And Now She's Gone(96)

The flight to Alabama was a strange one filled with strange people. Seated beside her, a man shaped like a Volkswagen Beetle creaked every time he lifted his bottle of Mountain Dew to his lips. In front of her, a trio of old ladies, their gray hair tinged in violet and blue, shared an endless bag of fried chicken soaked in vinegary hot sauce.

Gray watched an action movie starring the guy from that cool Greek mythology flick, the guy with the abs, but now he was a space scientist or something who’d created a satellite that could reverse climate change or make guacamole or some shit like that.

She landed well after ten o’clock at Mobile Regional Airport. As she exited the plane, her clothes immediately ballooned and purple light flashed across the sky—thunderstorms. Her skin razzed with the click-clicking of electricity.

The airport was small—just two floors—and would soon close. The few businesses there—Cruise City Bar and Grille, Hudson News, and Quiznos—had already brought down their security gates. Gray reached Hertz rentals, also soon to close. The clerk handed Gray the keys to a Chevrolet Cruze and so very kindly called the Hilton Garden Inn to see if a room was available.

Hotel reservation made, Gray rushed to the car lot. Her phone vibrated in her back pocket. A text from Nick.

Where’d you go this time???



She settled in the front seat of the Chevrolet. I found Isabel’s real parents! Seeing them in the morning.

Ellipses, then …

Gas. Cash. Keep your phone charged. Be careful.



It was a short drive to the Hilton Garden Inn, and Gray quickly checked into room 216 with its tan Berber carpet, tan walls, and clean towels. She booted up her laptop and found the Millers’ address on the internet. They lived seven miles north of Mobile in a house of red brick and wood surrounded by tiny creeks and a grove of tall, thick trees. It would take ten minutes to drive there from the hotel.

With nothing else to do, Gray found Diners, Drive-Ins and Dives on the Food Network, then trudged to the bathroom. Wilted and puffy, that’s how she looked. That’s how she felt. Came from straddling two climates in one day.

She washed Vegas and airplane dirt off her body as Flavortown found its way to North Carolina. Clean again, she watched the making of a café’s famous onion rings for a minute before deciding she’d heard and seen enough junk for the day. She turned off the television, then slipped beneath the sheets. As soon as she heard the rumble from the sky, she hopped out of bed and pulled apart the window curtains.

Lightning the color of crayons—Atomic Tangerine, Cornflower, and Laser Lemon—exploded against the dark sky.

Los Angeles didn’t see many storms, and the chaos terrified and electrified her. The rain burst against the windows like mortars. It was so loud that it became peaceful, and she climbed back into bed. She left the curtains open, and those phosphorescent sky crackles were the last marvels she saw before she closed her eyes.





52


It was a little after eight o’clock on a Monday morning. The rain had stopped, and now golden hot light streamed past her hotel room window. This part of Alabama had found peace again, and butterflies flitted, birds soared, and wisps of steam rose from the few remaining puddles on the pavement.

Five minutes into her drive, Gray groaned and closed her eyes. “It’s Monday morning.”

The Millers probably wouldn’t be home.

Another case of Grayson Sykes leaping before thinking.

Today, though, she lucked out: a gray Dodge Ram truck and a copper Hyundai Sonata were parked in the driveway of the brick and wood house.

The air was loud with the chatter of a million insects and birds, and somewhere hidden in the trees was a creek or two gurgling its way to the Gulf. Dragonflies worked as sentries from the car to the front porch. Gray had never seen so many in her life.

Sean had talked about relocating to Atlanta like the munchkins had dreamed about Oz. But moving had meant starting over again, a small fish in a big pond, even though Las Vegas was one of the biggest ponds for a party promoter.

After triumphing over the creatures that buzzed and hopped, Gray reached the front door. She knocked … waited. Knocked again … waited some more. Finally, the door opened, and cool air from the house rolled out to greet her. It smelled of bacon and pressed hair.

The black man standing there wore an untucked denim shirt and clean khakis. “Yes?”

Gray said, “Walter Miller?”

He said yes again, then glanced at his wristwatch.

Gray introduced herself and reminded him that she’d called yesterday.

He grimaced, and the skin across his cheeks thinned.

“I flew out here from L.A. cuz this is important. I really need to talk to you about—”

“Elyse.” He looked over his shoulder and shouted, “Ruthie.” He kept his head turned away from Gray as they both waited for Ruth Miller to join them.

A woman with ginger-colored skin came to the door. She wore a velour tracksuit and wedged sandals. Her toenails were painted the color of orange soda.

Walter said to her, “It’s the woman who—”

“I heard her.” Ruth Miller’s brown eyes bore into Gray’s.

Gray took a step back. “I’m sorry to—”

“Are you?” Ruth asked, eyebrow cocked. “Really?”

“I am. My questions won’t take long.”