I woke up in a cold sweat with Toby planked out next to me on the bed, snoring. All my confidence from earlier had evaporated. What if I didn’t find my dad? What if someone ran me off the road and killed me? Why hadn’t I brought someone with me? What if…what if…
As I watched the hours on the clock tick by, my mind played out worst-case scenarios. I’d been so determined to do this alone, but now I regretted it. I’d pushed and pushed myself these past few months, doing what I had to for Mom and me, but I suddenly wondered if I had enough fuel to keep going.
“One last push,” I whispered. I thought of all the races I’d run, and how sometimes the last few meters were the hardest.
I couldn’t give up, not now, not with the finish line in sight.
Chapter Thirty-Two
December 19
It was almost nine in the morning when I woke up from my sleep coma. I couldn’t believe I’d slept that long.
“You’re a lousy alarm clock,” I told Toby, who yawned himself awake as I pushed back the bedspread. His ear flipped inside out as he rolled around the bed, and he grinned at me upside down.
I flung open the drapes. The snow had stopped. A white blanket sparkled in the sunlight, covering the fields as far as I could see. Assuming the roads had been plowed, I should cross the Montana border that afternoon. Then I’d have to sneak onto the private land to find the henge.
And then what? Camp out and wait for Dad? I hadn’t really thought about the details. I’d focused all my energy on sneaking out of town without any unwanted company.
“I need food,” I told Toby. “So do you.”
I was tossing my duffel in the truck when Mrs. Beasley called across the parking lot.
“Sweetheart, come here!” She leaned on her cane in the office doorway.
Toby trotted toward her, tail wagging. He’d trust anyone with dog treats. I caught up to him quickly. She handed me a crumpled paper bag. “There’s a donut in there. And some treats for your dog.”
My eyes widened in surprise. “Thank you.” I opened the bag. Pink icing with sprinkles. What were the odds? It had to be a sign.
“Good luck, honey.”
I smiled tentatively. How did she know I needed luck?
She tilted her head toward my truck. “I saw your license plate. And the logo on your sweatshirt.” I completely forgot I’d worn a Tri shirt yesterday. “I watch his PBS shows. I thought I recognized you from somewhere.”
Stunned, I reached for the heart stone necklace resting against my collarbone.
“I hope you find him,” she said. “He’s a good man. I have all his books.”
“Thank you,” I whispered. Then, impulsively, I hugged her.
Toby and I ran for the truck. I waved as we drove away and she raised her cane in a good-bye salute.
As I crossed the border into Montana, I sagged with relief. “Almost there, Toby.” I reached for my phone to call my mom, but there was no signal. I’d have to keep trying; the last time we’d talked had been over an hour ago.
The article I’d found on Clonemaniac’s website, my favorite reference site, said the henge was on private property and the owner hated trespassers. He even had security guards. But it was supposed to be a spectacular replica. Clone freaks from all over the country risked getting arrested by sneaking onto the property. It was like a badge of honor to post photos and videos of their successful trespassing.
Clonemaniac claimed he’d snuck onto the property three times. He’d described his route in detail; I’d brought a print-out of his directions. Toby and I took an unmarked exit, then parked the truck on the shoulder of the road and found the mile marker where Clonemaniac had begun his trek.
“Maybe I should leave a trail of breadcrumbs,” I told Toby. Though that would be pointless since Toby would eat them. We found the tree stump carved with a small “c” and an arrow pointing the way. Clonemaniac said the property owner tried to paint over the directions that clonehengers painted on trees, but the hengers were always one step ahead of him.
Toby ran like a possessed dog through the woods, thrilled to be out of the truck and able to chase critters. I worried he’d be spotted by security. Clonemaniac said that security was out in full force during full moons and solstices, but the rest of the time it was hard to predict.
Tonight was both.
The wind whipped around us. I zipped my coat up tighter and wished for the hundredth time that Lucas was with me. He still hadn’t responded to my text asking for forgiveness.
I wanted to call him, but reception had been crappy for miles.
Another small “c” and an arrow on a fallen tree pointed up a hill. Toby took off as if he knew where he was going. I slogged up the hill, grateful for my hiking boots. Clonemaniac said the henge was visible from the top of a hill. Snow and mud made the climb tricky, but once I crested the top of the hill, my breath caught.
The henge loomed about two hundred yards ahead of us. Someone had cleared out all the trees, leaving a huge open space in which the stones soared toward the sky like arms worshipping the heavens.
“Oh my God,” I whispered. If Dad had found this, I wondered how it made him feel. Had he found what he was looking for? Did the stones hold some imaginary key that unlocked something inside of him?
Toby ran down the hill, heading straight for the henge.
“Toby, wait!” I called after him, then followed as quickly as I could, stumbling down the hill, grabbing at branches for support. Once on mostly flat ground, I ran after Toby. He hadn’t gone more than thirty yards when he stopped. We were still too far away from the stones for me to see if anyone was there.
“What is it, Tobes?” A barbed wire fence stopped our progress. It looked like miles of fence penned in the henge, keeping trespassers far away from the stones.
“Electric fence,” said a sign. “Cross if you want to be crispy.”
Clonemaniac hadn’t mentioned the fence. The pictures he’d posted online had been from right inside the circle of stones. No way could anyone get that close now, unless they risked electrocution.
Toby sniffed around the base of the fence, hackles up, tail straight out behind him.
I looked at the stones. Even from a distance, they were spectacular.
No one else was here. What exactly had I thought I’d find, anyway? A guest book with Dad’s name in it?
Now what? Should I wait? Maybe Dad hadn’t made it yet. Or maybe he had, and been dissuaded by the fence. I could sleep in the truck, keeping vigil on the side of the road, waiting for him to show up. The wind picked up as I stood there staring at the stones, waiting for a sign from the heavens, or the druids.
Footsteps snapped twigs behind me. I froze in shock when I heard the click of a gun. A voice spoke, low and threatening. “Hold it right there. Don’t move.”
Toby charged toward the owner of the voice, barking and growling.
I spun around to see Toby growling at a man dressed all in black. His beard hid most of his face. He pointed a gun at me, then at Toby, then back at me.
“Call off the dog, or I’ll shoot!”
Fear paralyzed me but I had to do something. “Just let me grab him,” I said. “He’s not dangerous. He’s just protecting me.”
“Ha.” The man kept his gun leveled at me. “Grab him, then. And get the hell off my property.”
I lunged for Toby’s collar. He pulled the other way, determined to go after the threat.
“P-p-lease. Lower the gun. It’s freaking him out.” And me.
The man glared at me, but lowered the gun halfway. “You another of those hippie nuts comin’ to howl at the moon?”
“What? No. I’m just looking for someone.”
“Yeah? Who ya looking for?”
Honesty was my only hope. “My dad. He’s…sort of a clonehenge follower.”
The man snorted. “He and a million other nuts.” He kicked at the ground. “Never woulda built this if I’
d known how many idiots there were.”
My eyes widened. “You built it? You’re the owner?”
“Yep.”
I forced a quavering smile even though I was still shaking. “It’s beautiful. Amazing. I’ve never seen anything like it.”
“Thanks,” he said gruffly. He raised the gun again. “You still need to get the hell off my property.”
Toby started barking again. “Quiet, Toby!”
“Well, God tear it all. Damn dog is smart. Knows when I’m pointin’ the gun and when I ain’t.” He lowered the gun and Toby stopped barking.
“Can I please…” I took a shaky breath. “Before I go can I show you a picture of my dad? Maybe you’ve seen him.”
The man tilted his head. “What’s the matter, kid? Your dad run away from home?”
I swallowed over the growing lump in my throat. “Yes.”
The man scratched his head. “Well, I’ll be. I thought I’d heard all kinds of stories, but that’s a new one.” He rubbed his beard. “All right then. Show me the picture.”
I grabbed my cell from my pocket and pulled up Dad’s photo, one of his many glamour shots. I waited, trembling. I didn’t know what to make of this guy. Clonemaniac said he was a hermit nutcase and to run like hell if you saw him.
Too late for that.
The man pushed my phone back at me. “He looks like one of them TV preachers. And no, I ain’t seen him. So you and your dog need to pack it up and get outta here. Normally I’d call the sheriff, but you don’t seem like a troublemaker.”
I felt tears gathering in my eyes. “You haven’t seen anyone come through here lately?”
He frowned. “Just a bunch of hippies I chased off yesterday. But there was nobody like your dad with them. Just a bunch of kids. They were chasing henges, too. Probably off to the next one on their list.”
I wondered where they were headed. Maybe I could find them and show them Dad’s picture. If they were traveling around looking at henges, they might have seen him.
He gestured with his gun. “Go on, now. I’ll follow you out to where you parked. You’re in that truck, ain’t ya?”
I had no choice but to do as he said. It took forever to hike back to the truck, but Toby pranced around us happily since the gun was holstered. The man watched as Toby and I climbed into the truck.
“Don’t even think about staying, or hiding somewhere thinking you’ll sneak back later and wait for your dad. I got my security guard coming to take over for the rest of the day, and the night. And he ain’t near as nice as me.”
My shoulders slumped over the wheel. How had he guessed my plan?
I started the engine and pulled away slowly. He watched me from the road, arms crossed over his chest. I watched him in the rearview mirror until he was a small dot.
Why the hell had I come up here? What had I been thinking? Everyone was right. I had to accept that Dad wasn’t coming home. Mom needed me. And I needed her. I’d been an idiot to think I could read Dad’s mind and find him based on random postcards. I had to get somewhere with decent phone reception. I wanted to hear Lucas’s voice and remind myself of all the reasons I had to go home.
I crossed the border back into Wyoming. As I got closer to Sheridan, my cell signal came back. I pulled off to the shoulder of the road and called Mom. “I…I’m on my way home, Mom.” I swallowed over the lump in my throat. “By myself.”
“Oh honey,” she said, tears choking her voice, “it’s okay. It’s okay. You’ve done all you could. You were chasing a dream, sweetheart, but it’s time to come home.”
The words hurt, but I knew she was right. It was time to stop chasing dreams. I reached over to pet Toby, taking comfort from his solid bulk.
“How far away are you?”
I paused to calculate in my head. “I won’t get home until maybe eight or so tonight. Maybe later.”
“Is it still snowing?”
“Not really. Just a little dusting here and there. Will you call Charlie for me?”
“Of course, honey.” She paused. “Check in at least every hour.”
“Promise.”
“And Darcy? Will you please call Lucas and convince him you’re okay? That boy is going to drive me to drink, and that’s the last thing we need.” She laughed a little. I could hardly believe she was joking about that, but in a way it felt good. Normal.
And maybe by the time I got home, Lucas would have forgiven me.
“I will. Love you, Mom.”
“Love you too, honey.”
When I called Lucas, he didn’t answer. I listened to his outgoing message, but hung up instead of leaving a voicemail. He might be worried about me, but he still wasn’t ready to talk to me.
My eyelids grew heavy as I drove under the gray skies. I pulled off an exit in the middle of nowhere. Now that I’d given up my search, all the adrenaline that had been fueling me was gone, replaced by overwhelming fatigue and sadness. I set my phone alarm for thirty minutes. Maybe I’d feel better after a quick catnap.
I’ve heard that messages come to people in dreams. It always sounded cool but I never believed it. As I tried to nap, my dreams woke me over and over. I dreamed of Dad, J.J., Mom, Lucas, Charlie, Liz, and Sal. It was like a parade of everyone in my life, each coming by with something important to say. But in my dreams their mouths moved silently. I begged them to speak up, but they couldn’t hear me and I couldn’t hear them.
I’d been dreaming of Dad when my phone alarm jerked me awake. He’d sat cross-legged in the middle of the Stonehenge at our cabin, dressed in a suit, in full stage makeup.
“I’ve been looking everywhere for you,” I’d raged at him. “Everywhere!”
He’d smiled up at me, blissful and unperturbed. “I’ve been here all the time, Darcy. Listening. Just listening to the stones.”
Chapter Thirty-Three
As I drove, I couldn’t shake my dream. I couldn’t stop thinking of the hippies the nutty henge guy had mentioned. What if I could catch up to them somehow and ask if they’d seen Dad? But who knew where they were by now, or which direction they’d headed?
“It’s the people who get up one last time who make it across the finish line,” Dad’s voice whispered in my mind. “The ones who are fallen, broken, even bloody. Everyone else passes them by. It’s often the fastest who give up first. The slow, wounded traveler in the back of the pack keeps going. He passes those who sprinted too fast. In the end, persistence pushes him across the finish line.”
I pulled off to the highway shoulder again and opened Google on my phone. I searched for “Stonehenge in Wyoming.” Nothing. I pulled up the Clonemaniac site and typed in Wyoming. If anyone would know about it, he would.
“Blue Spruce, Wyoming. This henge is pretty cool, considering it’s in the middle of nowhere outside a dead town. It’s on private property but my sources tell me the owner doesn’t really care. It’s probably worth a stop if you’re in the area.”
My heart sped up. I’d seen a sign for Blue Spruce on the highway when I’d been heading to Montana. I pulled up my map to see where it was. It was only about fifty miles south of here, and it was right on my way home since it was just off the highway.
I revved the engine and pulled back onto the highway.
“One last stop, Toby,” I said. “I’ve got to try it.”
Blue Spruce, Wyoming, was a sad little town, if it could even be called a town. Half the shops were boarded up with For Lease signs in the windows. The shops that were open looked like they shouldn’t be. Even the wind blew more fiercely here.
There was one restaurant in the center of the tiny town, Daisy’s Diner. An enormous white-petaled flower with a yellow smiley face center was painted on the window, shining like a beacon in the midst of the other dingy, gray buildings. Someone in there had to know about the local henge.
When I walked in, all the customers looked up. A Christmas tree decorated with glinting lights and paper daisies
stood next to a long counter lined with backless stools, most of which were occupied. It reminded me of Charlie’s, except for the three-tiered rack of pies instead of a covered tray of donuts. How I wished I was sitting at Charlie’s right now, listening to jazz and joking around with Lucas.
Most of the men at the counter looked like farmers, wearing denim and work boots, cowboy hats and baseball hats. A few of them nodded at me, and I smiled shyly.
Daisy bustled over. There was no question it was Daisy since everything on her was a daisy of some sort. Dangling daisy earrings, a huge daisy necklace, hairpins with tiny daisies, and a yellow apron patterned with rainbow-colored daisies.
“What can I do for you, sweetie?” She glanced out the window to my truck. “Are you eating here or getting food to go?”
“Actually, I just need directions to somewhere. But first, could I please use your bathroom?”
She pointed to a narrow hallway running parallel to the kitchen.
I slid off the stool and hurried down the hall. It was a one-holer, thank God. I locked the door and stared at myself in the mirror over the sink. I wondered how the motel lady had recognized me from Dad’s anniversary specials. I looked nothing like that girl. My skin was pale and dark shadows made me look like a raccoon.
After washing my hands, I returned to the counter and slid onto a stool. Daisy was talking to a large sheriff who looked like a sausage stuffed into a too-small uniform.
“What’s our favorite crime fighter up to today?” Daisy asked.
He sank onto a stool. “Oh, not much. Just heading up to Bill Paxton’s property. He wants me to run off a bunch of hippies camping on his land.”
Daisy clucked her tongue. “Well, it’s his own fault. If he hadn’t built that ridiculous Stonehenge, those crazy kids wouldn’t be camping there.”
How (Not) to Fall in Love Page 25
