Page 37 of Heir of Ashes

“Yeah. My—uh—luggage got lost. I needed a few things, and since I was already in town, I decided to come here and reminisce a bit.”

“My God. Vicky is going to flip when she finds out she missed you. She left just a couple of days ago.” He shifted his biker jacket to his other arm, reached inside his pocket, and extracted a smartphone. “No, she’s in a meeting,” he said to himself and returned the phone to his pocket.

We talked for a while, mostly about him and Vicky. She had just graduated as an interior designer and was currently in New York for her first job. Tommy had also graduated as an accountant at the beginning of the year.

“You’re following in the family tradition?” I asked. His father was the accountant for the family’s investment firm, founded by Tommy’s grandfather. The Santanas were a wealthy family. Tommy’s humor faded. “I’d rather build things. I only became an accountant because it was expected of me and because it was something my father always wanted. But I’m more or less a carpenter.” He opened his hands palm up, showing me the calluses as if needing to prove that he worked with his hands. Just then, a little boy, no older than three, ran up to us, shouting, “Uncle Tommy, Uncle Tommy, Mommy says come!” He kept jumping up and down until Tommy bent and scooped him up.

“You remember my sister Bianca?” he asked, tousling the child’s hair. “This is Carlos, her oldest.” The boy might have been his nephew, but aside from his hazel eyes, he was a miniature copy of Tommy.

Since I had no idea what I was supposed to do or say to the kid, I just stood and smiled.

“That’s her sitting over there with her husband Grant and sister-in-law. The baby on her lap is Carol.” He pointed to a table to the right, but all I saw were curious looks from Grantand calculating looks from the women. I didn’t recognize any of them. They turned away when they saw me looking.

“Guess you better go then.”

“Yeah, I guess I better.” But he didn’t move, and neither did I. We stayed like that, eyeing each other, both thinking about everything that had been and what should have been if I hadn’t disappeared, until the boy began squirming.

“I guess I should go now,” he said and turned.

I watched him go. He took a couple of reluctant steps away, turned, and came back. “Listen, why don’t you come by the old house? I’m staying there until I find a place of my own. Do you remember the address? I mean, if you have time before you have to go?” he asked the latter a bit hesitantly.

I knew this was his way of asking if I’d be around. “If I have time,” I replied noncommittally.

He put Carlos back on his feet and kept a firm grip on his arm while he fished for a piece of paper from his jacket pocket. It was a receipt of sorts. Then he began patting himself for a pen I knew he didn’t have. In this day and age, people were so dependent on technology that things like pens, pads, and even wristwatches were becoming obsolete.

He was probably waiting for me to step in and produce a cellphone to note whatever he had in mind. After a moment of patting, I took pity on him and reached inside my purchase bag for a magic marker. I could see the faint flicker of disappointment behind his smile, but it wasn’t like I kept a constant cell number. And, considering the fact I had no one, I’d go long stretches without needing to carry even a temporary one—like at the moment.

Because Carlos was wriggling furiously, trying to be let free, I took the receipt—Nordstrom’s—and wrote down his cell number, committing it to memory.

“If you decide to come, call me first,” he said, hesitating for a moment, probably to see if I’d return the favor. I didn’t. Instead, I gave him a goodbye hug, and Carlos made protesting noises and tried to wriggle free. I lingered more than was polite, but I knew I’d never see him again. He searched my blank face for a moment, and after I forced a smile that he clearly didn’t buy, he turned and walked away, disappearing into the crowd.

When I turned to go, I found Logan leaning against a support beam, watching. He was close enough to have heard the entire conversation—if he’d been there long enough. I noted he had gone shopping too. He wore a pair of light blue jeans, a black shirt, and a coat similar to the one he’d worn when we first met.

Another food court, a lifetime ago. Without a word, he straightened and reached for my bags. I let him take them. We left the mall in silence, heading to a gray SUV parked at the edge of the parking lot. Logan unlocked the back door and put my bags inside. My duffel bag and his laptop were already there. I didn’t comment or thank him. I figured he wouldn’t have gone back for my things if it wasn’t for his laptop.

Besides, I wasn’t in the right frame of mind for talking. My mood was a mix of melancholy and despair. There was this black void, this emptiness inside me that began that rainy day when the PSS came to my house, ever widening with the passage of time. So far, ten years and counting, and I was still falling with nothing below and only a pinprick of light above.

I wanted more than ever to be free. To talk to my friends, go out for a movie, and have a job. To stop this endless fall. It was moments like this that the immensity of what I had lost because of the PSS hit me the hardest. I didn’t have a college degree. I hadn’t even finished high school or earned a diploma.

The rain had stopped, leaving only a few white clouds scattered here and there, tinged blue and pink and purple with the setting sun. The cold November day was getting colder by theminute. Logan and I hadn’t exchanged a word, and I appreciated the silence.

I leaned my head back and closed my eyes. It didn’t matter to me where we were going. For now, I just needed to try to relax my mind, try to regain some of the balance I lost the day I found a vampire sitting on my bed, flipping through Michelle’s fashion magazine.

We hadn’t gone far before we were slowing again. I opened my eyes, taking in the tall buildings, busy streets, and throng of pedestrians. Traffic crawled steadily, with people hurrying home after a long day, some damp, others dry and prim. A vendor pushed an empty cart slowly around the corner. I didn’t recognize where we were at first, then realized we had gone to Arden West, to the Hilton Hotel.

I followed Logan into the lobby, carrying his laptop while he took care of my belongings. Again, he refused the help of an attendant, and we checked into a room under the name of Kevin Oliver. Even the credit card he used was under the alias. Or maybe Logan Graham wasn’t his real name. Who knew? I didn’t trust him, and he sure as hell didn’t trust me. He’d made that abundantly clear more than once.

We rode up to the fifth floor in silence, then turned down a carpeted hallway to our appointed room.

As before, Logan hadn’t booked cheap accommodations—or a room with two beds. The king-sized bed dominated the space, set against a backdrop of cream, green, dark wood, and subdued lighting. It was a clever blend of masculine and feminine touches.

A flat-screen TV was mounted beside the bed, facing a large, cushy green sofa. An executive desk was on the far side, beneath closed cream-colored drapes. There was also a walk-in closet and a chest of drawers in front of the bed. I went straight to the desk, set the laptop on it, and began opening and closingdrawers in a sudden fit of nerves. There was a bulletin featuring Hilton’s entertainment and services, and I skimmed over them, noticing they offered complimentary coffee. Ignoring the rest, I rang for the coffee.

Logan dropped our belongings into the closet and came to stand beside me. It was clear he had something to say, and I tensed up.

He opened his mouth, closed it, then rubbed his nose. The silence between us grew heavy. We hadn’t parted on good terms back at the hotel. Now, I had a hunch he wanted to address it, but I’d rather he left the past where it belonged.

“Look,” he began.

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