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I check the air vents in the ceiling, but I don’t have a screwdriver, and the screws aren’t scratched like they’ve been removed. I check behind the posters, looking for missing drywall. I check under the mattress, under the dresser drawers, feeling around on the carpet for a spot out of place. In the corner of the room is a small door, waist high, with a large ventbeneath. I open the door to reveal the air handler for the AC. With a quick glance inside, it doesn’t appear that anything is out of place, and I shut the door back.
My gaze falls on the large vent cover beneath the AC unit for the air return, and I kneel to open it. The AC filter fits snugly in the space, and I have to bend the cardboard edges to pull it out.
“Oh, shit,” I mumble, leaning the filter against the wall beside me. Inside the hollow space beneath the unit is a small safe. I try to pull it out, but it’s heavy. I run my fingers over the keypad on the front, thinking. I can’t open this with a paperclip. I try several numbers without success, trying to remember any sequence that may be important to Paige. Cursing again, I sit back on the floor. The answers I need may be inside, right there on the other side of that metal wall. And I can’t have them.
Memories flip through my mind like a spun rolodex, searching snippets of conversations for numbers. Or dates. I pause. July 17. The day we escaped foster care for the last time, to live life on our own terms, success or failure by our own hands and no one else. She said she would always remember this date, because this is the day we became free. I punch in the numbers on the keypad, and a low beep echoes through the AC closet. The door opens.
My breath catches and holds as I peer inside, my eyes narrowing in confusion. The first shelf is full of cash. Stacks of bills in solid rows. I pick up one of the packets and thumb through the notes. It’s a thousand dollars. And judging by the number of stacks here, it has to be in the neighborhood of twenty thousand dollars. Holy fuck.
I search through the bottom shelf and find a box ofmiscellaneous objects, some jewelry, and a phone. I pick up the phone and turn it over in my hand, then try the power button, but it’s dead. Beneath the box is something else, something thinner and smooth. I pull it out and run my fingers over it.
The plain white cover is yellowed from time and wear, with simple black block lettering across the middle that readsThe Collected Poems of Sylvia Montclair.I sit back. Mom’s poetry book. I didn’t even know Paige took this with her.
I turn it over in my hands, and the book begins to slide out of the dust cover. I realize the cover is wrapped around the book, but not how it should be. I fold the back flap in first, pausing at the library check-out card tucked into the paper pocket on the back cover. Stamped across the pocket, it says Pelican Beach Public Library. I slide the card out, reading the rows of handwritten names and dates, pausing at the last name on the list:Sienna Lassiter.
How have I missed this after all these years? Mom never had many possessions, but she kept this one. I never thought much about it because everyone has a favorite book. As time passed, I recognized the demons that my Mom fought with, and it didn’t surprise me that her favorite book was written by Sylvia Montclair, an author notorious for dark, introspective poetry. But I still could never bring myself to read it. I guess Paige did.
I slide the card back into the pocket and turn the book over to tuck in the front flap. I still instantly, my eyes widening and my lips parting in shock. Taped to the inside of the dust cover is a polaroid. It’s a girl lying in a bed holding a newborn baby. Her blonde hair is disheveled, a blanket pulled to her waist as she cradles the tiny dark-haired child against her chest, wrapped in a green shirt that says Kaos Surf.
It’s Sienna Lassiter. Sarah Matthews. My Mom, at seventeen, with a baby. Scribbled at the bottom of the photo is a single name reading RAVEN.
Fuck.
Questions and emotions bounce around inside my brain, breaking things as they hit, cracking and shattering the illusions of my past I once believed as canon. I study the photo until I realize what I’m really looking at, tears welling in my eyes. My Mom had a baby, years before Paige and I. A baby she never told us about, here in Pelican Beach, and not at the hospital. I recognize the retro vibe of the room, the purple and teal abstract wall art, and the rattan furniture. She’s at the Sunrise Motel. And she didn’t take this photo, which meant someone else was in attendance when it happened. My thoughts fly back to my earlier encounter with Alice, and the way she looked at the photo of my Mom.
Alice?
Alice isn’t Raven’s mother, but she raised her. A single mom.
I have a sister. Paige figured all of this out and came here to investigate. To see if her suspicions were true. If they are, not only did our Mom have a secret life in Pelican Beach, but she had a secret baby, and abandoned her. For what? For the magical life in California she told Alice about?
A sudden clicking sound fills the silence of the room, and I instantly stop breathing. It’s the front door. Someone is coming in. Quickly, I shut the safe and slide the filter back into place, closing the vent before throwing myself into the closet. I hold my mother’s book tight against my chest like a shield. The door opens and shuts, and I hear footstepstraveling down the hall. A male voice echoes through the apartment.
“No, don’t tell me that. You know how I feel about that shit,” he says, walking into Mia’s room and opening several drawers on her desk. “Where did you say they are? Never mind, I found them.” His footsteps return to the hallway and head my way. I back further into the darkness of the closet, watching through the thin slit of open door. When he walks into the room and pauses in the doorway, I recognize him immediately.
Nick.
“Are you thinking about getting a new roommate?” He asks, glancing around the room. “Mia, she’s not coming back.” He pauses. “I know, it’s only been a week. But even if she miraculously shows back up, she’s going to jail. She won’t come back here.” He nods. “Okay, look. Raven texted me earlier. She said Ivy needs a place to stay, and they’re kicking her out of the motel. I know you don’t know her very well, but she may be a good fit. Zaden is…” His eyes narrow. “What do you mean she’s dating Evan? You mean, she’s dating them both?” He shakes his head and turns to walk back out of the room. “I don’t know, Love. I’m just passing along information. I’ll see you in a few.” He ends the call and steps into the bathroom, flipping on the light.
Through the doorway, I watch as he pulls off his shirt and tosses it into Mia’s room. He stretches toward the ceiling, flexing lean muscles tanned in the sun, then flicks open the button on his jeans.
Well, this just got interesting.
Nick runs a hand through his shaggy brown hair, his pants sagging on his hips as he walks to the shower. When he turns onthe water, steam trickles out of the half-open door. With a clatter of metal shower curtain rings, I hear him step into the tub, and I emerge from the closet.
Creeping softly, ready to sprint at a moment’s notice, I move down the hall. When I reach the bathroom, I step quickly and keep going until I reach the front door. I open it as quietly as possible and close it back. Jogging down the corridor, I take the stairs two at a time until I’m back in the parking lot. Once there’s space between me and the apartment, and I’m sure he’s not following me, I breathe.
That was close.
I walk back out the front gates of the property, trying to digest what just happened, the book tucked under my arm. If Paige was making that much money, why didn’t she tell me? I’ve been sending her cash every month to help with living expenses, which I could have spent on my own bills. Or at least shoes inmysize. Shit.
Then there’s Sienna and Raven. I have an older sister. Raven thinks she’s an only child with no family outside of Alice. She has no idea.
Her father is Dylan Knight, who has family still in this town. Family she grew up with, and never knew as family. Her best friend Mia is her cousin. Why wouldn’t Alice tell her?
The summer sun beats down on me as soon as I step out from beneath the canopy of trees surrounding the apartment complex. I glare up at the sky, hoping for clouds but seeing only blue, and start my trek back to the Sandbar.
I came here for answers, but only found more questions.
