He doesn’t look thrilled about our exploration, but then, maybe it’s my imagination. “Just don’t go driving off a cliff together.”
Cytha laughs at Finn’s reference to our Thelma and Louise movie.
“How are you so good at this?” James groans.
“I have a little brother who lives and dies by games like this.” She brushes her long dark hair from her shoulder and sets down the controller, brushing her hands together.
James moans and sets his down, too. “Wanna play, Esther?”
“You just want to be able to beat someone.” Finn throws his balled up taco paper at James’s head.
“Sure, you can beat me. It won’t hurt my ego to lose at a game I’ve never played.”
32
Rodrick runs a hand over his hair. “I don’t know, Esther.”
I press my lips together, summoning some patience. I never asked for Rodrick’s permission, but it seems he wishes I had. “It’ll be fine. You go there all the time. Finn says it’s the closest Walmart.”
“Yes, but you don’t know that area at all. It’s more than an hour away and—”
I laugh out a rueful laugh. “I drove here by myself. From Reno. More than ten hours away. I’d never been here before.”
“And if you remember, I wanted to fly you.”
Summer stays quiet—and I think it’s because she agrees with me. It makes me the tiniest bit bitter that she doesn’t say anything. Brayden cries from his bedroom, saving her from any more of my silent grief.
“I wanted my car.” I sigh and nibble on my bottom lip. “Rodrick, I am not a little girl. I am not afraid of using my GPS. I won’t be alone. I’ll have my phone. And I’m not really asking.” I’m not trying to be rebellious or unkind. I’m grateful for my family, but that doesn’t mean I’m a child in need of a sitter. I hug him for good measure and leave the room.
Cytha stands on the stairs, evesdropping on the entire conversation. “You have guts girl—I would never talk to my dad like that.”
I stop, almost at the top of the stairway, tilting my head back. “I love Rodrick, but he isn’t my dad.”
She bites her lip, most likely wishing she hadn’t said anything.
Rodrick stays in his office when Cytha and I leave, but Summer jogs for the door, stopping us. “Just a few snacks,” she says, holding my infamous pink lunch bag.
“Thanks.” I look at her pointedly. “You could have piped in back there.”
She gives me a wiry grin. “No, Esther, I couldn’t have.” She hands me the lunch bag. “But I hope you have a good day. Do you need any money?”
I blow out a sigh through my lopsided smile. “No. Thanks, Summer. We’ll be home before dark.”
We settle into my car, both of us a little giddy for our adventure. Thelma and Louise out on the road. “My phone says we’ll be at Woodhill’s Park in one hour and forty-three minutes.” Cytha holds her cell in the air.
“All right, Thelma, here we go.” I shift into gear and we’re off.
I only speed a little, and we get to the park in an hour and thirty-seven minutes. It’s always a strange feeling when I come upon one of my dreams. When I first saw The Reading Mother I thought my mind was playing tricks on me. The playground is set up just as it is in my dream, but there are children at the park today. In my dream the playground is empty. Today, Cytha and I take the last parking space in the lot. I don’t see the empty rows and yellow lines like I do in my dream. We step out of the car and walk across the lot to the wooden sign.
“Is this it?”
“Yes. No doubt.”
Cytha shudders. “This is so eerie—cool, but eerie.”
There are three streets shooting out from the park. I play back the dream in my mind. Which way did I walk? “I see the sign,” I say aloud, talking it over with Cytha and my memories, “and I walk to the…” I shut my eyes, picturing it, lifting my right hand and then my left, “the left.”
There’s a grassy section to the left of us, a sidewalk, and then a street perpendicular to the park.
“Let’s check the other street signs—just to be sure.” With her hands on her hips, she squints in the sunshine, seeking out the other street signs, but their angle isn’t right to see the names.
“Cyth,” my voice catches in my throat, “this one is Lake View Drive.”
“Yeah, but my cousin lived on Polk Drive, which was attached to Polk Circle as well as Polk Lane.” She only has to walk a few steps before she points to the next street. “There. Mountain View Drive,” she reads. The third street attached to the park is on the opposite end of the park, its name is out of view.
“This is it,” I tell her. I can feel it.
“824,” we say the house number together before starting across the grass and walk.
The row of houses is long enough that I can’t see the end of it. They’re identical with their white paint and sage green trim. A sign stuck in the grass reads, Woodhill Townhomes.
“Holy crap,” Cytha says, her hand over her mouth. “it’s exactly how you said.”
I laugh and link arms with her, pulling her along. “I know, it’s disturbing. It’ll wear off.”
We walk halfway down the row of townhomes until we reach number 824. We stop in front of the little house. “Now what?” Cytha asks.
“I don’t know. We didn’t really plan past finding the place.”
“Well, we found it. What do you normally do?”
I turn away from the house to gawk at her. “I don’t normally do anything. Whatever’s going to happen just happens. Cyth, this may be the right place, but there’s no snow beneath our feet. You aren’t holding my hand. I’m not cold and feeling as if I know what needs done. Right place. Wrong day.”
Her shoulders slump. But she sets them right and straightens her head. “Well, I’m not leaving with nothing.” She drops her arm linked through mine and starts up the walkway.
“Cytha Sholey! What are you doing?”
She reaches out and rings the bell. A nervous giggle bubbles from my mouth and I look about, searching for anything I can hide behind. But the trees in this new development aren’t big enough to hide all of me. So I stand back on the sidewalk like an idiot, watching.
A woman maybe fifty or sixty with short curling hair and pale skin opens the door.
“Hi,” Cytha says, her tone overly friendly, “is this Finn’s house?”
I slap my hand over my mouth. I can’t believe she just said Finn’s name.
“No, I’m afraid not.” The woman peeks around Cytha to me for only a second before focusing on my friend again.
“Really?” Cytha shakes her head like she’s confused and I wonder why she never joined the thespian club. “I swear this is the address he gave me. What was your name?”
The woman crosses her arms. “Did you say Finn?”
“Yeah.”
She shakes her head. “I don’t think a Finn lives on this block. I know most of my neighbors.”
Cytha sighs. “Huh. I’ll call him. Thanks, what was your name?”