by Sarra Cannon
And what good were words, anyway—she had no one left to talk to.
But she still had a goal. Find Louisa and figure out what the hell had sent her off the rails. Then get to Dani.
She pulled off the road at a public rest stop, where the sign said the bathrooms had showers. She took her bag of toiletries inside and showered while standing in her dressy sandals, turning the water as hot as she could to try and wash away the vestiges of their lovemaking. Afterward, she had no towels, so she let herself drip dry for a few minutes before putting her sundress back on. It stuck to her skin in odd places, but she didn’t care. Back in the Westie, she wriggled on a fresh pair of underwear.
Next, nap. She couldn’t drive for much longer on no sleep. So she sprawled out in the front seat, using her book bag for a pillow. No way in hell would she bring herself to lie in the back, where the bench seat was still converted into the bed, where the pillows and blankets were still lying there, rumpled, probably still smelling like him.
But the book bag wasn’t so bad. Sleep beckoned her, and she’d slept in worse conditions than this.
A few hours later, however, when a hard rapping on the window woke her and she shot up with a terrible crick in her neck, the book bag didn’t seem so innocuous. It slumped to the floor as she sat up, staring bleary-eyed at the large, bearded man peering in her driver’s side window.
“What?” she said, checking to make sure the door was locked. She wasn’t about to open the door to any random trucker that stopped by.
“You all right?” he called through the window.
She raised an eyebrow. “Fine,” she replied, straining her hoarse voice and adjusting her sundress. “You need something?”
He gave her a thumbs-up and a grin through the glass. “No, nope. Just checkin’ to make sure you weren’t dead in there. You know where you’re going, sweetheart?”
The sun bore down on them from high in the sky, and the Westie was crossing the line between toasty and oven-like. Hallie stuck the key in the ignition and started the engine, then cranked the window down a fraction.
“You wouldn’t happen to know of any good camping grounds around here, would you?”
He beamed. “I sure do, ma’am. I’m very familiar with this route, myself. There’s some nice grounds a little ways up the highway if you’re headed west. Trellis Park, it’s called. Borders on the prettiest little lake you can get up here in the hills, clear and blue with the mountains coming up in the background. Perfect for a nice picture.”
She nodded, thanking him, and he tipped his cap at her before strolling back to his truck.
Trellis Park. She knew that name. And from the description, she’d been there before, stood at the edge of the clear blue lake and seen the evergreen snow-capped hills reflected in its surface—
Hallie dove for her book bag and shook it upside down until Louisa’s envelope fell out. She dug inside it for the old photographs, then flipped through them in search of the one photograph she needed…. And there it was. Hallie and Dani posing in front of that lake with toothy grins, one short and the other tall, though both still gangly teens.
Louisa had loved it there. It was where they returned to every summer to spend the fourth of July amid park regulars, cooking hot dogs and roasted corn in the fire pit. It was where Hallie and Dani had each had their first kisses (with the Parker twins, behind the shower cabin). And it was where she and Dani had returned to, once or twice, in search of Louisa. Could she be there now?
She put the Westie in gear. There was, of course, only one way to find out.
— —
After Hallie left, Matthew stood in the middle of the hotel room for far too long, still reeling, so stunned that he was almost numb. Maybe he had to be numb in order to handle her leaving.
But the more he thought about it, the more hollow his chest became, and the more anger rose inside him to fill the gap she’d left. Anger not at her, though he was hurt that she could doubt his feelings. No, this was anger at Jacob, and at the Guardians, and even—irrationally—at Emmaline, for corrupting what existed between himself and Hallie.
He loved her. In the purest, truest way. There was no question in his mind that she drove him crazy with her neuroses, but that he loved how strong she was, how she persisted. How despite everything she’d gone through, she still believed in love, still had the faith and hope necessary to choose him or search for her family.
And then, of course, he’d stomped all over that, hadn’t he? He was furious with himself, too.
Now… who knew where she’d gone? Why hadn’t he followed after her, trapped her in the room and forced her to listen to reason?
From the window, the parking lot was visible. The Westie was gone, as he’d expected. With a groan, he hurled himself onto the bed, landed on something hard, and winced. He reached behind him and pulled out Louisa’s set of keychains.
He lay there, examining the cluster of plastic doodads and tiny plush animals and things that lit up, or flashed one of the girls’ names, or made squawking noises. Louisa had been so many places. Not unlike Matthew. But unlike Matthew, she’d documented her travels. Probably in part for the girls—so they’d remember everything, too. Everything he’d learned about Louisa said she wasn’t a bad person, just flighty. After all, he had to be grateful to her for the fact that she’d saved Hallie, all those years ago. And whether either of them wanted to admit it or not, she was still looking out for Hallie now.
Matthew sat up. He had to find her. If he found Louisa, he would find Hallie. And hell, maybe Louisa could knock some sense into her, too, if he could explain the situation. Make her realize that he loved Hallie, and would take care of her for the rest of his life. (Which, at this point, he could assure her was a really long time.)
And Jacob… He hadn’t killed her yet, but that was no guarantee. Matthew hadn’t forgotten his threat to kill her slowly, to let him watch. He was a sadist. It would be just like him, to make Hallie hate him before killing her in front of him.
For one wild moment he imagined her being held down, stabbed, screaming for his help—like Emmaline…
His grip tightened on the keychains and one poked at his palm. It was shaped like a mountain with little light up fireworks, and it read: Trellis Park: Family Fun By Firelight! He flipped through the keychains and found several more Trellis Park novelty ones, each with some variation of fireworks, or American flags, or other Independence Day symbols.
He typed “Trellis Park” into the search bar on his phone. It wasn’t far, just a few hours inland.
It was as good a place as any to start.
Chapter 27
When Hallie pulled into the Trellis Park campgrounds, she was prepared for the admiring stares the other campers cast on the Westie, but she wasn’t prepared for the rush of memories that overwhelmed her as she parked and stepped out into the breeze.
Everything, from the swampy smell of the lake to the scent of woodsmoke, the sound of children laughing and the sight of the breeze on the lake, threw her back in time, to the days when she’d been one of those kids herself, pretending she wanted to lay out and tan with Dani when what she really wanted was to splash in the water, catch fireflies, and maybe get the attention of one of the Parker twins—in short, do all the childish things she hadn’t been able to in the years since her mother died.
She pulled out the one photograph she had of Louisa. It was from the set she’d been sending to Hallie’s father. She had handed the camera off to someone else and was posing in her swimsuit with Hallie and Dani, like Charlie’s Angels. Her face was small in the photo, but maybe it would be enough.
Hallie crunched through the gravel in the road, toward the lake where a group of families were sprawled in the sand, having lunch. She hadn’t bothered to change from her pretty sundress or strappy sandals, so she was way overdressed. They all looked up at her, bemused, as she approached.
“Hi,” she said. “Sorry to interrupt. I’m Hallie. I was just wondering if any o
f you had seen this woman? She’s a relative and I’m trying to get in touch with her.”
She passed the photograph to the kind-looking woman nearest to her, who studied it, frowning.
“This looks a bit like that woman who’s by herself, over by the showers … Craig, look at this, what do you think?”
Craig, a stout man with a farmer’s tan, took the photo.
“Yeah… It does look like her, but younger and with a bit more hair.”
Slowly, the photo made the rounds of the group and they all agreed: Louisa looked like the older woman who lived alone in a camper by the showers: people knew her because she always sat outside and waved at people as they went into the bathroom. They thought she was a little strange, but probably just lonely.
Her heart thrumming, she thanked them all, and then jogged back up to the road, her sandals the only thing stopping her from breaking into a straight run.
She spotted her from a distance first, at an angle that allowed Hallie to see without being seen. The grounds sloped gently upward from the road, and she watched as a thin, brittle-looking woman trudged upward from the water fountain to the RV at the top of the hill, carrying a bucket. She wore a bandana on her head, and as Hallie jogged toward her, she realized it was because she was bald.
Louisa wiped away the sweat dripping off her brow, so focused on carrying the bucket of water in her halting way that she didn’t hear Hallie approaching behind her.
“Here,” Hallie said gently, as she approached. “Hi. Let me help.”
The bucket was barely half full; Hallie carried it to the RV easily, stopping at the door and keeping her face averted while she asked, “Should I fill up the tank?”
“Please,” Louisa said, “thank you so much.”
The inside of the RV smelled like freesia—the scent of Louisa’s favorite perfume—mixed with freshly cut grass and the barest hint of something sour… The scent, Hallie somehow knew, of sickness. Dying.
She filled the tank and exited the RV to find Louisa standing there, hands on her hips. Hallie stopped in the doorway, staring back.
“Hi,” she said finally, because Louisa seemed unable to do anything but stare at her face, face tight and pale, studying her as if Hallie would disappear if she looked away. “I didn’t mean to be rude by dropping in on you like this,” Hallie said. “But to be fair, I didn’t have much of a choice.”
Someone down by the lake shrieked in laughter. It was quiet here, on her hill.
“No, you didn’t,” Louisa said finally, her voice strong but wavering. She dropped her hands from her hips and rounded the folding chair between them. And then she grabbed Hallie’s shoulders and pulled her into a fierce hug. Hallie didn’t reciprocate, simply stiffened and let herself be hugged by the woman who’d once been her closest confidant, a loving parent, and who now was a stranger, sick and old and dying.
“I’m glad you’re here,” Louisa said, pulling back. “You look so, so beautiful, Hallie.”
Up close, Hallie could see the fine lines that had aged Louisa’s once radiant, sun kissed face. She held the gaze of those bright, blue-green eyes, which were Dani’s eyes, too. They had faded with age and maybe sickness, to the shade of well-loved jeans.
Hallie opened her mouth to speak, but before she could figure out what to say, fresh tears welled up in Louisa’s eyes, and she pulled Hallie into another hug.
“I am so sorry, Hallie,” she said. “I can’t help it. I’m so glad to see you… and so, so sorry I ever left.”
The regret in her voice was almost tangible, so real Hallie might have reached out and held onto it. What could she say? “It’s okay” seemed all kinds of wrong. And the longer she waited, the more panicky she felt, the more her eyes burned and stung, until the lump in her throat threatened to burst.
“Dani’s sick,” Hallie managed, stumbling backwards and tearing herself from Louisa’s grasp. To her horror, tears began to spill from her eyes, too. “And you’re sick. And Dani’s hospital can’t get ahold of you. Brockhurst can’t get ahold of you.”
Though she’d imagined delivering these words with more fury, more force, there was no room for anger left inside her, not with Louisa’s arms around her, the scent of her perfume and woodsmoke whorling around them and filling her up with memories of happier times… times she couldn’t get back.
Louisa nodded, sniffling, trying to regain composure. She ushered Hallie into the second folding chair. It was covered in leaves and dirt, which meant it didn’t get used much, but Louisa always believed in welcoming company, even if her home was half-outdoors.
Louisa lowered herself delicately into the other folding chair and took a deep drink from the water bottle in the little cupholder. Her hands still trembled.
“Would you like a soda or something? There are a few in the cooler.”
Hallie’s stomach cramped and rumbled at the thought of something to eat or drink. It had been a long time since dinner, or the champagne, and all that sloshed in her stomach was water. She gratefully pulled a soda from the cooler and popped it open.
“How are you feeling?” Hallie asked.
“I’m all right,” she said. “Not good. But I’ve got some time left in me, if I’m careful. How did you find me here?”
Hallie gave her the shortened version of the story, her journey from Abingford to the hospice home, then to her father’s house, to the resort town, and then finally to Trellis Park. She glossed over the tricky parts related to Matthew, but she included her encounter with her father.
When she was done, Louisa was wide-eyed. But none of that mattered. None of it came close to the question Hallie really needed an answer to.
“Louisa… Why did you leave us?”
Louisa took a deep breath, as if steeling herself. And when she spoke, it was like she’d rehearsed the answer, had been preparing it for ages.
“That year, I’d been sick. Bleeding more than usual, you know, down there. I thought it was maybe some weird menopausal thing at first, but when I went to the gynecologist, she found a mass. And so I had some blood tests done, and they sent me to an oncologist, who did more scans and more tests, and they told me that I had cancer in four different places in my body.
Hallie cast her mind back, trying to remember evidence of Louisa’s illness. “How did we not know about any of this?”
“I scheduled my appointments in different cities, and went to them while you two were off shopping or exploring or something. We kept moving, kept doing all the same things, so you never noticed a difference.”
“No,” she agreed. “We didn’t. What did the doctor tell you?”
“He suggested surgery, and lots of it. I explained our situation and he told me that it was time we all settled down, and that I had better make arrangements for you both because the process would be long and painful, and I might not make it anyway.”
“What did you tell him? I mean—how did you decide?”
Louisa took another gulp of water and wiped her brow. The heat was bearing down on them now, and only the breeze from the lake made it bearable.
“I didn’t want to die. I still don’t. But fighting the cancer meant uprooting your rootless lives, if that makes any sense, and I didn’t want that, either. I lived that life, the normal life that everyone has where they live in a nice house and go to a nice school and grow up to be fine, nice, bland people with their bland lives and their intolerance for anyone who isn’t like them, who likes a little color in their life.”
This was a speech Hallie knew too well.
“And more than that, Hallie,” she said, her voice softening, “I knew that if I died I didn’t want to do it in front of you.”
“What?”
“Do you remember that day, when we found you?”
She remembered it in flashes—probably, she now realized, due to being sunburned and dehydrated, dirty and emotional and sleep-deprived.
“You were so…” Louisa said, a frown creasing her brow as she remembered, “quiet
. Just watching us while you ate, while we talked. You didn’t say more than yes, no, please, and thank you for days. And then finally, when I asked you for the fifth or sixth time what your father’s name was, you told me. And when I asked you if you wanted me to call him, or take you home, you freaked out. You yelled ‘No,’ then pushed me hard” —Louisa mimed pushing someone— “and took off running, out of the restaurant and down the street. Do you remember that?”
She did now. Dani had chased after her and caught her at a busy intersection.
“Yes. Dani told me it would be all right, that you wouldn’t take me back where I didn’t want to go. She said I was safe. And I—” She faltered.
“You told her that you thought you were safe at home, too. And that was a lie.”
Hallie stared at her knee. Her sundress had developed a little tear, and she picked at it. “I was a kid. I was distraught.”
“Yes,” Louisa agreed. “But that was the moment I knew I couldn’t just give you up, call child protective services and leave you for someone else to handle. I don’t believe in much but I do believe in signs, and in the spirit, and in fate—and it was fate that Dani found you that day, lying in that hot dog stand.”
“Surrounded by the ketchup packets,” Hallie added softly, and Louisa laughed, though her eyes were watery and red. It was a detail they liked to include in every retelling. The nice retellings, the ones they shared with friends, the ones that didn’t include how Hallie was half-starved and skittish, silent with fear and distrust.
“You were as much my daughter as Dani,” she continued. “You always have been. My two girls, I love you so much. But Dani—Dani had already been through hardship. I knew she was a survivor. I regret so many of things about the life I put her through before we went on the road, when she was still a little girl. And I just didn’t want to put you through anything else. I felt like you still had a chance to be okay. To not become hard and wild, like Dani. I didn’t want to turn you into a survivor… I didn’t want you to have to watch me die.”
