TREY

It feels weird to leave a black bag full of cash on a stranger’s doorstep. It took me a while to even find the right house. It looks different in the daylight.

I put a written note inside:

To the owner of the Nissan Altima I stole,

I’m sorry for stealing your car and for any trouble that caused. I really needed it at the time, and I promised the person I was with that I would return someday to pay you back. This money should cover the cost of the vehicle, plus more.

My next stop is Chinatown in Las Vegas. I arrive at the traditional Chinese medicine shop about five minutes before closing time.

When I step through the front door, the scent of dried earth and spices fills my nostrils.

The store no longer looks like a tornado ran through it.

Now it features tidy shelves with containers perfectly facing forward, red paper lanterns hanging from the ceiling, and visible wood floors.

Near the register sits a golden toy cat. It waves at me with one arm.

In the back of the store is an Asian man with graying black hair, stocking some shelves. “Can I hep you find someting?”

Tao doesn’t recognize me, and I didn’t expect him to. When I met him, Arella was with me. Anyone who interacted with Arella and me no longer has those memories.

I didn’t plan out what I wanted to say, so I stutter out, “Um, is Li here?”

Tao heads down a hall, then shouts down the staircase. “Li! Another customer here to talk with you.”

“Who?” a woman yells back.

“Aiyah. Just come up.” Tao sighs as he reappears from the hall. “Our customers always prefer to talk to her, not me. Every time, she always ask who, like I know everybody’s name.”

A pair of footsteps marches down the hall, then Li steps into the light. She looks the same as last time: long black hair that falls past her shoulders, a gentle smile, and kind eyes.

Like she did before, she gasps with a hand to her chest. As she approaches me with slow steps, she keeps staring at me. I already know the words she’s about to say.

“Are you Trey Grant?”

“Yep, that’s me.”

“Oh my god. You are so big, and tall, and very handsome. And you have strong arms.” Also like before, she gives my bicep a squeeze. “Wow! I can’t believe it’s really you.”

It’s nice to know that some things don’t change.

Maybe if I had re-met Arella like a normal person, things might have turned out differently.

Would she have fallen in love with me again?

Would I have the same conversations with her that we already had before?

Would I feel the déjà vu I feel now? Would she be standing here with me as I right my wrongs?

Then again, with that other guy in her life, she wouldn’t need me the way she did before. Back then, she needed me to show her that a man can love her with all his heart and treat her like she’s gold. I hope Caleb is treating her right. Arella deserves to be loved, even if it’s not me doing it.

I hold out a black bag to Li. “This is for you.”

She accepts the bag and unzips it. “Oh no! We cannot take this.”

“You can, and you will. This is money I owe you for helping me out six weeks ago.”

As expected, she crumples her eyebrows together. Tao does the same.

With a sigh, I ask, “Do you guys have a few minutes for me to tell you a story?”

“Of course,” Li says. “Tao, you close the store. I’ll take Trey downstairs.”

On my way to Vegas, I considered not telling them anything at all and just leaving the money at their door.

By the time I arrived, I had come to the conclusion that they deserve to know why “Victor” stopped talking to them all those years ago.

Also, I have to clear my dad’s name. I can’t let his best friends live out the rest of their lives thinking he was cruel enough to cut things off with my mother out of the blue, then cut them off too.

My dad would have wanted me to do this for him.

It takes me a while to get through the whole story because Li and Tao ask for a lot of details. When I finally finish, Tao says, “Victor was always a good man.”

“You know he loved you very much, right?” Li says. “He always looked at you like you were his entire world.”

“I know that now.” I wish I could say that the thought of my real dad loving me outweighs the bitterness I feel toward Jodi, but it doesn’t. Because of her, I was robbed of the relationship I could have had with my father.

I leave Li and Tao with a promise to visit again in the future.

Back on my bike, I head northeast.

The next morning, I arrive in Colorado. At my secluded cabin in the woods, I have full intentions of getting sleep, but no matter how many times I toss and turn, I can’t manage to shut my eyes long enough. Being alone with my emotions and having nothing to do is only making me feel more lonely.

Usually, I enjoy having a break from people’s emotions rushing through me all the time.

But without other people’s feelings distracting me, this heartache is only getting worse.

Being here isn’t clearing my head like it did when I lost Elliott.

Instead, it’s making me imagine jumping off one of the nearby cliffs.

But before I can talk myself into actually doing that, I pack up and leave.

I still have unfinished business, so I can’t rid the world of me just yet.

The next afternoon, I arrive in a chilly Bloomington, Minnesota. It wasn’t hard for me to find out where Katie’s family buried her. Not at all to my surprise, Katie was a well-loved person and her funeral was a heavily attended event. Her friends and family posted about it all over social media.

At the cemetery, I dismount my bike. Then I walk around with flowers in my hand for almost forty-five minutes before I finally find her name on a gravestone.

Katie Williams

April 4, 1995–September 19, 2014

A lump forms in my throat as I bend to lay my bouquet of flowers near her name. “Everything you did for us was so brave, Katie. Thank you for saving her life.”

For the next few hours, I sit with Katie and reminisce over how she helped me plan Arella’s escape in a supply closet, then later jumped in front of a knife to save a woman she barely knew.

Arella won’t remember the courage Katie showed, but I will.

If Katie was here, I’d bet anything she’d have some words of wisdom for me. I could really use some right now.

Once my ass is unbearably numb, I stand up, shake out my legs, then hop back onto my bike.

The next early evening, I make it to New York City, where Pixie’s family buried her. It takes me even longer to find her gravestone because the cemetery is ginormous compared to the one in Minnesota.

Anna Jung

Daughter, sister, aunt, friend.

September 6, 1994–September 19, 2014

Both Katie and Pixie died way too young.

I give Pixie some flowers. Then I sit with her for a while, remembering how she tortured my ears, then ended up sacrificing herself so Arella and I could run away.

The sky is dim when I finally gather enough willpower to stand up. Paying my respects to Pixie was the last thing on my to-do list. Now what?

My stomach growls and claws at me to fix the emptiness. I haven’t eaten much since I left LA. Not that I ate much while I was in LA. I guess I could get something to eat while I figure out where to go next.

Later that night, I’m slouched in a booth at a burger joint with a basket of food getting cold in front of me. I’ve had a couple of fries, but they can’t seem to go down right. They keep sticking in my throat.

“You ’ight, sweetie pie?” asks my plump Black waitress. A wave of concern rushes through me from where she’s standing.

“I’m fine,” I say without looking up at her.

“You sure? You been sittin’ here for almost two hours, and there ain’t a single bite outta yo burger yet.” She stares at me as her mood drops. “Oh, baby. I know that look. Either someone died or you just got yo heart broken. Which is it?”

This woman is perceptive as fuck. “Both.”

“I’m sorry, sweetheart. Is there anything I can do for ya?”

Can you turn back time? Bring back my dad? Get me my girl back? “No, but thank you.”

“Why don’t you try to eat a li’l bit, baby boy? It might make ya feel better.”

“I’ll try.”

An hour later, I’ve gotten all of one bite out of my burger. The other patrons have left, and the staff is mopping the floors.

My waitress stops by my table again. “You need anything else, hon?”

“Just the check.”

“No way. You ain’t even eat nothin’. I ain’t chargin’ you for that. Why don’t you just go on home? Maybe tomorrow will be a better day.”

I would do that... if I had a home to go to. Nowhere feels like home when she’s not there.

I leave a few hundreds on my table, then grab my backpack and head out into the darkness.

The street is busy with moving cars, couples strolling side by side, some guys on bikes, and a group of teenagers taking a selfie together. An old dude stands next to a parking meter, smoking a cigarette. The cool early November air blows his cigarette smoke into my face as I drag my feet past him.

I’ve never been much of a smoker. My substances of choice were always alcohol, pills, and injections. I wouldn’t mind some of those right now.

As I make my way down the sidewalk toward where I parked my bike, I pass stores that are closed for the evening, and restaurant owners turning their glowing open signs off.

Eventually, I reach a crosswalk, but I don’t bother waiting for the light to tell me when it’s safe to go. If another truck hits me, maybe it’ll actually take me out this time.

Liz would backhand my chest for thinking that. She would backhand me for thinking most of the self-harming thoughts I’ve had lately. She would also hit me for strolling straight past my motorcycle and into a bar.

An all-female band plays a sultry ballad from the stage as I hang my backpack on the back of a barstool and sit. The place is packed with men and women who are dancing, laughing, talking, whatever.

“Hey, handsome.” Excitement spikes inside the pale-skinned bartender as she sets a coaster down in front of me. “What can I get you?”

“How ’bout a shot of whatever you feel like pouring?”

“Comin’ right up.” A few seconds later, she sets a shot glass with amber liquid in it onto my coaster. “This is?—”

I don’t let her finish telling me what’s in my glass before I seize it. When I thunk it back onto the counter, it’s empty. “Another, please.”

“Sure.” Without hesitation, she grabs a bottle and pours more liquid into my glass. When I thunk it back onto the counter again, she doesn’t wait for me to ask; she just pours. I down my third shot, then gesture for her to give me some more.

She does, then asks in a cutesy little voice, “So where ya from?”

I drop the glass back down and wipe off my wet lips with the back of my hand. “California.”

“Ooh.” She leans against the counter, pressing her perky tits together. Her brunette hair falls off her shoulders to cover her cleavage. The woman is quick to grab all her locks and move them to her back. “Where in California?”

I’m not in the mood for small talk or her titties, so I point at my empty shot glass. “Another.”