“Visiting or staying?” he asked.

I blinked. “Huh?”

He laughed and nodded once. “Are you visiting town or staying for a while?”

“Oh,” I replied, staring at him for too long without saying anything else. Talk! Talk! “I’m moving. Here. I’m moving here. I’m new in town.”

He raised an eyebrow, interested in the small fact. “Oh? Well.” He pulled the handle of his suitcase with his right hand, moving closer to me. A full-grown grin brushed across his face, and he extended his left hand my way. “Welcome to Edgewood, Wisconsin.”

I looked at his hand and then back up to his face. Pulling my book to my chest, I wrapped my arms around it. I couldn’t touch him with sweaty palms. “Thanks.”

He sighed slightly, yet his grin remained. “All right then. Nice meeting you.” Pulling his hand back to his side, he began walking away toward the taxi that had just arrived at the curb.

I cleared my throat, feeling my heart pounding against Hamlet and Ophelia’s pages, and my mind started to race. My feet demanded that I stand up, so I leaped from the top of my suitcase, knocking it over.

“Are you a musician?!” I screamed toward the banmoy, who was disappearing down the strip. He looked back to me.

“How did you know?”

I took my fingers and tapped them against my novel in the same rhythmic pattern he’d tapped his fingers on the train. “Just wondering.”

He narrowed his eyes. “Do I know you?”

I scrunched up my nose and shook my head back and forth. I wondered if he saw the sweat fly from my forehead. I’d hoped not.

Slowly, his teeth bit down into his bottom lip. I saw his shoulders rise and fall from the small sigh he released. “How old are you?”

“Nineteen.”

He nodded and ran his hand through his hair. “Good. You gotta be eighteen to get in. They’ll make you wear a stamp and they’ll double-check IDs at the bar, but you can listen and stuff. Just don’t try to buy alcohol.” I tilted my head, staring at him. He laughed. Ohhh, what a beautiful sound that is. “Joe’s bar, Saturday night.”

“What’s Joe’s bar?” I wondered out loud. I wasn’t sure if I was speaking to him, to myself, or to those damn butterflies ripping my insides to shreds.

“A…bar?” He voice raised an octave before he laughed. “My band and I are performing at ten. You should come. I think you’ll like it.” He proceeded to give me argumentatively the kindest smile in the world. It was so gentle that it made me cough nervously and choke on air.

He held his hand up to me and smiled as he waved goodbye. With that, he closed his taxi door and he went his own way.

“Bye,” I whispered, watching the car pull off. I didn’t look away until it rounded the corner out of the lot and went far, far away. I looked down to my book clenched in my hands and smiled. I was going to start from the beginning again.

Gabby would have loved this weird, awkward moment.

I just knew it.

Chapter 3

I’m not going to look back,

I’m not going to cry.

I’m not going to even ask you why.

~ Romeo’s Quest

The engine in Henry’s 1998 yellow, rusted pickup truck roared like it was going to explode as he pulled up to the Amtrak station. The station was packed with families traveling, people hugging and crying and laughing. People were diving into the art of human connection.

It all made me uncomfortable.

I sat on top of my suitcase with Gabby’s wooden box in my lap. Running my fingers through my hair, I hoped to avoid the same connections that the rest of the world seemed in search of.

I was melting away in the black thigh-length dress I was wearing, and the night heat of the Wisconsin air crept up unwelcome under my legs. I was burning my butt off in the late night, but I hadn’t thought I would actually have to wait over an hour for Henry to pick me up. I should have known better, but alas. Sometimes I wondered if I would ever learn.

I waited for Henry to inch closer to the curb. His front tire rolled over an empty water bottle. I watched as the plastic bottle quivered under the pressure of the wheel and the cap popped off, flying across the sidewalk, landing against my foot. Pushing myself off my vintage floral case Mom had given me for my sixteenth birthday, I clicked the button and yanked the handle up, rolling the suitcase to the truck.

Ugh, does his car have to be so loud?

Henry hopped out of the car and walked around the front to greet me. His forest-green shirt was halfway tucked into his belted blue jeans. His left shoe was untied, and I could smell the small scent of tobacco resting against his beard, but for the most part, he looked good.

For a split second, he struggled with the idea of hugging me and longing to experience that same human connection the other people surrounding us were undertaking, but he changed his mind after watching me shift around in my heels.

A short chuckle left his lips. “Who wears a dress and high heels on a train?”

“They were Gabby’s favorite.”

The silence grew solid, and the swelling tide of memories started to fill my mind. Henry was probably remembering, too. Different memories of the same extraordinary girl.

“Is that all you have?” he asked, pointing toward my life that lived inside the suitcase. I didn’t reply. What a stupid question. Clearly that was everything. “Let me get that—” He stepped forward to grab for it and I hesitated.

“I got it.”

He sighed, running his hand through his peppered beard. He looked older than he should, but I imagined regret and guilt could do that to a person. “Okay.”

I tossed the suitcase into the back of his truck and walked to the passenger’s seat to climb in. Yanking at the door, I rolled my eyes. I shouldn’t have been surprised that his crap was broken down—Henry was a pro at broken and screwed up.

“Sorry, kiddo. That door has been giving me a bit of trouble. You can climb in from my side.”

My eyes effortlessly revolved again, and I walked to the driver’s seat, climbing in, hoping not to flash the passing cars with my underwear.

We drove in silence, and I imagined that this was what my next few months would be like. Awkward silences. Weird interactions. Odd crossings. Henry might have been the guy on my birth certificate, but when it came to being my father, he wasn’t known for his ability to show up.

“Sorry about the heat. The damn air conditioner went out last weekend. I didn’t expect this type of heat here. Did you know it’s supposed to get close to the hundreds later this week? Damn global warming,” Henry stated. I didn’t reply, so I guess he took it as an invite to keep talking. It wasn’t an invite of any sort. I really wished he wouldn’t try for the small talk. I hated small talk. “Gabby said you were working on a book, eh? I was able to get you into advanced English with a great teacher. I know people say that we hire the best of the best, but to be honest, there just happens to be a few dull nuts floating around.” He chuckled to himself.

Henry was the assistant principal at Edgewood High School, which would soon enough be my high school after these final days of summer vacation were over. The last one hundred and eighty days of my high school career would be spent with my biological father roaming the hallways. Perfect.

“It doesn’t matter, Henry.”

I saw him cringe when I called him by his first name, but what else was there to call him? ‘Dad’ seemed too personal, and ‘father’ seemed too—preachy. So Henry it was. I cracked my window down a bit, feeling overwhelmed by this new life filling my mind.

Henry glanced my way and cleared his throat. “Your mom mentioned you had bad panic attacks?”

I rolled my eyes as a sign of teenage angst. Truth was I had suffered from bad panic attacks ever since we’d found out that Gabby was sick. But there was no need for Henry to know about that.

He changed the subject…again. “We’re really happy that you’re coming to stay with us,” he said.

My head whipped toward him and my eyes discovered his until he looked back to the road. I remained as still as a tombstone, needing answers. “Who’s we?”

“Rebecca…”

Rebecca? Who’s Rebecca?

“…and her kids,” he muttered, clearing his throat in an unpleasant manner.

My shoulders rolled back and my eyes broadened. “How long have they lived with you?”

“For a little while.” His voice was mellifluous, begging me not to question the subject more in depth.

I didn’t care what he wanted. Also, I knew whenever his voice was smooth like it was that he was definitely lying.

“I mean, did they live with you before you called us for our birthday this year—three days late?” His silence answered my question. “What about last year? Did they live with you when you forgot to call for our birthday altogether?”

A discomfited mouth replied to me. “Shit, Ashlyn. What does it matter anyway? That’s in the past.”

“Yeah, and now it seems to be in my present.” I turned back in my seat, facing forward.

“Just a few months…” he whispered. “I’ve only lived with them for a few months.” After quite a few minutes of silence, he tried again to converse with me. “So what type of things are you into now?”

Feeling tired from the long train ride—and from my current state of life—I sighed, chipping at the tiny amount of black nail polish left from Gabby’s funeral. “Henry, we don’t have to do this. We don’t have to try to make up for lost time. After all, it’s lost. Ya know?”

He didn’t say much after that.

A loose thread hung from the bottom of my coat. I tugged on it and smiled to myself. Gabby would’ve told me not to do that to the string, how it would completely ruin the whole coat. Within a second, a poignant wave of grief swept over me. I closed my eyes and took in a deep breath of the hot air.

It’d been almost three weeks since I’d lost her, and there hadn’t been a day that I hadn’t cried. I’d cried so much I’d been impressed when the tears kept forming.

People always said it would get easier after losing someone. People said that, over time, it would get better. But I couldn’t comprehend how that could be true. As each day passed, it just became harder. The world only grew darker. The pain merely deepened.

My head crooked toward my passenger’s side window, and when I opened my eyes, I wiped away the single tear that was moisturizing my right cheek. My bottom lip quivered with restrained misery. I didn’t want to cry in front of Henry—or anyone at that. I much preferred crying alone in the shadows.

I wished Gabby were still alive.

And I wished I didn’t feel so dead.

Henry’s truck pulled into the gravel driveway of his home—my temporary place of residence. I was quick to note the two other cars in the driveway, a newer-looking nice black Nissan Altima and an older blue Ford Focus.

The house was huge compared to the two-bedroom apartment I’d lived in all of my life. The front bushes were perfectly trimmed and an American flag waved back and forth in the light breeze.

I kid you not—there was a white picket fence. A white picket fence!

There were three windows on the second level of the house, and in one of them, I saw a guy with headphones, peeking through his curtains. When our eyes locked, he disappeared in haste.

Ohmygosh. Henry really did live with other people. As he climbed out of the truck, I slid across the driver’s seat and stepped out. Before I could smooth out my coat, a woman—Rebecca, I assumed—was standing in front of me. Hugging me.

Why in the hell was this stranger touching me?

“Oh, Ashlyn! We’re so glad you’re here!” She squeezed me as my arms stayed glued to my sides. “God is good, bringing you to us. This is heaven-sent, I just know it.”