Page 16 of That's Not My Name

Dad leans forward and takes a deep breath. “Kiddo, the lawyer called. He… He thought we should know…thought that we should tell you…”

Papá gives Dad’s pale knee a squeeze and my whole body tenses.

Lola called from…California, Florida, Vegas, somewhere. She ran away and she’s never coming home.

Lola’s in the hospital.

Lola’s kidnappers came forward with a ransom.

Papá’s red-rimmed eyes meet mine. “Hijito, they found a body.”

I turn and hurl into the trash can.

FIVE

MARY

DAY 1

An hour later, Wayne holds the precinct door open, and I step into the fresh air for the first time in what feels like days. It rained sometime since Officer Bowman brought me in. The parking lot shimmers with it. Cold moisture-heavy air prickles the skin on my bare arms, and I regret giving Bowman back his sweatshirt.

The town looks dead to the world. The short little strip mall across the street is dark. Several streetlights are burned out. I look up and down the road, but the only things I see illuminated are a gas station with a flashing twenty-four-hour sign and a deserted motel.

Wayne walks around me and heads for the only car in the lot that’s not a police cruiser: a gray work van, covered in rust spots and peeling paint. He opens the passenger door and smiles. “Do you need anything before we drive up to the cabin?”

I shake my head and step beside him to look in the van. Considering how dented and messed up it is outside, the interior looks almost new. But climbing into a van with a stranger still feels like a red flag, even if he is my dad.

He stands with one hand on the door. “Are you sure? We should get you some ibuprofen, or icepacks—I’m not sure what’s at the cabin. Maybe some bandages, in case any of your cuts need more cleaning—”

“Okay, okay,” I say. “Whatever you think we need.”

“Sorry.” He frowns at his feet. “Don’t get me wrong. I know a Band-Aid and a shower won’t fix things, but I’ll be here for you while you piece it all back together. We can get through anything. Even this.”

A mix of feelings knots my stomach. I’m grateful, but terrified. I’m relieved, yet unsettled. I’m happy and lost…I can’t pick a side. I know he’s trying to be comforting, but I don’t even know what tocallhim. Wayne? Dad?

Split the difference, call him Dwayne?

“Do you mind if I call you Wayne?”

“I’m not going to lie, that’ll be strange. But if it makes you feel better, you can call me whatever you want.” He smiles, though it’s a tiny fragile thing.

Dwayne it is.

He gestures toward the open door. “Ready?”

Officer Bowman steps out of the precinct behind me, locks up, and pockets his keys. “Hold on. Until everything checks out, she’s riding with me.” He catches my eye and smiles. “We’ll follow Mr. Boone up to the house.”

I look between the van and the cruiser. Part of me wishes I could be at ease with Dwayne and be done with it, but I’m glad that Bowman is coming along. It gives me a little longer to adjust.

“Of course,” Wayne says, jarring me back to the conversation. “Like I said, whatever you need me to do. You should at least have a jacket though. It’s freezing out here.” He reaches into the space between the front seats and holds something out to me.

It’s a jean jacket, with rose gold buttons and pastel, floral sleeves. Periwinkle, orchid, and lilac on white fabric, with vintage leaves. I fight the urge to frown. Apparently I’m a floral person?

I slide it on like I’m not unsettled by the look of it. I can’t even put on a jacket without mixed feelings. “Thank you.”

“Not a problem.”

“We’ll be right behind you, Mr. Boone,” Bowman says, leading me away with a hand on my shoulder.

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