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“I couldn’t convince Thomas,” Raleigh says as she starts the engine, her voice tight. “I guess that’s obvious, though. My brother’s such a fucking guy.”
I cringe, thinking of the way he held the empty gun out to me, how he put on a show for me to show me his strength. “Yeah,” I say weakly, flipping open the pack. In plastic bags, I find simple toiletries- deodorant, a toothbrush, tampons. In another bag, I’m stunned to find a thick stash of bills. I whip my head to look at Raleigh.
“I can’t take this!”
“It’s my pocket money,” Raleigh says carelessly. I splutter, but she glares at me, too long, until I frantically motion for her to watch the road. “Money makes the world go ‘round, right? Take it.”
I press my lips together. She’s right, but it’s a part of the world that I’d rather close my eyes to. I just want to live and paint. Speaking of which-
At the very bottom of the pack, I find a sketchbook. Its edges are feathered, like it’s been handled a lot over the years, and when I flip it open I’m shocked to find a hideous pencil sketch of a person. It’s my work, but it’s so old that I almost don’t recognize it at first.
“Oh my god-” It’s the sketchbook I was using right before the schism. I’d lost it when we had to leave, and cried to my mother for hours about it- and about everything else I’d lost that day. My eyes prick with tears now as I flip through page after page of old work. The book is only a third full. There’s plenty of good paper left in it, waiting to be filled. “You kept this?”
Raleigh shrugs. “I found it in a box of old things not that long ago.”
She’s trying to play this off like it isn’t a big deal, like I’m not fighting as hard as I can to hold in ugly tears. So much has changed, but that hasn’t, and we haven’t, not really.
“Hopefully you’re better now than you were ten years ago,” Raleigh blusters, and I laugh out loud.
Raleigh steers us toward one of the main roads cutting through the city and out. She’s a terrible driver, going way too fast and stopping even faster, but I’m too wound up to care. I’m on my way out. I’m about to be free.
When we finally stop, there are no buildings in sight, only empty dirt lots on either side of the street leading out of town. The solitary structure is the bus stop on the sidewalk. Raleigh turns to face me. “Don’t thank me, okay? I hate thank you’s. And goodbyes.”
Probably because we never got to say goodbye before. I nod, trying to put on a brave face, but I can’t stop the tears now. Raleigh groans and pulls me into a crushing hug.
“I’m glad I got to see you again,” she mumbles into my hair.
“I’m sorry I got your house burned down,” I sob, and she shakes me a little.
“No ‘sorries’ either,” she chides. “Just go. The bus’ll be here in fifteen minutes.”
I pull back and wipe my face the best I can, then climb out of the car and onto the sidewalk. The street around us is quiet, and for a moment, Raleigh watches me out her window.
“I really am,” she says. “Glad, I mean.”
I open my mouth to respond, but she hits the gas. Her candy-red car does a u-turn and speeds away.
Letting out a shaky breath, I turn to the bus stop bench and collapse into it, clutching the daypack to my chest again. Every minute seems like an eternity to wait, and by my count, fifteen minutes and more pass. The bus is late, but that’s okay. It’ll get here eventually, and all I have to do is wait. Once I’m on the bus, I won’t stop moving until I find a place I like. Maybe on the coast. Maybe in the mountains. With the money Raleigh gave me, I could even hop on a plane and go to a whole new country.
I tilt my head back, baring my face to the sun and tasting the wind.
I’m free. Finally.
The scuff of a shoe catches my attention. I open my eyes right as three huge men bear down on me and snatch me off the bench.
CHAPTER 11
Thomas
Iris only says one thing to me on our way back to the estate. Her voice is curt, and I can tell she’s still pissed at my recklessness in the meeting.
“What is your plan for Clara?” she asks, her pitch black stare pointed out the windshield.
I have no answer for her, and neither of us is happy about that fact.
When I see the Bentley pulling into the gate ahead of me, though, my mood gets unspeakably worse.
Raleigh must see me in her rearview, because she stops the car just inside the gate and pops her head out her window. I leave my car idling and step out, slamming the door harder than I mean to behind me.
