Page 1 of Her Scent


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CHAPTERONE

Ruby

Mom stands at the window, her hands on the curtain, looking even frailer than she did when we left the cult.

If somebody had asked me – before the secret dash in the night, before the paranoia, before Mom started taking sleeping pills – if she could look even more helpless, I would’ve said no.

It breaks my heart.

Beyond our motel room, the night is quiet, the passing traffic sounding far away. A few crickets and insects make noise, but that’s it.

Mom turns to me, still wearing her jeans and T-shirt, though I’ve changed into my PJs. It’s like she wants to be ready to flee at a moment’s notice.

“Nothing,” she says, letting out a shaky breath.

She’s tall and thin, with short blonde hair and sharp features. I remember her as a much fuller woman when I was little before the cult brainwashed her big time.

“It’s been two years,” I say.

“Don’t you think I know that?”

I bite down on a response. She’s right. There’s no point telling her it’s been two years since we snuck away in the night. We started our journey moving from city to city, always thinking the Californian Self-Improvement Wellness Commune leaders would chase us down.

It’s a fancy name for a cult.

But that’s what it is, right down to expecting their members to blindly follow their commands. They want you to do things you don’t want to do and participate in their weird wellness ceremonies.

Lying back on my bed, I let out a sigh, closing my eyes and trying to think of nothing.

I’ve never had any real friends; making real friends feels impossible since we move around so much. And Mom seems to be gettingmoreparanoid the longer we go without seeing anybody, not less.

It’s my fault we moved last time.

I mentioned noticing a homeless man hanging around outside our apartment building. I didn’t mean he was working for the cult, but that’s how Mom took it.

And then we were off, spirited away, trying to figure out what we were going to do with the rest of our lives.

“Are you mad at me?” Mom asks, her voice sounding far younger than her fifty-one years. “Ruby?”

“No,” I say, trying to keep the annoyance out of my voice.

It’s not fair. She was in the cult for fifteen years, even before Dad died. It molded her far more than it touched me. Luckily, one of the tenets of the Wellness Commune was that children should be seen, not heard.

This let me disappear into my imagination.

This let me pretend I was somebody else, somewhereelse.

“Are you sure?” Mom says.

“I’m fine, Mom. Looking forward to seeing the apartment tomorrow.”

I don’t mention the fact we both know, the fact we keep trying to ignore. We can’t go on like this forever.

Mom stole some of Master Pete’s money –Master Petehad always sounded like a ridiculous name to me – when we left, but that’s running low. I get work where I can, menial stuff, but Mom hasn’t been able to hold down a job yet. Or food. Or much of anything except for fear.

“It’s supposed to be near a lovely park. Maybe we can take a walk there.”

I open my eyes, looking across at Mom. She sits in bed with her hands clasped in front of her like she’s praying, her knuckles white with how hard she squeezes them. Her eyes are hazy, with that panicky look I know all too well, like she’s getting ready to run again.

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