How (Not) to Fall in Love(85)

I started the engine and pulled away slowly. He watched me from the road, arms crossed over his chest. I watched him in the rearview mirror until he was a small dot.

Why the hell had I come up here? What had I been thinking? Everyone was right. I had to accept that Dad wasn’t coming home. Mom needed me. And I needed her. I’d been an idiot to think I could read Dad’s mind and find him based on random postcards. I had to get somewhere with decent phone reception. I wanted to hear Lucas’s voice and remind myself of all the reasons I had to go home.

I crossed the border back into Wyoming. As I got closer to Sheridan, my cell signal came back. I pulled off to the shoulder of the road and called Mom. “I…I’m on my way home, Mom.” I swallowed over the lump in my throat. “By myself.”

“Oh honey,” she said, tears choking her voice, “it’s okay. It’s okay. You’ve done all you could. You were chasing a dream, sweetheart, but it’s time to come home.”

The words hurt, but I knew she was right. It was time to stop chasing dreams. I reached over to pet Toby, taking comfort from his solid bulk.

“How far away are you?”

I paused to calculate in my head. “I won’t get home until maybe eight or so tonight. Maybe later.”

“Is it still snowing?”

“Not really. Just a little dusting here and there. Will you call Charlie for me?”

“Of course, honey.” She paused. “Check in at least every hour.”

“Promise.”

“And Darcy? Will you please call Lucas and convince him you’re okay? That boy is going to drive me to drink, and that’s the last thing we need.” She laughed a little. I could hardly believe she was joking about that, but in a way it felt good. Normal.

And maybe by the time I got home, Lucas would have forgiven me.

“I will. Love you, Mom.”

“Love you too, honey.”

When I called Lucas, he didn’t answer. I listened to his outgoing message, but hung up instead of leaving a voicemail. He might be worried about me, but he still wasn’t ready to talk to me.

My eyelids grew heavy as I drove under the gray skies. I pulled off an exit in the middle of nowhere. Now that I’d given up my search, all the adrenaline that had been fueling me was gone, replaced by overwhelming fatigue and sadness. I set my phone alarm for thirty minutes. Maybe I’d feel better after a quick catnap.

I’ve heard that messages come to people in dreams. It always sounded cool but I never believed it. As I tried to nap, my dreams woke me over and over. I dreamed of Dad, J.J., Mom, Lucas, Charlie, Liz, and Sal. It was like a parade of everyone in my life, each coming by with something important to say. But in my dreams their mouths moved silently. I begged them to speak up, but they couldn’t hear me and I couldn’t hear them.

I’d been dreaming of Dad when my phone alarm jerked me awake. He’d sat cross-legged in the middle of the Stonehenge at our cabin, dressed in a suit, in full stage makeup.

“I’ve been looking everywhere for you,” I’d raged at him. “Everywhere!”

He’d smiled up at me, blissful and unperturbed. “I’ve been here all the time, Darcy. Listening. Just listening to the stones.”





Chapter Thirty-Three


As I drove, I couldn’t shake my dream. I couldn’t stop thinking of the hippies the nutty henge guy had mentioned. What if I could catch up to them somehow and ask if they’d seen Dad? But who knew where they were by now, or which direction they’d headed?

“It’s the people who get up one last time who make it across the finish line,” Dad’s voice whispered in my mind. “The ones who are fallen, broken, even bloody. Everyone else passes them by. It’s often the fastest who give up first. The slow, wounded traveler in the back of the pack keeps going. He passes those who sprinted too fast. In the end, persistence pushes him across the finish line.”

I pulled off to the highway shoulder again and opened Google on my phone. I searched for “Stonehenge in Wyoming.” Nothing. I pulled up the Clonemaniac site and typed in Wyoming. If anyone would know about it, he would.

“Blue Spruce, Wyoming. This henge is pretty cool, considering it’s in the middle of nowhere outside a dead town. It’s on private property but my sources tell me the owner doesn’t really care. It’s probably worth a stop if you’re in the area.”

My heart sped up. I’d seen a sign for Blue Spruce on the highway when I’d been heading to Montana. I pulled up my map to see where it was. It was only about fifty miles south of here, and it was right on my way home since it was just off the highway.

I revved the engine and pulled back onto the highway.

“One last stop, Toby,” I said. “I’ve got to try it.”

Blue Spruce, Wyoming, was a sad little town, if it could even be called a town. Half the shops were boarded up with For Lease signs in the windows. The shops that were open looked like they shouldn’t be. Even the wind blew more fiercely here.

There was one restaurant in the center of the tiny town, Daisy’s Diner. An enormous white-petaled flower with a yellow smiley face center was painted on the window, shining like a beacon in the midst of the other dingy, gray buildings. Someone in there had to know about the local henge.

When I walked in, all the customers looked up. A Christmas tree decorated with glinting lights and paper daisies stood next to a long counter lined with backless stools, most of which were occupied. It reminded me of Charlie’s, except for the three-tiered rack of pies instead of a covered tray of donuts. How I wished I was sitting at Charlie’s right now, listening to jazz and joking around with Lucas.