by Amber Garza
But the transaction that surprised Whitney the most was one from earlier this week. Amelia had withdrawn three hundred dollars.
Whitney sat back in her chair.
What would Amelia need that much money for?
Heat snaked up her spine. There was only one thing that came to mind. Something Amelia could’ve done with all that money. She turned to her friend.
“Oh, my God. I think Amelia may have run away. And I think I know where she went.”
6
SEVEN WEEKS
BEFORE DROP-OFF
IT WAS QUIET. Eerily so.
Whitney walked slowly down the hallway, listening intently. When she reached Amelia’s bedroom door, it was open a sliver, enough for her to peek one eye through. Amelia and her new friend were sitting on the floor facing each other, legs crossed. When Lauren got here earlier, Amelia had barely taken the time to introduce her before the two scurried off and hid away in Amelia’s room. They sat so close their bare toes were practically entwined. With heads bent inward, they talked in low, hushed tones. A chill pricked the back of Whitney’s neck. It felt like she was encroaching on something private and intense. Usually, when Amelia had friends over, she’d find them in her room blasting music and dancing around. Amelia loved to dance. And be silly. This was new. Different. She swallowed hard and stepped back, the floor creaking beneath her feet.
Both of their heads snapped upward, their gazes shooting in Whitney’s direction.
“Mom?” Amelia called out.
When Amelia was a little girl, the word mom rolled off her tongue with such affection, it made Whitney warm and fuzzy inside. Today it sounded like a curse word. Whitney’s shoulders tensed.
Drawing in a breath, she pressed the door open all the way and stepped inside. “I was just checking to see if you girls wanted a snack or something.”
“If we wanted a snack, we would’ve gotten one,” Amelia said with annoyance.
“I’m good right now, but thank you for the offer,” Lauren said, wearing an apologetic smile.
Why was a stranger treating her better than her own daughter?
Whitney’s gaze shot to Amelia. She was on her phone, typing something with her thumbs.
On the ground near her knee was a smattering of papers. They appeared to be printed from a web page. Some of the words were highlighted.
“Are you guys doing homework?” Whitney asked, taking a step toward them. Amelia hadn’t told her much about Lauren. She didn’t even know what class they had together.
After lowering her phone, Amelia gathered up the papers. “It’s...no, it’s not homework.”
Pink spots had appeared on Lauren’s cheeks.
“What is it, then?” Whitney asked, curiosity piqued.
“Have you heard of the Enneagram?” Lauren adjusted the glasses on her nose. Whitney mused again at how different she seemed from Amelia’s other friends. Quieter. More subdued. Serious.
“The what?”
Amelia blew out an irritated breath.
“The Enneagram,” Lauren repeated, ignoring the exasperated look on Amelia’s face. “It’s kind of a personality test.”
“Oh, like Myers-Briggs or something?” Whitney nodded, remembering how she’d taken that test back in college when she and Dan were dating.
“No, it’s not really like that,” Amelia said, throwing her new friend a knowing look, as if to say, You never should have involved my mom.
It irked Whitney the way she acted like they were in cahoots. Amelia barely knew this girl. With Becca, Whitney never felt like the odd one out. She and Becca didn’t used to hole up in Amelia’s room, sit close and whisper. Whitney would take them to the mall, the movies, out to eat. Or they’d stay here and all watch TV together. Whitney was often included. Becca may have been Amelia’s best friend, but Whitney was her mom. The person who knew Amelia better than anyone.
At least she thought she had.
“Same concept, though,” Lauren said.
Whitney nodded, grateful for how gracious Amelia’s new friend was being. Maybe she wasn’t so bad, after all. Whitney had been skeptical. Honestly, she wasn’t prepared to like her. She was still hoping this was all a passing phase and Becca would be back before she knew it.
“What class is it for?” Whitney asked.
“I already said it wasn’t homework,” Amelia said, her tone impatient.
Right. “Then why are you doing it?” Amelia usually hated stuff like this. Becca had once tried to get her to play some game on Facebook to see what kind of animal she would be, and she said that tests like that were silly. A waste of time. She even refused to see the career counselor when Whitney had suggested it. Said she could figure things out on her own.
“Everyone does it,” Amelia said at the same time Lauren said, “To see how alike we are.”
There was probably truth to both answers, but Lauren’s rang the truest to Whitney.
Why would they be taking a test to see how alike they were?
“We flunked.” Dan laughed.
“What?” Whitney peered over his shoulder at the relationship quiz they’d just finished. “Can you even flunk a compatibility test?”
“Apparently, you can because we did.” His laughter increased.
She wanted to laugh along, but she didn’t find it funny. Odd that Dan did.
“You’re not worried?” she asked him.
He quieted down, his expression smoothing out. Wrapping his arms around her waist, he drew her close. “I don’t need a test to tell me we’re compatible.”
“Well, that’s good because it didn’t,” she joked, only it came out sounding more like a warning. Maybe it was.
“Hey.” He kissed her forehead, the simple act causing some of her fears to dissipate. “We’re different. I’ve known that since the moment we met. But we make it work. We’re good together.” She lifted her head, their eyes meeting. “Right?”
“Right.”
Amelia and Lauren both stared at Whitney as if willing her to leave.
Taking the hint, she offered a small smile. “Just let me know if you two need anything,” she said, backing out of the room. Before the door had even shut, they’d already scooted closer to each other again.
Was it possible that Lauren was more than a friend?
* * *
Whitney dipped the thick slice of bread into the egg batter and then tossed it onto the skillet. It sizzled, emitting a sweet buttery scent. That smell had the power to transport her back. Not only to all the mornings she’d made it for Amelia, but back to her own childhood.
Growing up, her dad was in charge of breakfast on Saturdays. He’d wake up early to go running while her mother slept in. He’d be back and showered by the time Whitney and her brother, Kevin, would shuffle out of their rooms in their pajamas, blankets fisted in their hands. Then they’d lie on the couch and watch Saturday morning cartoons while their dad whipped up eggs and French toast. Once their mom got up, they’d all gather around the kitchen table. It was Whitney’s favorite time of the week.
That’s why she’d gotten so angry when everything fell apart, when Kevin’s illness stole the one time of the week her family was all together.
Kevin coughing, struggling for breath. Her parents gathered around him. Ingredients for the breakfast her dad was about to make were strewn all over the counters. Whitney knew it was only a matter of time before it would be put away and her parents would tell her to grab a bowl of cereal or something, to fend for herself.
She looked longingly at the table, fantasizing about them all sitting together, forks full of syrupy toast. Her dad regaling them with stories of his week, her mom smiling and laughing, encouraging him.
The blue flame caught her eye. It danced below the pan. Her dad must’ve left it on. She reached out, her fingers lighting on the knob. But then
she stopped, a thought forming. Gathering up courage, she steeled herself for what was to come.
Carefully lifting her hand, she pressed her palm down against the inside of the pan, skin sizzling. She could only bear it a few seconds before screaming out in pain.
“Oh, my God. What happened?” Her dad spun around, eyes concerned, trained on her. Only her.
“I was only trying to make breakfast.” Her little lip trembled. “I was just trying to help.” From over her dad’s shoulder, her gaze met her brother’s.
Take that, Kevin.
Clearing her throat, she shook away the memories, flipped the bread.
Her cell sat faceup on the counter, black screen staring up at her. It had been a couple of weeks since she’d talked to her dad. Her mom called every Saturday. But her dad spent Saturdays out golfing, and in the evening was either grabbing a beer with his buddies or at home relaxing, too tired for a phone conversation. She made a mental note to call and try to catch him sometime this week.
For a time, she’d had the perfect childhood. Doting, attentive parents. Especially her dad. They were tight when she was little. He’d read her bedtime stories every night, often inserting their names into the text to make her laugh.
Dad was the strongest superhero in the world.
Princess Whitney was beautiful.
He taught her to ride her bike, took her on trips to the zoo and Fairytale Town in Land Park. She’d spend hours sliding down Mother Goose’s slide, her dad catching her at the bottom, or running along the yellow brick road. And on Sundays, the two of them often took a walk to the doughnut shop around the corner. She’d always get a maple bar, though she was only able to eat half. But that was okay. Dad didn’t mind finishing it off for her. In fact, Whitney was certain he looked forward to it.
But slowly all of that went away.
The trips to the zoo, the riding of the bikes, the doughnut shop walks and eventually even story time.
All gone.
For most of her life, she’d blamed her brother’s illness for the demise of her family. But she knew that wasn’t entirely fair. Whitney had made decisions that irrevocably changed things. And now it seemed the relationships were too broken to fix.
A burnt smell wafted under her nose.
Shit. She pulled the half-blackened piece of French toast off the skillet and tossed it onto the plate with the others.
As Whitney reached for another piece of bread, the hairs on the back of her neck stood at attention. She spun around. Lauren stood in the doorway of the kitchen wearing a T-shirt and pajama pants, her hair piled high on her head in a messy topknot. She was leaning against the doorframe, her eyes narrowed behind the lenses of her glasses.
Whitney shivered. How long had she been standing there?
“Good morning,” Whitney said, clearing her throat.
“Good morning.” Lauren smiled, pushing off the wall and stepping into the kitchen. “Can I help with anything?” Her face was shiny, eyes bright.
“Um...” Whitney glanced around. “Nope. I’m actually almost done. Can I get you anything to drink? Orange juice? Milk? Water?”
Her gaze drifted to the coffee maker, half-filled. “Do you mind if I have a cup of coffee?”
“Sure, I guess.” After wiping her hands off on a nearby towel, Whitney took a mug out of the cabinet and moved over to the coffee maker. Whitney hadn’t started drinking coffee until she had Amelia. Living off of three hours of sleep, caffeine was a must. Oh, well, I’m not Lauren’s mother. Whitney poured hot coffee into the mug and then turned toward Lauren. “Would you like creamer or anything?”
“No, black is good.”
“Ookay.” Dan used to drink his coffee black, too, but Whitney put so much creamer in hers it was more of a tan color. She often joked that she’d like some coffee with her creamer.
As Lauren sipped on her cup of straight caffeine, Whitney went back to making the French toast.
“So, have you lived here long?” Whitney asked after a couple of minutes of silence.
“No. Not long.”
“Where did you move from?”
“Oh.” Lauren shrugged, both hands wrapped around her mug. “We’ve lived a lot of places.”
Not really an answer. “Like where?”
“Sorry I slept so late.” Amelia walked into the kitchen, red cheeks, her mouth open in a yawn, her hands high above her head. It reminded Whitney of when she was younger and she’d crawl in bed with her on Saturday mornings, sleep-drunk.
“Actually, you’re right on time. Breakfast is made.” Whitney slid the plate of French toast in front of Lauren.
“Mo-o-om,” Amelia whined. “You know I’m trying to watch my carbs.”
Is that what she was doing this week? Whitney couldn’t keep up with her ever-changing dieting fads.
“Well, I’m gonna have one.” Lauren reached out to grab the one on top. Her nails were painted the same dark color as Amelia’s.
Amelia eyed her friend momentarily, then shrugged and plopped down next to her. “I guess one won’t kill me.”
Impressive. Lauren had the power of persuasion.
“Do you smoke?” A cocked eyebrow, a lit cigarette burning between two fingers.
Nope. Never. It was a disgusting habit Whitney never planned to partake in.
Eyes drinking her in, watching her every move, urging her to say yes.
“Sure. Of course. Always.” Whitney took the cigarette and brought it to her lips.
Whitney ate her French toast while standing over the counter. She knew her presence at the table would put a damper on the lively conversation happening between the girls. It was the most animated she’d seen Amelia in over a month. They both ate their first piece of toast and then reached for another, passing the syrup between them. Becca usually stuck to one piece when she was over. It was nice to see Amelia actually eating.
Maybe Lauren was all right.
Once finished with her breakfast, Whitney ambled over to the coffeepot and poured herself a second cup of coffee, topping it off with a generous amount of creamer. The neighbor was in his kitchen again, wearing flannel pajamas and cooking something on his stove.
“Did you ask your mom yet?” Lauren asked in an overly loud whisper that was obviously meant to be overheard.
Keeping her back to the girls, she sipped her coffee and absently watched the guy across the way.
“Oh. Right.” Amelia swallowed loudly. “Mom, do I have a passport?”
“A passport?” Whitney peered over her shoulder.
“Yeah.” Amelia nodded.
Whitney set down her cup of coffee, thinking maybe she’d had enough for today. Her hands were slightly shaky, her nerves frayed. “Why do you need a passport?”
“I can’t get to Amsterdam without one.” Amelia laughed like Whitney was being daft.
About a year ago, Dan had gotten an offer to head up a project his construction company was starting overseas. Ever since her dad left, Amelia had been begging Whitney to let her visit him. Recently, Dan had called to say that he was taking a couple of weeks off this summer and that would probably be a good time for Amelia to come.
But Whitney wasn’t so sure it was a good idea.
Amelia had never traveled at all, let alone to another country. The mere idea of it made Whitney nervous.
“No, you don’t have a passport,” Whitney said.
“You better start the process now, then. They can take a while. If you wait, the baby might come first.” Lauren winked at Amelia over her plate of syrupy toast.
“Baby?” Whitney’s heart pounded, her gaze reflexively shooting down to Amelia’s stomach, hidden under the table. “What baby?”
Amelia’s eyebrows shot up. “Dad didn’t tell you? Karen’s pregnant.”
Her dejected tone caused Whitney to rein in the
relief she felt at the fact that the baby wasn’t Amelia’s. But when her words registered, confusion filled her. “Really?”
“Yep.” Bitterness tainted Amelia’s tone.
Whitney had talked to Dan recently. Why hadn’t he told her? “How far along?”
“I don’t know. A couple of months, I think. He told me last week.”
On the counter, Whitney’s phone buzzed. Leaning over, she clicked on the screen.
It was a text from Jay.
Good morning.
Her lips curled upward at the corners as she typed back, stabbing at the screen of her phone with her index finger. She hadn’t mastered the skill of typing with her thumbs, something Amelia teased her about incessantly.
Good morning back.
“Is that your boyfriend?” Amelia asked, a teasing lilt in her tone.
Was it that obvious? Heat rose to Whitney’s skin. Looking up, she bit her lip. “He’s not my boyfriend.”
Amelia giggled, turning to her friend. “My mom’s dating some guy she met at a bar.”
Lauren’s eyes widened.
Whitney bristled. “Not at a bar. Well, I mean, I was sitting at the bar, but it was in a restaurant.”
It was girls’ night. Whitney was sitting at the bar of the restaurant, waiting on Natalie, who’d been running a few minutes behind. She ordered a glass of zin and sipped it slowly, staring out the window. It had been raining that evening and the sky was a beautiful grayish blue, splatters of water creating a painting-like effect on the glass. Whitney had always loved stormy nights. Loved the edginess of the colors, the tension in the air, the crisp smell of the sky.
She’d been so lost in her thoughts, she hadn’t heard him approach, take the seat next to hers.
“Scotch on the rocks.” His voice was raspy and low, yet had a seductive quality to it. It piqued her curiosity, and she looked over. She was pleasantly surprised by what she saw. Strong jawline dotted with stubble, dark hair, a little unkempt and long, but not in slobby way. It was obvious that it had been intentionally styled like that. Dan had always kept his neatly shorn, no facial hair, except for on vacations when he’d let it grow out a bit. She remembered loving him like that. Made him look younger. More relaxed.
