“Where are ya?”
“I— I don’t know.”
“Whaddya mean ya don’t know?”
“Well, I’m somewhere in Maine.”
“Somewhere in Maine? Ya gotta be more specific than that.”
“Umm… I’m in the south part. We were in Bangor this morning and drove south for about two hours. Umm… I’m at a white house on the abandoned highway a mile west from a gas station.” I realize I’m gripping the desk.
“Is this a joke? I ain’t got time for jokes.”
“Wait, please! Can you at least tell me how much a taxi ride would be from the southern part of Maine to Boston?”
The man erupts into laughter. “Whaddya think we are, a train service?”
“Let’s pretend that I’ll take a lot of short trips in different cabs.”
“Short trips from Maine to Boston would be three, four thousand dollars if I’m low-ballin’ it.”
“What? Did you say four thousand dollars? I don’t have that kind of money!”
“Then I can’t help you, kid.”
“Wait!” But the tone is already dead. I move on to the next number. Out of service. I try another. No answer. Feeling the panic starting to quicken the beat of my heart, I desperately flip to the residential section, choose a random number, and dial.
They answer on the first ring.
“Hello?” It’s a woman’s voice this time.
“Hello! You don’t know me but my name is Amber Sweet and I need your help. I’m playing a concert in Boston tonight and I need help getting there.”
“Oh…kay. What do you want me to do?”
“Can you drive me? Where are you?”
“Who is this?”
“I’m a musician. Listen, can you at least post something on Craigslist for me asking for a ride? Please.”
“Seriously? Call an Uber, lady.”
“I have no internet… unless you want to call one for me?”
“No thanks.”
“Please, help me—hello?”
The phone goes dead again. I hang up and let out a heavy sigh. Rubbing my face, I breathe out the stress before looking at the phone again. There’s one more number I can try. Placing my hand on the phone, I hesitate before dialing one last time. As the phone starts to ring, I realize this is a huge mistake but someone picks up before I have a chance to change my mind.
“Hello?” My father’s voice asks on the other line.
“Dad?”
“Amber, is that you?”
“Yes. Umm… how are you?” I try to sound like I’m not in complete trouble.
“Fine. What are you calling for? Are you in trouble?”
“No,” I lie.
Dammit. I cringe as I wait for him to answer.
“Are you sure? You’re not one to usually call. Is the tour going alright? Because if it’s not, I’d like to be the first to tell you I told you so.”
I purse my lips in anger.
“Actually, the tour is going great. We have a sold-out gig in Boston tonight.”
“You do?” He doesn’t hide the surprise in his voice.
“Yeah… and I just wanted to let you know that the likelihood of us getting a record deal at the Rock Heart Festival is getting higher and higher. So, it looks like I won’t be going back to college this fall.”
“Well, call me again when the summer’s over. We’ll see how high that likelihood is when it’s all said and done.”
I grit my teeth.
“Is that all?” He asks. “You’re not calling for gas money or anything, are you?”
“Nope, that’s all. Bye, Dad.” I hang up before I say something I’ll regret.
Scrunching my face, I rub my heated cheeks. Why I thought calling my father was a good idea, I don’t know. If I mentioned anything related to being kicked out of the band or missing a gig, he’d be laughing in my face. This is exactly what he predicted would happen. I couldn’t give him the satisfaction of being right.
Looking out the window, I can see a glimpse of the abandoned highway beyond the garden. Not a single car has gone by since I’ve been here. The realization that I might be stuck here starts to take shape. All my summer plans are quickly unraveling—no gig in Boston, no east-coast tour, no Rock Heart Festival. A lump forms in my throat as the panic sets in.
Grabbing my stuff, I leave the office. Gabe and Marigold are nowhere to be seen. I head out front and sit on the front porch. If a car comes by, I’ll be ready to run after it.
“They’ll be back,” I whisper to myself. “They have to come back.”
They need me. They can’t play the rest of the tour without me.
A sinking feeling deep inside tells me otherwise. I know Chuck. I know the level of depravity that he’s capable of. I let out a heavy sigh.
“I’m screwed.”
***
I stare out at the road at the end of the long driveway. A breeze blows past, making me realize just how silent it is out here. I keep looking for the sign of a car but there’s nothing. My heart sinks.
Thinking about Chuck and the band hurts. I didn’t think I’d mourn being in such a crappy band with such awful bandmates, but they’re all I have. After spending the last six months planning out the music and the tour, this is what it comes to. Even after Chuck cheated, I thought we could work things out platonically. He told me we could and I believed him like a fool. A heartbroken fool.
Someone pokes me in the ribs and I jump. I turn around to see a young girl with strawberry blond hair. She’s a foot shorter than me and has the same violet eyes as Marigold. I’m guessing she must be nine or ten but it’s hard to tell considering she’s wearing the same green mud mask that Miss Marigold was wearing.
“Did you get to ride on Gabe’s motorbike?” She asks.
I nod. “Y—yes.”
“Damn. He’s never let me ride on it.” The cracks in her mask grow as she speaks. “I saw him leave. Wasn’t sure if he’d come back.”
“Are you his sister?”
She shakes her head. “He’s my cousin.”
“And Marigold’s your mom?”
She nods.
“I’m Rita.” She puts out a little hand.
“Hi, Rita. I’m Amber.” I shake her clammy hand. “So you all live together?”
“Gabe’s just a temporary guest. He’s been here for a few weeks.”
“What does he do in his ordinary life?”
She shrugs. “I think he’s a hockey player. He also built a bunch of houses for people. Oh, he was also a werewolf.”
I laugh. “A werewolf?”
Rita leans in and lowers her voice. “There are people trying to find him.”
“What do you mean? Like police? Or CIA?”
Rita gives me an innocent shrug as a noise interrupts the conversation.
“I see you’ve met my daughter, Rita.” Marigold is standing in the doorway. Her bright orange hair frames her youthful complexion which is no longer covered in dried mud. Her patterned clothes and gold jewelry combine to display a cyclone of colors. She must be in her forties but she looks young for her age.
“She was asking about Gabe,” Rita whispers.
My cheeks instantly burn with heat.
“There’s no harm in being curious.” Marigold smiles. “Rita, would you please go finish your chores?”
Rita mumbles about how “stinky” something is before shuffling into the house.
“Any luck reaching your friends?” Marigold asks.
I shake my head. “Not yet.”
“What’s your plan now?”
“My plan?” Panic grips my heart as I realize Marigold could easily kick me out if she wants. “Umm… I’ll wait and call my band again in a bit. They’re probably just in the dead zone. Once they get a signal they might call me—”
I stop, thinking about how unlikely it is that they’d call me… or that they’ll come back at all. Chuck knew what he was doing when he left me and all my stuff behind.
“I can h
itchhike,” I say.
“Oh, that wouldn’t be wise,” Marigold says. “We don’t get very much traffic out here. Actually, we don’t get any at all! The fact that you’re out here at all is frankly quite baffling.”
Sighing, I bury my face in my hands. “What should I do?”
“Your best option is to stay here and work for me.”
I’m momentarily taken aback. “Work for you?”
Marigold nods. “You can help me do with my chores. This house is quite big and requires a lot of upkeep. You can work off your room and food charges and still make money for a ride. And if not a ride, you can get a ride with Earl.”
“Earl?”
“My delivery guy. He drops food off for us every six to twelve weeks. Same with the gas station down the road.”
I perk up. Finally, some hope. “When is his next delivery?”
Marigold starts counting on her fingers. “Well, he was here a week ago, so he probably won’t be back until… mid-July.”
“Mid-July?”
Marigold nods.
Fudge. Stuck here for two months? The thought of it makes me feel nauseous. The Rock Heart Festival is in mid-July. Not only would I miss Dirty Laundry’s whole east-coast tour but I’d probably miss the festival too! Feeling Marigold’s curious gaze, I push those thoughts aside.
“Can I think about it?” I ask, even though I know I don’t have much to think about.
“Take all the time you need.” Marigold smiles and retreats into the house.
As I sit on the front step, I grab my guitar and clumsily strum it. Several hours go by as I get lost in my thoughts. If I work for a few weeks, I’d have some cash in my pocket. Maybe I could even convince Gabe to give me a lift—if he’s allowed. I could at least get to the main highway and find some way to get to Boston. Then maybe—just maybe—I can get the band back together.
A faraway noise catches my attention.
A shirtless Gabe crosses the lawn toward a pile of wood. He runs a hand through his dark disheveled hair before picking up an ax, swinging, and sinking it deep into a chunk of wood. One by one, he chops the logs into smaller pieces. His body glistens under the late afternoon sun as sweat trickles down his hardened chest. Hypnotized by his movements, I watch him.
“So,” Marigold’s voice jolts me back to the present moment. “Have you made your decision?”
***
I follow Marigold upstairs. We walk down a dark hallway, lit only by a few dim sconces along the walls. Being here makes me feel like I’ve time-traveled to a different era.
“You’ll be in the east wing,” Marigold says. “Rita and I have rooms in the west wing, so if you need us that’s where we’ll be.”
Orange light from the early evening sun shines through a window at the end of the hall, silhouetting a tall, dark figure. I gasp. My eyes adjust and I realize I’m staring at a literal knight in shining armor.
Marigold laughs. “That’s just another one of my artifacts. Spain, 1920. It was a gift for my grandfather.”
We continue down the hallway until Marigold stops in front of a door.
“Here we are. This will be your room.” She smiles as she pushes the door open.
I step inside. The first thing I see is the large bed covered in white floral sheets that almost match my dress. The rounded windows let in copious amounts of light and a breathtaking view of the sprawling forest. The gold filigree detailing around the ceiling and a small crystal chandelier give the room a luxurious feel. The walls are covered in purple satin wallpaper and there’s a vintage vanity facing the bed. The elegant room is a far cry from the dark, dungeon-like tour van. The scent of lavender is also much better than the brew of two unwashed gassy men.
Although I feel somewhat out of place in my combat boots and tattoos, I still feel comfortable. My subconscious warns me not to feel too comfortable. This isn’t permanent. I need to get back to civilization, fast.
“Thank you,” I say. “I really do appreciate this.”
“You can start your chores tomorrow morning.” Marigold smiles. “I’ll have a list of things for you to do.”
“Oh, right. The chores.” I almost forgot.
“As part of your willingness to stay here, you agree to adhere to some of my house rules. Treat this place like your workplace. I would hate to catch my employees doing anything inappropriate. I expect you to be on your most professional behavior. If not, I have no choice but to kick you out. Understand?”
I swallow and nod.
“If you have any questions—”
“Just one.” I nervously shift my weight from one foot to the other. “How long do you think it’ll take me to save up enough money to get to Boston?”
Marigold is ready to say something but holds her tongue. “That depends on how much work you do. We’ll discuss all that tomorrow. Now, find me if you need anything else.”
She smiles reassuringly at me.
“Thanks,” I say.
Marigold nods before leaving and closing the door behind me. I put my backpack on the vanity and place my guitar on the bed. Walking up to the large window, I place my hand on the glass and marvel at the view of the forest which stretches out as far as I can see. It makes me realize just how secluded I really am.
I wonder about the band. Will they play without me? Or will Chuck cancel tonight’s show altogether just so he can go on another bender? How long will I have to stay here? And more importantly, how the hell am I supposed to get back with the band in time for the festival? Will they even want me back?
Standing at the window, I watch as the seconds tick away, closer and closer until our gig is supposed to start. The sun dips behind the horizon, setting the clouds on fire. Not a single light breaks the darkness. I sit on the bed in silence. Tears form in the corners of my eyes and—for the first time all day—I let them fall.
7
GHOST
Gabriel
Throughout the evening, I go back and forth between feeling annoyed that Amber’s still here and thankful that she’s not out in the real world giving my location away. I’m somewhat anxious to see her again but she hasn’t come downstairs since Marigold showed her to her room. Marigold, Rita, and I have dinner without her. The dining room is dim with candlelight.
“Where’s Amber?” Rita asks as she pokes at a plate of peas, mashed potatoes, and pork chops.
“I’m sure she’ll join us when she’s ready,” Marigold says. The candles flicker as a light breeze blows in through the window.
“So, why can’t we talk about Aunt Harlow?” Rita looks at me.
I give her a stern look. “Because life will be better if nobody talks about my parents.”
Rita shrugs. “Who cares?”
“Rita,” Marigold warns. “Gabe wants to remain as anonymous as possible. You will respect that.”
“I’m not going to lie for him.”
“It’s not lying. It’s simply omitting the truth,” I say.
“Gabe is just your cousin—nothing less, nothing more.” Marigold pours gravy onto her mashed potatoes.
Rita scrunches her nose. “But that’s so boring.”
“That’s the way it is. Now finish up your dinner before it gets cold.”
Rita rolls her eyes and pokes at her plate. “How long is she going to be here anyway?”
Curious about the answer, I look up at Marigold.
“As long as it takes for her to find a way out of here,” she says.
“Can’t Gabe drive her somewhere?” Rita looks at me.
I shake my head. “I’m not leaving this place any time soon. I’m sure Victor reported the motorcycle as stolen. If the paparazzi don’t find me, the police will.”
Rita rests her elbows on the table so that she can prop her head up. “I wish I could be famous.”
Marigold laughs. “You really don’t.”
“Why not?”
“It’s not worth it,” I say. “Money can buy lots of stuff but it can’t buy privacy. And b
esides time, that might be the most valuable thing you have.”
“Very insightful, Gabriel,” Marigold says.
I wink at her as I shovel food into my mouth. Rita rolls her eyes. We eat in silence as the candles burn. An acoustic guitar starts playing in the distance. The three of us look at each other.
“I guess she won’t be joining us,” Marigold says. “She must be tired. Maybe we’ll see her at breakfast tomorrow.”
I think back to the crazy day that Amber had. I can’t tell if I’m disappointed or not that she’s not coming down. The soft acoustic music continues to play, floating through the air.
“Isn’t it beautiful?” Marigold asks. “She must be quite the musician.”
“She was in a band,” I say. “She plays guitar and she sings.”
Rita watches me curiously. “Are you going to fall in love with her?”
“Fall in love with her?” I laugh. “Of course not.”
“Why not? She’s pretty and she’d make you more interesting.”
Marigold smirks subtlely as she watches me. “He has his own drama to deal with,” she says.
“What drama?” Rita looks at me.
I shake my head. “Nothing that concerns you.”
Rita doesn’t need to know I’m in a fake engagement with a famous actress.
Rita pokes at her plate. “I think falling in love will make you less…”
“Less what?” I ask.
“Less mopey!”
I laugh. “Mopey? Is that what I’ve been?”
I look at Marigold.
“Well, you have been quite withdrawn. But in contrast, standing next to Amber earlier, you seemed…”
“I seemed what?”
“Peppier.” She grins.
I laugh. “Peppier? What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You’ve just got color in your cheeks, that’s all.”
I shake my head and look away. “You two are crazy. I came out here to be alone and figure my life out. This is just…” I can hear her music as I try to think of a word. “This is just noise.”
“He doesn’t want to fall in love,” Rita says as she looks at her mom. “She’s too cool for him, anyway.”
“Too cool for me?”
“Yeah, she’s got tattoos and plays guitar. What do you do?”
Chase: A Secret Millionaire Romance Novel Page 5
