Page 32 of Close Your Eyes and Count to 10

“Sweet,” said Hugo. “Heard it’s going to get hairy on the site. Bad weather moving in.”

“She’s pretty tough,” said Blake, feeling his anxiety ramp up a little. He took a quick click through the sites he was monitoring.

“Cool, cool. Well, if she needs anything, I’m not too far from the hotel.”

It was crazy—this person who he’d never met in the real world, who lived an ocean away, was more friend to him and his family than some of the people he’d known all his life. Of course, Hugo didn’t know about his dad, didn’t hate Blake because of what Miller had done.

“Looking for the peach?” said Hugo.

“You know it.”

Hugo laughed. “Not if I get there first.”

He took off then, disappearing into a wormhole.

“You’ve still got seven minutes to find it,” Charger said. “Let’s do it.”

The sky was already turning pink, indicating that the Red Cloud was closing in.

“How’d you know where to find me?” Blake asked.

“I know lots of things, Blake-Man,” he said. “And I’m always looking out for you. Don’t forget that.”

It wasn’t the first time, or even the second time Blake had met Charger here. They talked a lot this way.

“Let’s do this,” the big man said, jogging off toward the twisted oak.

Blake waited a second and then followed.

8

VIOLET

When Violet thought about her father, which she tried not to do very often, she felt a kind of unpleasant heat come up from her center. Sometimes there was a rushing sound in her ears. Always there was a kind of tension, like she was holding her breath for too long.

Memories of him could surface suddenly, taking her by surprise. Like the smell of burnt toast made her remember the time they tried to make a surprise breakfast for Mom and the smoke detectors went off. Or the scar on her knee reminded her of the day he taught her how to ride her bike. She fell, and he carried her back to the house, where her mom bandaged the wound and they both kissed it better, while Blake cried because he thought she was really hurt. She’d gotten good at batting those memories away, making herself hard inside and swallowing the tide of feelings they brought up.

Dreams she couldn’t control. In her dreams, her dad pushed her on the swing set in the backyard of their old house, the one they couldn’t afford anymore. He sang her silly songs horribly out of tune,until she nearly peed her pants with laughter. Helped her, always patient and encouraging, with her math.You can do this, little V.And when she woke from a vivid one—like now—she might be crying or laughing. She might be reaching for him to take her into his arms and swing her around.

The familiar shadows of her room took shape—her dresser, her big purple beanbag chair, her backpack slouched by the door waiting for morning—as the image of her father baking cookies, which he had never done in real life, faded. She grasped for it, but it slipped from her consciousness like sand through her fingers.

Then she remembered. They were alone, Blake sleeping down the hallway. She was in charge.

She reached for her phone and checked her mom’s location. Adele’s red dot pulsed in the middle of a green dot, in the middle of a wide blue nothing. Violet felt some measure of relief, though of course, all it meant was that Adele’s phone was on and charged. But there was no dot on any electronic map for her father for Violet to watch, to know he was somewhere, probably okay.

He was gone.

It was four in the morning. Her mom called itthe witching hour, the time when you woke and were most likely to stay awake worrying about everything and nothing until morning. She lay a moment, listening to the darkness.

Before bed, she’d checked every door and window lock, dutifully set the alarm. Had there been a sound? Something that woke her?

She listened longer. Nothing.

Finally, she slipped from the warmth of her covers, bare feet hitting the hardwood floor, the cool air on her skin raising gooseflesh. She kept her dad’s old baseball bat by the door. Just after he’d disappeared, there’d been threats, people calling at all hours; once,a woman turned up on their doorstep holding an infant on her hip.

He ruined us, she’d shrieked at Adele through the door she wouldn’t open.We’ve lost everything.

I’m sorry,Adele said through the glass.So have we.

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