“You did very well today, Luca,” Doc said as I pulled into my driveway. He reached down between his legs and grabbed his bag from the pet store from the floor of the car.
“I think very well might be a stretch.”
“You’re underestimating yourself. You stayed inside for almost a full ten minutes.”
“I stood at the door for nine and a half of that.”
“That’s okay. It doesn’t matter how far inside the building you were. What matters is that you felt panic and dealt with it. You could have very easily run out that door. But instead, you stood your ground and toughed it out. That’s progress.”
Doc might have felt like I’d made some headway today, but I just felt deflated. What did it matter what Griff even looked like? There was no way I’d ever be getting on a plane. I forced a sad smile. “Thanks, Doc. I appreciate what you tried to do today.”
“Progress takes time, Luca. Don’t feel down. You might not be where you want to be, but you’re also not where you were yesterday. Each day is a baby step. You just keep looking forward and taking them, and I promise one day you’re going to look back and be surprised how far those tiny little steps have taken you.”
“Wonder how many baby steps there are between here and California,” I joked. “At least I won’t have to worry what Griff will look like by the time I get there, because I won’t be able to see him with my cataracts by then anyway.”
Doc’s pep talk didn’t work to cheer me up too much. I was tired of longing to do normal-people things and frustrated that I couldn’t seem to conquer my fears. That night, I didn’t write back to Griff, not wanting him to feel the wrath of my foul mood. I couldn’t seem to fall asleep, either. I tossed and turned for hours until I finally got out of bed and took a sleeping pill—something I didn’t like to do too often. Those things really knocked me out.
So it wasn’t a surprise that I slept in the next day. I woke to the sound of a loud horn—not a car horn, more like a train or tractor-trailer horn. The first few times I heard it, I pulled the blanket over my head and attempted to ignore it. But after the third time, Hortencia was going crazy groinking, so I got out of bed to see what was going on.
What in the hell?
I rubbed my eyes and moved the blinds on the front window to get a better look. Sure enough, my eyes hadn’t been playing tricks on me. A giant seventies-era-looking RV with wood paneling was parked in front of my house. Seeing me, the driver rolled down his window.
Oh my God. I’m terrified.
It was Doc. He leaned half his body out the window, flailing his arms around as if I could miss him.
“Look what my sister, Louise, has! Bet we can see plenty of birds on our trip.”
I opened the front door and shielded my eyes from the sun with my hand. “Our trip where?” There was no way in the world I was getting in that damn thing with Doc driving.
“To California, silly girl!”
CHAPTER 8
GRIFFIN
Bloody hell. I couldn’t stop staring at her.
Julian had sent the photos of Luca nearly two hours ago, and yet I hadn’t moved from my spot. She was far more beautiful than I’d ever imagined. To be honest, given her peculiarities, I’d almost expected her to be a bit more average-looking. Average would have been absolutely fine, because looks aside, our chemistry was otherwise off the charts. But now? Now that I’d actually discovered Luca was a knockout? That just added so much fuel to the fire, and I doubted it could ever be extinguished.
She had the same long brown hair I remembered from that one photo she’d sent me years ago. Her green eyes were gigantic and glowing like beautiful orbs that let you see into her soul. I wanted to stare into them for hours.
Wow.
She looked like a better version of . . . what were those dolls named . . . the ones the sick girl in the hospital requested. I’d sent her a dozen of them. Blythe dolls! That’s right. With her gorgeous eyes, Luca was a real-life Blythe doll.
The guilt felt ten times worse now that I’d seen her. Not only that, Julian had snapped photos from the post office at the exact moment she’d received my gift. The joy on her face when she’d opened that box of Furbys was not something I would ever soon forget. Oh, beautiful girl. How great it is to see your smile, to see you happy.
Julian had sent over several photos along with an e-mailed report of his initial findings from Vermont.
Greetings from Montpelier!
Attached are all the photos I’ve taken since arriving up here.
Here is what I know so far. As you can see, your friend is quite the looker. That’s the good news. The rest is a little fucking bizarro, if you ask me, so hang on for the ride.
First off, she walks a pig on a leash. Yes, I said . . . PIG. A freaking pig. Not sure what that’s all about. Other than when she ventures out to do that, she mostly seems to just go from the house to the post office, then home again. So it’s been pretty easy to keep tabs on her.
Here’s the really odd part. There’s this old dude who picked her up once, and they went out together. I followed them to a pet store and back. That was it. Not sure if he’s her grandfather or a sugar daddy or what. I think he’s a Peeping Tom, though, because I saw him using these binoculars outside her house. A real perv. Strange shit, man. If you want me to look into him more, let me know.
The story gets even weirder. The next day, the same guy shows up at her house driving an old RV. She gets in, stays inside for a few minutes, then runs back inside her house. No clue what that was all about.
That’s pretty much all I’ve got for now. Couldn’t put this all together into something that makes sense if you paid me double or my life depended on it. Not sure how much more information you need.
Anyway, off topic, I sort of found a little side piece at a bar here last night. Name’s Vanessa. I’m thinking of sticking around in town for a bit if you want me to continue the job. That old dude is up to something. I just know it.
Let me know!
Julian
As strange as Luca’s lifestyle may have seemed to him, everything made perfect sense to me. I knew that guy was her eccentric therapist whom she often ventured out with, because she’d mentioned him in her first letter. And of course, I’d already known about Hortencia. So, oddly, none of this alarmed me at all.
I wrote back, telling Julian to hang out there until I let him know otherwise. I didn’t think he was going to find anything more of value, but he clearly had nothing else better to do—besides “Vanessa”—at the moment, so I figured I’d keep him there a little longer.
“Mr. Archer?”
Shit. Apparently my cap and sunglasses did nothing to hide my identity as I attempted to venture incognito to the post office.
“Yes.”
“Can I have your autograph?”
“Sure,” I said, quickly scribbling my signature onto a piece of some girl’s mail.
“I’m a huge fan,” she squeaked. “You have no idea. ‘Luca’ is like my favorite song ever.”
Ugh. She had to remind me.
“Thanks,” I said before rushing away.
That was going to be another thing I’d have to contend with. How exactly was I supposed to explain to Luca that I’d written my most successful song—more like a rant—in honor of her while I was drunk and pissed one night? Who knew that thing was going to fly up the charts the way it did? I’d certainly never imagined when I wrote it that Luca and I would end up reconnecting.