I tiptoe to the door and peer through the peephole, expecting to see a policewoman or two, uniformed and holding handcuffs, ready to take me to jail. Then I would definitely have to call my parents. No way do I have enough money to bail myself out of jail.
But there’s no police officer on the other side of the door. There’s just a tall woman, with perfectly highlighted light brown hair that’s pulled back into a low bun. She’s wearing a cream-colored T-shirt, dark jeans, a sheer black cardigan, and gold ballet flats. Maybe she’s undercover? She doesn’t look like the type of person who would be sent out to pick up criminals.
“Can I help you, ma’am?” I ask politely. Something shady is definitely going on here, and if she doesn’t identify herself, well, then, I’ll just call 911 and the real police department can get to the bottom of this.
“Yes,” she says. “I think you can help me. I’m looking for Jace Renault.”
“Oh.” I think about it, not sure I want to admit that I know Jace, that he was just here with me last night. What if he’s in some kind of trouble? Of course, he left me, so if law enforcement is looking for him, it would serve him right if I turned him in. But if it is about the car, then there’s a good chance I could get in trouble, too. “Who am I speaking with, please?” I ask.
I watch through the peephole as the woman in the hallway takes a step back, like she can’t believe I’ve asked such a question. “Who am I speaking to?” she asks, moving back toward the door and pounding on it again with her fist. Yikes. We’ve got a live one here.
“I asked you first,” I counter, not wanting her to know that I’m secretly terrified.
“My name is Piper Renault,” she says. “I’m Jace’s mother.”
Oh. Well. I guess that explains it.
• • •
Mrs. Renault isn’t at all like what I imagined. I know it’s stereotyping, but I thought she’d be this really stuffy, sort of boring, plain-looking woman. She’s a professor of women’s studies, so I’d just assumed—I mean, aren’t all those women’s lib people always kind of crunchy-looking? I thought they didn’t like it when women wore makeup or bras or anything that put their sexuality on display.
But Mrs. Renault is really pretty. She’s wearing this amazing shade of lipstick, and I kind of even want to ask her what it’s called, but she’s definitely not in a mood to talk makeup.
When I unlocked the door and let her in, the first thing she did was start barging around my room like she owned the place. “Jace!” she called, opening the bathroom door roughly and peeking in. “Come out! The jig is up!”
Yikes. The jig is up, even. She opened the closet next, but of course Jace wasn’t in there.
“He’s not here,” I say. “Um, he left.” I wish I had some more information to give her because she seems like maybe she’s about to start really tearing this place up, and I don’t want to be the one to get in trouble for it.
“Ha!” she says. She gets down on her hands and knees and looks under the bed.
“I swear,” I say. “Mrs. Renault, Jace isn’t here.”
“Then where is he?” She taps her foot against the floor impatiently, waiting for me to tell her where her son is.
“I don’t know,” I say. “I don’t . . . I mean, I think he’s probably on his way home.”
“On his way home! I truly doubt that.” She looks around the room one more time, and then her gaze settles on me. “So what is this? You two decided to run away together or what? You want to get married or something?”
“Married?” I’m shocked she would even think that. “God, no. We weren’t running away to get married.”
“Then what? Tell me why Jace would skip out on his graduation to be with you!”
“Jace . . . what? He skipped out on his graduation?” I frown. That makes no sense. “Why would he do that?”
“I don’t know!” She throws her hands up in exasperation. “But it’s tonight. Tonight at seven o’clock. Which means that if he’s not on his way home right now, he’s going to miss it!” She looks at the clock and then crosses her arms over her chest.
I take a deep breath. “Mrs. Renault, I’m sorry about Jace and his graduation. And I swear, if I knew where he was, I would tell you. But I don’t. He left here last night, late. He, um . . . we . . . we got into a fight.”
She looks at me and opens her mouth like maybe she’s going to yell at me again, or tell me that she doesn’t believe me, or demand that I tell her everything I know. But at the last moment, her face crumples. She sits down next to me on the bed, just looking down at the floor. After a moment, she wordlessly reaches over and grabs the bag of Combos that’s sitting on my nightstand. She slides her hand into the bag, pulls out a few, and pops them into her mouth.
There’s an awkward silence as she just sits there and eats, and I just sit there being nervous. She holds the bag out to me, and I don’t really want any, but I feel like it would be rude not to take some, and so I eat a couple.
“I was probably too hard on him,” she says. “I pushed him, I know that I did.”
“No,” I say, shaking my head. “I’m sure you were fine.”
“No, I wasn’t. He doesn’t care about school. Yes, he’s smart, and that’s great, but he’s not into all the accolades, all the trappings and things that go along with it. He doesn’t need to impress people.” She dips her hand back into the bag. “Unlike his mother.”
I want to tell her it’s okay, but I don’t. Because honestly, it’s kind of not. I mean, look at my mom—she’s so concerned with putting on a good face, with making people think that she has all kinds of money, and for what? It definitely put a huge burden on her relationship with my dad, and it’s basically ruined our relationship, even though she might not know it yet.
Jace’s family actually has money, so it’s funny how his mom just picked something else to focus on—she wanted everyone to know that Jace was super smart, to parade him around like he was some kind of golden child or something.
“I’m sure you did the best you could,” I say, figuring I need to give her a break. At least she’s here, and at least she’s admitting what she’s done.
Jace’s mom blows out a big breath and then hands me back the empty bag of Combos. “Sorry I ate all your Combos,” she says. “I’ll buy you a new bag.”
“That’s okay,” I say. “I was done with them anyway.” I set the empty bag back on the nightstand. “So you drove all night to get to Jace?”
“No.” She shakes her head. “I took a flight first thing this morning. As soon as the credit card showed the charge at this hotel, I headed for the airport. I was going to drag him back on a flight this afternoon, then get him home and ready for graduation tonight.”
“How did you know what rooms we were in?”
“I told the woman at the front desk that Jace was using my credit card and that it was technically a stolen charge that could be disputed and cancelled unless she told me.”
I nod. “You’re a good mom.”
She sighs. “It doesn’t feel like it.” She reaches into her bag and pulls out her cell phone. “He won’t answer my calls.”
“Well, I’d call him for you, but he probably won’t answer my calls, either.”
“Because you guys had a fight?” she asks.
“Yes.”
She nods, thinking about it. “So if you’re not running away to get married, then what are you doing?”
“Didn’t he tell you?” I ask. “I didn’t have a ride home from the wedding. My ride got—” I grope around for a word. Delayed? Cancelled? “My ride kind of ditched me. And so Jace said that he would drive me home.”
She frowns. “That’s what he told me,” she says. “But don’t you live in Connecticut?”
“Yeah,” I say. “How’d you know that?”
She waves her hand like it should be obvious. “Of course I know where you live, Peyton. Over the winter you were all Jace could talk about. Peyton this and Peyton that.” She looks
at me out of the corner of her eye. “What happened between you guys, anyway?”
I swallow, not sure how much I want to reveal to her. She is Jace’s mom after all, and pretty much a total stranger. But then I think, whatever, screw it. Keeping things from people hasn’t gotten me all that far—I’m stranded in a Savannah hotel room with no money, after all—so maybe it’s time to turn over a new leaf.
“I kept something from him,” I say. “Something pretty big. And when he found out, he got mad and just stopped talking to me.”
She nods. “That sounds like Jace. Unfortunately, he’s a product of his parents. Stubborn like me. Shuts down and avoids conflict like my husband when he really cares about someone.” She gives me a thin smile. “Do you really think he’s on his way home?”
“I really do.”
“Not because he’s excited about graduation, though.”
“No,” I say. “Not because he’s excited about graduation.”
“Ah, well.” She stands up and shoulders her purse, then turns around and looks at me. “Do you . . . I mean, are you okay here? Do you need a ride somewhere?”
I think about asking her to take me to the airport, but then what would I do once I was there? I have no money for a flight, and as soon as that became obvious, she’d most definitely call my parents. Same if I asked for a ride to the bus station. She’d start asking me all those annoying questions adults love to ask, like where I’m going and who’s going to meet me and blah blah blah.
“No,” I say. “My friend’s coming to pick me up.”
“You sure?” She’s standing up now.
“I’m sure.”
“Okay.” She sighs, then turns around and heads to the door. “Thanks, Peyton,” she says. And then she’s gone.
I look at the clock next to my bed. Ten thirty. Only an hour and a half until I need to be out of here. Ninety minutes to come up with some kind of plan. I can do it.
But first, I reach over and pick up the phone. I hesitate for a second, then dial the number that no matter how many times I deleted from my cell, I could never delete from my heart.
It rings, and I hold my breath, hoping against hope that he’ll pick up. But he doesn’t. It goes right to voicemail.
“Jace,” I say. “Hey, it’s Peyton. I wanted to let you know that your mom was just here. She, um, wanted to make sure you were still going to graduation, but she . . . she seemed like maybe by the end of it she wasn’t mad at you. She was just happy that you were okay. At least, I kind of led her to believe you were okay, even though I’m not really sure if you are. Are you okay? I hope so. You should . . . I mean, maybe you should call your mom.”
I hang up the phone.
And then, after a moment, I take a deep breath and head for the shower.
Sunday, June 27, 10:53 a.m.
Richmond Hill, Georgia
I haven’t left Savannah. Well, that’s not exactly true. I’ve left Savannah, but I haven’t gone that far. I drove around for a while last night, going in circles, not knowing exactly what the hell to do. Go back and get Peyton? Say fuck it and go back home? Finally, I ended up at some diner about twenty miles away, where I’ve been sitting for most of the night.
Every five seconds, I change my mind. Go back and get Peyton. Go home and go to graduation. Fuck everything and just sit here for the whole day, then deal with everything later. Why the hell am I suddenly so indecisive? Usually I know exactly what I want and how to go after it.
My phone has been blowing up with phone calls from my mom all night and all morning. So when I’m ordering what seems like my fifteenth cup of coffee, and my phone buzzes with a voicemail, I don’t really give it much thought. Until I look down and see that it’s from a Savannah area code.
Peyton. Maybe she wants me to come back and get her, maybe she’s going to tell me she’s sorry she ever lied to me, that she needs me, that she can’t believe what a horrible thing she did.
I pick up the phone and play the message.
“Jace,” she says. “Hey, it’s Peyton. I wanted to let you know your mom was just here . . . ”
What the fuck? My mom was just there? The thought of Peyton and my mom hanging out makes me want to break out in hives. Also, why did my mom drive all the way to Savannah to find me?
I knew I shouldn’t have used my credit card to pay for the room! She probably tracked it and found out what hotel we were at. I can only imagine how pissed off she must be.
Although from what Peyton said, it seems like maybe my mom isn’t all that mad about graduation—that she’s actually just worried about me. I sigh, feeling like an asshole. I should have at least texted my mom to let her know I was okay.
I pick up my phone and tap out a quick text. Mom, I’m okay. Not going to make graduation, obviously. But I’ll be home soon, and we’ll talk then.
The reply comes almost immediately. Thanks for letting me know, Jace. I love you and I’m so glad you’re okay.
I hold my phone in my hand, wondering if I should call Peyton. She did call me, after all. And even though she didn’t specifically ask me to call her back, it would be rude not to. Wouldn’t it?
Before I can talk myself out of it, I call the hotel and ask for her room. But when they connect me, it just rings and rings. The thought of her leaving makes my throat hurt. I don’t want her wandering around Savannah by herself, with no money and no idea where she’s going. I should never have left her.
I look down to where Hector’s sitting at my feet. He was in the car for the first couple of hours I was here, but when the waitress peered through the window and saw him, she told me I could bring him in as long as none of the customers complained. He’s been chill, Hector—just lying still, his head on his paws. The waitress brought him a plate of sausage biscuits and gravy, which he wolfed down in about two minutes. I think he’s in a food coma.
I don’t know what to do. Go back? Don’t go back?
What I need is some advice. But who can I call? I dial Evan, but he doesn’t answer.
I scroll through my phone until I find Courtney’s number, and before I can think about whether or not it’s a good idea, I push call.
“Hello?” she answers, her voice sleepy. “Jace? Are you okay?”
“Yeah, I’m okay,” I say.
“Jesus!” she says. “Do you know your mom’s been going crazy? She found out you’re in Georgia, and she’s on her way there. I tried to call you, but you weren’t picking up.”
“Yeah, I know. Listen, are you with Jordan?”
“Yeah, he’s right here next to me,” she says. “Why?”
“Can I talk to him?”
“Oh, no,” she says, sounding wary. “Why? Are you involved with drugs or something?”
“No.” I shake my head. “Just . . . can I talk to him?”
“Sure.” I hear the sound of her waking Jordan, the blankets rustling, and then his voice comes over the phone.
“Yo,” he says.
“Hey,” I say. “Remember how you told me about how I had to be honest with Peyton, no matter what?”
“Yeah.” There’s another rustling sound, like maybe he’s sitting up in bed or something. He sighs. “You didn’t do it, did you?”
“How’d you know?”
“I could just tell. You weren’t ready.”
“Well, I think I’m ready now.”
“How do you know?”
“Because I can’t stop thinking about her.”
“Not enough.”
“I would do anything for her.”
“Anything?”
“Yes.”
“Even put yourself out there, giving her the opportunity to tell you to fuck off and stomp all over your heart?”
“Yes.”
“Okay,” he says simply. “Then you need to go get her.”
“But what if—”
“What if nothing,” he says, cutting me off. “If you love her, if you really mean it, then there’s nothing else to talk about.”
/> “There isn’t?”
“No,” he says, sounding exasperated, like maybe I still don’t get it. “You have to just go get her. Enough talking. It’s time for action.”
I swallow. Just go get her. I know he’s right. So instead of even saying goodbye, I hang up the phone and throw some dollar bills onto the table. Then I grab Hector’s leash and slip out the door.
No more talking. It’s time to go get Peyton.
Sunday, June 27, 11:07 a.m.
Savannah, Georgia
I thought I heard the phone ringing while I was in the shower, which made my heart jump and leap, thinking that maybe it was Jace calling me back. I’ll admit that part of the reason I left him that message was because I wanted him to call me back.
I wanted him to call me and be all—“Hey, Peyton, thanks for telling me about my mom, what exactly did she say?” And then I would be all, “She was really worried about you, Jace, but I told her not to be, and then I calmed her down, and by the end, it seemed like maybe she’d even grown as a person.” And then he’d be all, “Oh, my God, Peyton, you’re amazing and way better than my stupid girlfriend Kari, will you marry me?”
I mean, it’s not like I did anything amazing when his mom showed up here, but still. If I’d wanted to, I could have gotten her all riled up and told her Jace and I were getting married because I was pregnant with his love child.
Which actually would have been pretty funny. If she’d been in a different frame of mind, I’ll bet she might have even thought it was a funny joke.
I towel-dry my hair and then dress in a pair of jeans and a red tank top, pulling my still-a-little-damp hair up and twisting it into a loose ponytail. Then I head down to the lobby to grab one of those carts so that I can load all my luggage up onto it.
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