Where the Stars Still Shine(68)

Ten minutes later, she pulls into the parking lot of a place called the Boat House. The name seems jaunty and nautical, but the bar is built on a pier that looks as if it’s one wrong footstep away from toppling into the river. Ariel’s car is surrounded by motorcycles and I feel fairly certain the two grubby guys hunched beside a dented pickup aren’t exchanging phone numbers. This bar kicks up an unidentifiable dread in my stomach and I don’t want to go inside. I don’t want my mother to be in there, but there’s a better-than-average chance she is. This is her kind of place.

“Remind me again why we’re doing this,” Ariel says, as we approach the front door. I can already smell the stale cigarette smoke and soaked-in beer.

“I think my mom is here.”

She grabs the door handle. “Couldn’t you just call her and ask?”

I shake my head as Ariel pulls open the door. Sun-blinded, I blink until my vision returns to normal. Nearly everyone in the bar is staring at us, and none of them seem particularly friendly. Except my mother, who smiles at me from behind the bar as if she’s been expecting me all along. “Look what the cat dragged in.” She closes the tap on the pitcher of beer she’s pouring. “Guys, this is my baby girl.”





Chapter 21


Some of the men are missing teeth, and their eyes are hungry. I am a drop of honey in a room of ants. An eight-year-old girl in a room of Franks. The undercurrent of menace pushes me backward against Ariel. I wonder if it’s just my imagination until I realize that she’s trembling, too.

Mom comes out from behind the bar. “Surprised to see you,” she says, smoothing my hair away from my face as if it’s just us. Over her shoulder a man with a dirty-blond ponytail shot through with gray leers at us as he talks to the guy at the bar beside him. “But nice. I’ve missed you.”

“Can we, um—can we go outside?” I ask.

Her dark eyebrows lift—maybe because I don’t tell her I’ve missed her, too—but she calls out to the giant of a man behind the bar that she’s going out for a smoke break. Back outside, the Florida sunshine floods my dark corners, making me feel more at ease.

“In the car if you need me.” The parking-lot gravel crunches beneath Ariel’s sneakers as she leaves us to talk.

“So my court date is coming up.” Mom props herself against an older red Hyundai and taps a cigarette from the pack in her hip pocket. “I’m going to be honest, Callie. I don’t want to go to jail. I’ve been laying low, but once I miss my date—” She takes a drag off her Marlboro.

“I’m ready,” I say. “We can go now.”

“Really?” Her face is luminous and in it I catch a glimpse of the Veronica Quinn she used to be. Her excitement bubbles out of her in a happy laugh and I feel lighter than I have in days. “Okay, we’ve got a car.” She pats the Elantra. “Got a good deal on it from Tony, but it’s left me cash-strapped.”

I show her the roll of bills. “I’ve got my savings from the gift shop.”

“That’s my girl. Think it’s enough to get us to Oregon?”

A knot creeps into my throat. “Oregon?”

“Yeah.” She paces and smokes. “I was thinking about how beautiful it was there, remember? And there are so many little hideaway towns tucked along the coastline.”

I only have one outstanding memory of Oregon. “What about Colorado?”

“Well, you’re never going to believe it, but I caught up with Frank,” she says. “Remember him? I found him on the Internet and gave him a call. So I was thinking if we were in Oregon maybe—”

“No.” The word comes out more forcefully than I anticipated and her eyes reduce to slits. Except for my stray complaint the last time, when we were packing to leave Illinois, I’ve never offered an opinion. Never disagreed. But no matter how messed up things are here in Tarpon Springs, they’re infinitely better than going back to Frank.

“We’re going to Oregon,” she says with a familiar note of finality. “We had it good there, Callie. You loved Frank.”

“No, Mom, I didn’t.”

“Of course you did. You were young, so maybe you don’t remember—”

“I remember everything.” I press the rubber-banded roll of money into her hand. “You can have it all, but I’m not going.”

“What the hell is wrong with you?”

“Frank molested me.”

Her laugh is short, sharp, and dismissive. I can hear the echo of his voice in my head, reminding me that she won’t believe. “Now you’re just talking crazy. I get it. You don’t want to go to Oregon, but you don’t have to make up—”

“I’m not.”

The smile slips from her lips. “Callie—”

“It’s true, Mom. Sometimes when you were asleep or at work, he would come to my room—”

“No.” She shakes her head and I hear Frank whisper I told you so. “That can’t be right.”

“He would take off my nightgown.” My voice is shaking. My hands are shaking. I close my eyes and think of Alex, pacing angrily at the side of the highway as I told him this truth. It gives me the courage I need to keep talking. Tears stream down my cheeks and curl under the edge of my chin, trickling down my neck. “You remember the one with Hello Kitty on the front? And he would put his fingers—”