Rushing toward the house, hoping to avoid a lecture, I tiptoe up the stairs. The third plank creaks loudly and I freeze, certain that no headache will stop my mother from discovering my tardiness. Dang it, this is Dana’s fault. I think of my best friend. I’d told her I had to leave the movie theater thirty minutes ago, but Jack—aka the captain of the football team—was talking to her and she’s infatuated with him.
Inhaling, I decide to just go for it, and rush the rest of the way up to the main landing. The instant I hit the porch level, a hand wraps around my upper arm. I gasp and a big hand covers my mouth. I reach for it, trying to pry it off of me.
A second later I’m slammed against the wall, that big hand still over my mouth. “Were you inviting someone to grab you and hurt you?”
I blink my older brother into view through the inky black night surrounding us and his hand falls from my mouth. I grimace at him and lift my knee to his groin, stopping just shy of contact. “I should hurt you like I would them. You scared the crap out of me, Chad. When did you and Dad even get back into town?”
He ignores the question. “When you see something unusual like the porch light being out, you don’t just charge forward and hope for the best. Walking around in your fairytale world of Saturday night dates and teenage gossip isn’t going to keep you safe.”
My anger is instant. “Teenage gossip? Did you really just say that to me? I want to be at the digs with you and Dad. I want to be exploring the world. It’s your influence on Dad that keeps me from traveling with you, so don’t even go there, Chad.”
A long, curly lock of his blond hair falls over his brow. “Because I’m fucking trying to make sure you have the normal life I have never had.”
I suck in a breath at the raspy, affected quality to his words that sends goose bumps down my spine. Fear clenches my gut. “What’s wrong, Chad?”
He stares at me and I wish like heck the shadows would soften on his face.
“Chad?” I prod when he doesn’t reply.
He shoves off the wall and scrubs his face. “Nothing’s wrong.” He motions to the door. “Let’s go inside.”
“No. Not yet. Not until you tell me what’s going on. Don’t tell me it’s nothing. Tell me the truth.”
“You can’t handle the truth. If tonight told me anything, it’s that.”
“That’s unfair. I’m living the only life you let me have. What aren’t you telling me?”
Pounding jolts me back to the present and I am on the ground, my legs spread out on the filthy floor of the restaurant bathroom. “Chad,” I whisper, aching from how real he’d felt in my flashback. It had been only months after that when I lost him and everyone I loved. I squeeze my eyes shut, remembering how Mom had opened the door and ended the conversation that Chad would never reopen. Chad had blamed his behavior on a girl and a bottle of tequila I know he’d never touched. I’d have smelled it on him. You can’t handle the truth. I squeeze my eyes shut, ashamed of how right he’d been. Ashamed at how I’ve hidden and blocked everything out. Afraid of what I’d discover. My lashes lift. Not anymore.
I open the bathroom door, and return to the main dining area, and it’s as if my memory of Chad has shifted something inside me. I am suddenly challenged to be more than I have been, but deep down I know this has been coming. Something inside me burns to escape the prison that has been my life. It is almost as if on a subconscious level, I went to work at the museum to tempt fate and force myself to finally act.
Exiting the building, I am remarkably cool-headed about how to deal with my travel limitations. I hail a cab and direct the driver to take me to a bank. There I withdraw the cash from my New York account, all too aware I’m sending out an alert about my location to whoever was following me from New York. Next, I have the driver take me on my second trip to Walmart, where I suck it up and invest in more of what I need for my travel plans, a selection of casual clothes, two suitcases, a couple of hats, and sunglasses. Once I pay for the items, I go to the bathroom and change into jeans and a basic navy tee, intentionally leaving one suitcase empty while placing my purchases in the second. Finally, I slip on a red hoodie to make sure I stand out at my next stop.
When the cab pulls up to the airport, my nerves are scattered, but I force myself to get out of the car. I have a plan and it’s a good one. Good thing, too, since there is no plan “B” that makes sense to me.
I rush to the counter of a budget airline in an effort to control my cost and I am just in time to snag a seat on a flight leaving in less than an hour. I check in the empty bag, assuming a bag makes my flight look more legitimate than I intend for it to be, and keep the other with me. Once I have my boarding pass, despite my feet resisting, I press forward, reminding myself that there are cameras and security people everywhere. I’m safer here than anywhere else.
Fifteen torturous minutes later, I head to the gate, where I claim a seat near the counter so that I can call for help if needed. I do not move. I just…wait. And wait. And wait, it seems. Finally, boarding time arrives and I know this is when I have to plan things just right. I wait in line and the attendant scans my ticket and waves me down the ramp. I walk toward the entry and disappear onto the boarding ramp, then move to the wall, letting others pass. My hoodie comes off and I stuff it in my bag, then tug out the black ball cap I purchased and shove my hair underneath.
“Do you need help?” an attendant asks.
“My mother is meeting me and I’m worried. Do I have time to look for her?”
“You have about three minutes. Is she a confirmed passenger?”
“Yes.”
“What’s her name and I’ll call her on the intercom and check the manifest for her name.”
“Kylie Richardson, and thank you.”
She looks concerned and nods. “Give me a moment or actually continue boarding and I’ll find you. What’s your name?”
“Lara,” I say, speaking half of my real name for the first time in six years, and all but choking on it as I do.
“Lara Richardson?”
Brooks, I think, and for reasons beyond my obvious need for discretion my birth name no longer feels right. It no longer feels like me, and too easily, another alias flows from my lips. “Richardson. Lara Richardson.”
“Okay, Ms. Richardson. Go find your seat and I’ll find your mom.”
She turns away and I do not let myself dwell on the foolishness of using my real first name in an airport where I am surely being hunted. I creep to the edge of the walkway and peek around the corner to find the attendant walking toward the counter where another woman waits. The waiting area is empty. Like it had been that day I’d met Liam, when I’d thought I was going to be bumped, but instead ended up seated in first class next to him. Now, I wonder if that was a coincidence or by his design.
With the attendants facing away from me, I hear the announcement calling my fictional mother and I seize the opportunity presented to me. Darting from the walkway and to my right, my destination is the nearest exit sign, which I find quickly. Lifting my suitcase, I all but run down the escalator and straight toward the taxi stand.
Outside the building, I head directly to the male attendant and hand him cash. “I’m late to a wedding rehearsal dinner. I need out of here fast.”
He glances at the twenty-dollar bill I’ve handed him and nods. “You got it, sweetheart.” He lifts his hand to motion to a cab and grabs my bag.
“In the back seat, please,” I instruct, wanting my few possessions where I can get to them if I need to make a fast departure. I can’t afford to throw out any more money after the cost of that plane ticket.
I’m just about to climb into the backseat when I hear, “Amy.”