Jenna smiles. “Hi, Anson. Josh.” She stretches her son’s name, softening the reprimanding undercurrents in her tone with a look and sets the white binder covered in vibrant shades of permanent marker on the table. Josh is a doodler, though his artwork is more realistic than her quirky characters. She still can’t believe her YouTube cartoon went viral several years back. Some days she wishes it hadn’t. She can never go fully underground again. But it pays the bills and then some. She can finally buy Josh Vans at the Shoppes in Carlsbad rather than worn sneakers with stained soles at the Salvation Army. They can eat out at restaurants with linen napkins, like the ones her parents took her to when she was young, rather than the reheated meals from canned food at the shelters she once frequented. All in all, their lifestyle has improved the last year and a half, though it hasn’t assuaged the constant urge to look over her shoulder everywhere she goes.
Josh drags the binder toward him and stuffs it in his red backpack. “What are you doing here?”
“You didn’t answer my call.”
He grimaces. “My phone’s dead.”
She grips the edge of the table, channeling her anger into the metal instead of at her son. She doesn’t cause scenes. She despises drawing attention. “You didn’t charge it last night?” That’s a hard, fast rule between them. From the day he could understand her, she’s taught him to never be caught unprepared. They each have a packed suitcase under their beds for when they need to roll. And the need will come. She knows exactly where everything is located and what she’d take with them the next time they ditch town. Josh always knows to keep his phone charged and within reach.
The school bell rings, the sound shrill, and her heart lurches. She can hear that darn bell from their house five blocks away.
“No, I didn’t,” Josh grumbles, standing.
“Why not?”
“I forgot.” He shoulders his backpack. Anson does the same, looking guilty he got caught in the middle of their squabble. Josh starts to back away. “Can I go now?”
Jenna lifts her hands to the side, walking toward him. “If you’d answered your phone, I wouldn’t have had to grace you with my presence.”
Josh’s cheeks brighten. “Mom, stop,” he loudly whispers, backing away faster. “I have to get to class.”
“We could have met halfway, before you got to campus.”
Josh rolls his eyes. “Okay, fine. Sorry, all right? I’ll charge my phone tonight. Bye.” He turns around and jogs to his first period science class before she can say anything further that would mortify him or scar him for life.
“Have a good day, Ms. Mason.”
“You too, Anson.”
He waves and jogs to catch up with Josh. She watches her son walk away with his best friend. He bumps shoulders with Anson, and they laugh. She smiles because he’s happy, surprised by the accompanying burn of tears. Josh is growing up so fast. He looks more like his father every day, but his personality is all Lucas, his uncle. Thoughts of both men strain her chest. She misses them terribly, always has. She also misses the days when Josh was little. He was a total love bug. Today she barely squeezed a kiss out of him before he left for school and didn’t even get a thank-you when she dropped off the binder.
“You’re welcome,” she mutters to herself. Blinking away the sting in her eyes, Jenna heads home. She makes it halfway across the parking lot before Leigh steps in her way. The move is sudden, and Jenna bumps into her.
“Sorry,” Jenna mumbles and tries to move past Leigh.
Leigh steps to the side, blocking her again. Jenna bites the inside of her cheek and squints at Leigh, Washington Middle School’s parents’ club secretary and community gossip. Jenna didn’t have to be actively involved with the other parents to know about Leigh. Josh came home with enough ridiculous stories he heard from Maggie Duffy, who got the latest dirt from her mom. Leigh’s eyes are bright and her smile wickedly wide. The tip of her tongue touches the end of her incisor as her Flashdance-style sweatshirt slips off her right shoulder. Her arms are crossed under her chest. She wiggles her shoulders as if she can’t contain her news.
“Is it true?” she asks, her brows arching high. Leigh is one of those people who makes eye contact and holds on, and not in a pleasant way. The feeling of Leigh staring into your soul is mighty uncomfortable, like leaving the house without pants and you don’t realize so until you feel cool air against your nether regions. “Well?”
Jenna frowns, searching wildly for an escape route. “Is what true?”
Leigh rolls her head and gives Jenna a look as if Jenna should know exactly what Leigh is talking about. “They say you murdered some sixteen-year-old kid.”
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Thank you, as always, to my team at Lake Union Publishing: Chris Werner, Nicole Burns-Ascue, Laura Barrett, Gabriella Dumpit, and Danielle Marshall. It’s an honor to continue working with you. A special thanks to my editors Tiffany Yates Martin, Cheri Madison, Karin Silver, and Robin O’Dell, who work closely with Chris to bring out the best in all my books. This story shines because of you. And to my agent, Gordon Warnock, for being the best advocate this author can have. Thanks to Jessica Preeg, Ashley Vanicek, Morgan Doremus, Jaqueline Smith, and everyone in marketing and publicity who work tirelessly to ensure this book reaches my readers.
To the book clubs, reviewers, bloggers, bookstagrammers, and social media groups who’ve shined a light on this book and all my previous books, and who continue to support me and my work, thank you! I truly could not do this without you. A special shout-out to my top reader group, the Tiki Lounge. You make popping onto social media worth it. Your posts and fun anecdotes brighten my day. Thanks to Collette Sockel Joseph who won a contest inside the Tiki Lounge to Amber’s boyfriend, Dr. Michael Drake. Thank you, Jen Cannon, for keeping my advance reader teams organized, and for standing in for me online when I’m stuck in my writing cave. You’ve been a life saver.
Special thanks to Ret. Lt. Jeff Bassett for his valuable time and insight, and for patiently answering my questions. This is a work of fiction. Any inaccuracies to fit within the confines of the story are my own. To my mom, Phyllis Hall, who gave me a more accurate picture of Josh’s condition than anything I researched in books could have provided. To Orly Konig who never failed to listen when I whined or complained about the plot or my characters. Thanks for talking (and texting) me back to sanity.
To my husband, Henry, for being you. To Evan and Brenna for being there. You are my light.
And to you, dear reader, thanks for coming on this journey with me. Let me know what you thought of No More Words. You can connect with me through my website, www.kerrylonsdale.com. You can also sign up for my newsletter, Kerry’s Beach Club, on my site. I encourage you to join my top reader group on Facebook, Kerry’s Tiki Lounge (www.facebook.com/groups/kerrystikilounge) where you’ll be privy to sneak peeks and deleted content. Taking No More Words to the beach or on a trip? Be sure to tag me (@kerrylonsdale) and the book (#NoMoreWords) on social media with your photos and I’ll share. And finally, if you enjoyed Olivia’s story, I’d be honored if you left a review on your favorite book review site.