shove the hair out of her eyes. “I wasn’t…supposed to fall asleep.”
“You didn’t pick a very comfortable bed.” She looked too skittish for Blue to cross-examine just yet. “Would you like some breakfast?”
The child’s front teeth sank into her bottom lip. They were straight, but still a little big for her face. “Yes, ma’am. If that’s okay?”
“I was hoping someone would show up to keep me company. My name is Blue.”
The child struggled to her feet and picked up her backpack. “I’m Riley. Are you the help?”
Obviously, she came from a privileged background. “Help or hindrance,” Blue replied. “It depends on my mood.”
