How (Not) to Fall in Love(83)

I woke up in a cold sweat with Toby planked out next to me on the bed, snoring. All my confidence from earlier had evaporated. What if I didn’t find my dad? What if someone ran me off the road and killed me? Why hadn’t I brought someone with me? What if…what if…

As I watched the hours on the clock tick by, my mind played out worst-case scenarios. I’d been so determined to do this alone, but now I regretted it. I’d pushed and pushed myself these past few months, doing what I had to for Mom and me, but I suddenly wondered if I had enough fuel to keep going.

“One last push,” I whispered. I thought of all the races I’d run, and how sometimes the last few meters were the hardest.

I couldn’t give up, not now, not with the finish line in sight.





Chapter Thirty-Two


December 19


It was almost nine in the morning when I woke up from my sleep coma. I couldn’t believe I’d slept that long.

“You’re a lousy alarm clock,” I told Toby, who yawned himself awake as I pushed back the bedspread. His ear flipped inside out as he rolled around the bed, and he grinned at me upside down.

I flung open the drapes. The snow had stopped. A white blanket sparkled in the sunlight, covering the fields as far as I could see. Assuming the roads had been plowed, I should cross the Montana border that afternoon. Then I’d have to sneak onto the private land to find the henge.

And then what? Camp out and wait for Dad? I hadn’t really thought about the details. I’d focused all my energy on sneaking out of town without any unwanted company.

“I need food,” I told Toby. “So do you.”

I was tossing my duffel in the truck when Mrs. Beasley called across the parking lot.

“Sweetheart, come here!” She leaned on her cane in the office doorway.

Toby trotted toward her, tail wagging. He’d trust anyone with dog treats. I caught up to him quickly. She handed me a crumpled paper bag. “There’s a donut in there. And some treats for your dog.”

My eyes widened in surprise. “Thank you.” I opened the bag. Pink icing with sprinkles. What were the odds? It had to be a sign.

“Good luck, honey.”

I smiled tentatively. How did she know I needed luck?

She tilted her head toward my truck. “I saw your license plate. And the logo on your sweatshirt.” I completely forgot I’d worn a Tri!Umphant! shirt yesterday. “I watch his PBS shows. I thought I recognized you from somewhere.”

Stunned, I reached for the heart stone necklace resting against my collarbone.

“I hope you find him,” she said. “He’s a good man. I have all his books.”

“Thank you,” I whispered. Then, impulsively, I hugged her.

Toby and I ran for the truck. I waved as we drove away and she raised her cane in a good-bye salute.



As I crossed the border into Montana, I sagged with relief. “Almost there, Toby.” I reached for my phone to call my mom, but there was no signal. I’d have to keep trying; the last time we’d talked had been over an hour ago.

The article I’d found on Clonemaniac’s website, my favorite reference site, said the henge was on private property and the owner hated trespassers. He even had security guards. But it was supposed to be a spectacular replica. Clone freaks from all over the country risked getting arrested by sneaking onto the property. It was like a badge of honor to post photos and videos of their successful trespassing.

Clonemaniac claimed he’d snuck onto the property three times. He’d described his route in detail; I’d brought a print-out of his directions. Toby and I took an unmarked exit, then parked the truck on the shoulder of the road and found the mile marker where Clonemaniac had begun his trek.

“Maybe I should leave a trail of breadcrumbs,” I told Toby. Though that would be pointless since Toby would eat them. We found the tree stump carved with a small “c” and an arrow pointing the way. Clonemaniac said the property owner tried to paint over the directions that clonehengers painted on trees, but the hengers were always one step ahead of him.

Toby ran like a possessed dog through the woods, thrilled to be out of the truck and able to chase critters. I worried he’d be spotted by security. Clonemaniac said that security was out in full force during full moons and solstices, but the rest of the time it was hard to predict.

Tonight was both.

The wind whipped around us. I zipped my coat up tighter and wished for the hundredth time that Lucas was with me. He still hadn’t responded to my text asking for forgiveness.

I wanted to call him, but reception had been crappy for miles.

Another small “c” and an arrow on a fallen tree pointed up a hill. Toby took off as if he knew where he was going. I slogged up the hill, grateful for my hiking boots. Clonemaniac said the henge was visible from the top of a hill. Snow and mud made the climb tricky, but once I crested the top of the hill, my breath caught.

The henge loomed about two hundred yards ahead of us. Someone had cleared out all the trees, leaving a huge open space in which the stones soared toward the sky like arms worshipping the heavens.

“Oh my God,” I whispered. If Dad had found this, I wondered how it made him feel. Had he found what he was looking for? Did the stones hold some imaginary key that unlocked something inside of him?

Toby ran down the hill, heading straight for the henge.