Page 18

Past

“ H ey…” Something pokes my arm. “Kid, wake up.”

My eyes snap open. Truman hovering near my face startles me and I squeak.

“Shh, you’ll wake up my mom,” he whispers with a serious expression.

I suck in a deep breath. “What time is it?” I ask.

I haven’t slept much. I read the note over at least five, six times. None of it makes any sense. I don’t understand. Did Papa kidnap me? Raise me as his own? What job was he hired to do? The questions spiraled like a tornado, keeping me up until I finally drifted off a couple hours ago.

“Early,” Truman muses with a grin. The windows at his back and the weak light coming in make him golden and soft. I have a weird urge to reach out and touch his face.

I squint at him. “Is something wrong?” Panic roots low in my belly. Do I need to leave?

Truman shakes his head. “No, but I think we should go up to your place before my mom gets up and wants to call your dad.”

Panic settles in my gut. “Oh, yeah,” I say. I sit up and rake my fingers through my long dark hair. “Um, I need the bathroom.”

“Yeah, use the one down here. I brought you a toothbrush.” He hands me a new toothbrush, and I tiptoe to the half bath to relieve myself and clean up a little.

When I come out, Truman is waiting for me in the kitchen with my backpack. A jolt of panic sweeps through me, seeing him holding it. Did he go through it? Did he read the letter? See the money?

“Come on, let’s go,” he says quietly. I eye him wearily. “You can’t go up there alone, Kid. I’m going with you.”

I take my bag from him. I weigh my options quickly.

“Fine.”

The sun’s heat is already starting to scorch the Earth as we walk through town. The only things moving, and alert are the birds in the trees. It’s quiet enough that I can hear the gravel crunch under our shoes with every step.

Just two tire tracks with grass trying to grow in between. I’m a jumble of emotions as we approach the clearing that leads up to home.

“What if they’re still there?” I ask panicking.

“Then we leave,” Truman says.

“But what if they kill us?”

Truman thinks on this for a moment. “We’ll creep up. If the coast is clear we keep going.”

I stop moving forward. A guttural moan slips from me. “What if they’re not there but Papa’s body is?”

Truman stares at me and swallows hard then blows out a breath. “We’ll figure it out.”

We keep walking and my thoughts keep swirling. I don’t understand Papa’s letter. I don’t understand any of this. I don’t know what’s real and what’s not.

He said not to believe everything, but what if he was the one lying?

Truman grabs my hand. I look down to where we’re now connected.

Any other week and I’d be freaking out at the normalcy of this moment.

The first time a boy held my hand. I’d wonder what it means and think about how good my hand feels in his, but I can’t see anything but the tears pooling in my eyes or feel more than utter confusion over the last twenty-four hours.

“Don’t cry. I’m sorry. I’ll let go,” Truman says watching my face carefully.

“It’s not that,” I say and clasp his hand even tighter. “He left me a letter. It doesn’t make any sense. I don’t understand what’s happening.”

Truman stares at me, brow furrowed. It makes him look confused in a cute way. “Let’s just get to your place and then we can figure out what to do, okay?”

We keep walking. Truman reaches out and picks a wild daisy then hands it to me with a smile. He is so calm and so steady. It makes my heart clench.

“Aren’t you supposed to be at school or work or something?” I ask.

“Nope. I think I’m right where I’m supposed to be,” he says.

It takes a solid hour to make it to the truck’s parking spot and another twenty-minute walk from there to the house.

Truman asks me at least fifty questions in that time. Mundane things like, how old am I, what’s my favorite color, food, book and on and on. I learn we’re the same age and share the same favorite color: green.

As far as common denominators between us—that’s it.

He’s impressed by my intelligence, which confuses me.

I don’t know why he assumed I’d be dumb just because I was home schooled.

His strange chit-chat distracts me, though and I’m happy to indulge him as long as it takes my mind off what lies ahead.

When we approach the barn, I hesitate. Anguish engulfs me. Truman stands silently next to me. He squeezes my hand gently. My bones feel soft, like overcooked spaghetti noodles.

“I can’t,” I say.

Truman nods and walks. Twenty steps. I count.

He stops, looks around, then turns to face me. “There’s nothing here,” he says.

At his words, I’m bereft. Nothing there? They took Papa’s body. He doesn’t get to be laid to rest. I’ll never be able to visit his grave and mourn. I will never see him again. Who are these people and what the hell have I been thrust into?

I join Truman and scan the area, my hunting instincts kicking in.

They dragged his body. The grass is matted down and there are still red hues streaked through where they pulled him along. I close my eyes and suck in a steadying breath.

“What’s really going on here?” Truman asks.

“I wish I knew,” I say.

I pull my backpack around and pull out the letter from Papa and hand it to Truman. His eyes scan quickly over the words, and he looks back up at me, mouth agape, eyes wide.

“This is some messed up shit. Seriously. Like, what?”

“Yeah,” I say, “I know.” He hands the letter back to me.

“So are you going to Miami?” he asks. He shoves his hands deep into his pockets and looks around.

He must be curious about our house. The crazy recluses of Moffitt who live alone on the mountain.

I shrug. “I don’t know. I can’t stay here, can I? What if those guys come back?” Despite the heat, a chill raises gooseflesh on my arms and I shiver.

He shrugs back. “Don’t know. This is all pretty wild.”

“I’m going to go inside, I guess. Think on it all. Thanks for walking me home.” I turn and head into the cabin.

My mind reels, and I feel stunned. The screen door slaps behind me, but the sound is off—too delayed. I spin around and find Truman in my home.

“What are you doing?” I ask.

He bites his lip. “I can’t leave you alone here.”

My chin pulls in toward my neck. “Why not?” I ask.

He shrugs, yet again. “It doesn’t feel right.”

“What if I told you you’re not welcome here?” I say and drop my bag on the floor.

He taps one foot on the floorboards and smirks. “I guess I’d tell you that’s too bad because, you are the most interesting thing to ever happen to me and what kind of man would I be if I didn’t see this through with you?”

I roll my eyes at him but am slightly relieved at his sense of duty. Papa would like him. The thought sends a fresh wave of grief through me.

“I’m fine on my own.”

He cocks his head causing a loose blonde wave to fall near his eye. “I didn’t say you weren’t.”

I toss my hands in the air. “Semantics. You implied it.”

He holds up his index finger. “No, I implied that you need a friend and that I’m qualified for the job.”

I huff and collapse onto the couch. “Why? Why are you doing this?”

Truman follows me, grinning. “That’s easy, because you’re easily the most interesting person I’ve met.”

I stare at him, a deadpan expression on my face. “You read the letter; trust no one. Tell no one about even the letter.”

Truman thinks on my words. “Yeah. He was right, but I bet he wasn’t talking about a townie boy you just met. How ‘bout I just hang out until you decide what you’re going to do.”

“How’re you going to pull that off with your parents?” I ask.

He lopes to the couch and flops down next to me. “Don’t sweat it. Do we have a deal?”

I rest my head back on the cushion. “Okay,” I sigh, frustrated. “Deal.”