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“Let’s get you home,” she said. “We’ll figure out what to do about all of this later.”
“Yes, I just want to go home.”
Suddenly, I knew exactly what I meant by “home.” Not my small apartment in Venice. Not home to Texas and my father and stepmother and sisters. To Montana. To Atticus.
By the afternoon,the footage of me yanking off my microphone had become a viral meme. After a good cry in the bathtub, I pulled myself together to book a flight to Bozeman and a driver to take me to Bluefern, about an hour’s drive from the airport.
In my apartment, as I packed a suitcase with the warmest clothes I had, Celeste sat in a chair by the bedroom window nervously tapping her long nails against the wooden arm. The shades were drawn, blocking out sunshine and Venice Beach as well as hiding me from any photographers.
“Are you sure you want to go back there?” Celeste asked. “It’s going to mess with your mind.”
“I haven’t been back since it happened. It’s time.”
“But it’s almost Thanksgiving. Who will I eat dry turkey with?” Celeste let out a long sigh and played with her bangs. She wore her black hair in a chin-length bob that complemented her long face. She was different from a lot of people I’d met since moving to Los Angeles to pursue my dreams. Kind of edgy. Very opinionated. And absolutely rabid when it came to my career.
“You should go home too,” I said. “Get out of here for a while.”
Celeste was from somewhere in Oregon. Despite how close we’d become over the years, she almost never spoke of her past. That had suited me fine, since I didn’t like to talk about mine, either.
“I’d rather chew nails.” Celeste made a face. “I’ll just order in and watch movies all day.”
“You deserve time off.”
“Where are you going to stay once you get there? Do you have a plan? Is there a hotel in Bluefern?”
I shuddered, remembering what had once been the only motel in Bluefern. My mother had shot Rex Sharp and then herself in room 3. The crime scene photos had captured that rather well. I hadn’t known that detail. My dad made sure I never saw any of the news articles.
“Atticus’s family opened a dude ranch for tourists after everything happened. I’m renting a cabin there. I made a reservation under a fake name.”
“Good. Hopefully you can hang out there for a few days without the paparazzi finding you.”
I’d booked a cabin at Crescent Moon Ranch from their website and learned that Thad was manager of guest services while Soren took care of the animals and managed the dude ranch. Caspian was head chef at a restaurant on the property. Rafferty and Atticus were not mentioned.
An image of the brothers as I’d last seen them flashed before my eyes. Little Thaddeus. He’d been so cute.. He would have been only three that year. Soren had been five and equally cute. He always wanted to be outside, if I recalled correctly.
They’d all been fine because of Jasper Moon. He’d become the father they needed. My stepmother had come onto the scene a year or two after we’d moved to Texas. She’d been very good to me, even after my little sisters were born. I loved havingsiblings. Being an older sister suited me. I could spoil them all I wanted.
“Maybe call the family. Give them a heads-up you’re coming.” Celeste continued to tap her heel against the chair leg.
“I just want to slip in unnoticed, at least for a day or so.”
“I can’t blame you for that.” Celeste stood and stretched, then yawned. “This has been the longest few days of my life.”
“I’m sorry,” I said, knowing she’d spent a better part of last night on the phone with my publicist.
“It’s my job,” Celeste said. “Have a good rest and come back to me after the holidays. I’m sure this will have died down by then.”
“I hope so.”
Thankfully, Stella and her boys had taken her new husband’s last name, no one could trace Rex Sharp back to them. Atticus Moon, as he was known now, had sold an app to a huge company just last year. Apparently for hundreds of millions of dollars. The sum was so astronomical I couldn’t get my head around it. Atticus had always been the smartest kid in class. He’d used his God-given talents and made something of himself, that was for sure. The sale of his company had been featured in the business section of the Los Angeles newspaper. I’d just happened to notice it while reading the paper online while waiting to go into an audition. In the interview, when the reporter asked him about his future plans, Atticus said he was going home to Montana. That had made me smile.
One of my biggest regrets was that we’d lost touch when we were teenagers. Would seeing him again be awkward, or would we fall back into the sweet friendship we’d once had?
My phone buzzed on the dresser. I glanced at it, expecting a text from my dad. He’d probably seen the awful interview. I hadn’t had the heart to call him yet.
But it wasn’t a text from my dad. It was Ben.
“It’s Ben,” I said to Celeste.
