Page 8 of All Along The Watchtower

CHAPTER 4

PEYTON

“I want to see!”

Before the tiny terror before me could boost himself up on the ferry rail and fall overboard, I snagged the back of his coat. “Hold it.”

“But I want to see!” Jamie whined, his lip jutting out in a pout I just knew was going to precede an epic tantrum, because he was four and that’s how that worked.

“Let’s do it from over here.”

I tugged him over to one of the benches lining the exterior of the ferry and helped him climb up. I kept a tight arm around his waist, stabilizing him against the rock of the boat on the waves. The overhang of the second level did almost nothing to block the drizzling rain or the spray that splashed up as we cut through each swell, but Jamie didn’t seem to care, and I was certainly no stranger to the rain. We were both riveted by the view of the island rising out of the gloom ahead.

Hatterwick Island. The very bottom of the chain of barrier islands known as the Outer Banks. I’d read about it online and seen pictures. But they’d all been taken on bright, sunny summer days, not in the middle of a January rain, beneath a sky so gray it was hard to tell where it stopped and the ocean started,save for the wink of lights from Sutter’s Ferry, the only village on the island. I couldn’t quite wrap my head around the idea of a place so small it only had one town.

As we neared, I could make out what were probably sandy beaches. The island itself was long and low, with the faintest hint of what might’ve been trees off to the north, beyond the buildings that made up the village. So different from the rocky beaches where I was from.

The ferry’s horn blasted a long, low note, signaling we were about to dock. The big engines roared, and the boat shook as we began to slow. Jamie vibrated against me as the pilot—was it called a pilot on boats?—neatly slid the vessel into place at the ferry terminal. He clapped in excitement as staff began to move around us, tossing ropes and doing whatever was necessary to secure the boat.

“C’mon. Let’s go find your mom.”

Taking a firm grip on his hand, I led him back inside the main cabin. Rachel was in the back, juggling a diaper bag that probably weighed more than I did, along with her two-year-old, Marianne, and the baby, Rosie.

“Oh, my gosh. Thank you for keeping an eye on him, Peyton.”

“Of course. Can I help you get everybody back to the car?”

“I think we’re going into the terminal first for a mandatory potty break.”

We joined the line of people filing off down the ramp into the ferry terminal. My shoulders began to itch in a sensation that was becoming all too familiar. I lifted my gaze to one of the big concave mirrors in the corner of the cabin, studying the people behind us in line.

Some guy a half-dozen people back was staring at us. Tall, skinny, with that ropey kind of muscle. Dark hair. Scruff on his jaw. Did I recognize him? Hard to say without getting a better look.

The line moved forward, propelling me out of the cabin and away from the mirror. I didn’t turn around as I helped Jamie down the ramp. Gangplank? Was it still called that when it wasn’t a pirate ship?

Rachel heaved a sigh of relief as we stepped into the terminal. “Do you see your dad?”

I flashed a confident smile. “I texted right before we arrived. He’s waiting in the parking lot. Thanks for letting me tag along with you. It made me feel better on the crossing.”

She beamed. “Absolutely. You were a godsend helping me with the kids.”

“You’re so welcome.” I took the opportunity to look back now, scanning the other passengers, but I didn’t see the dude who’d been behind us.

“Do you want me to walk out with you to the car?” Rachel’s voice pulled me back.

Jamie tugged at her sleeve. “Mama, I gotta pee.”

“No, no. It’s fine. It’s a small island, and you’ve got enough on your plate. Thanks again. You guys enjoy your trip here.” With a little wave, I left the little family by the bathrooms and ducked through the doors of the terminal out to the village.

No one was waiting for me. No one had been waiting for me for three months. The foster family who’d taken me in didn’t exactly count. I mean, they were… fine. There were two other foster kids. Both girls. They were okay. And the parents were nice enough. But they weren’t my mom.

That hadn’t been why I’d left.

Was it crazy to think somebody had been watching me? Maybe. But over the past few months, I’d just had a feeling. That creepy, crawly feeling of eyes on me. I never saw anybody. Not for sure. There’d been a few times I thought… maybe. Like the guy in line to get off the ferry just now. Then I told myself I wasbeing ridiculous. That I just felt alone and squirrelly in my new circumstances. Unsettled. That’s what the therapist had told me.

But Mom had always said to trust my instincts. If my gut said something was wrong, it was telling me that for a reason, and I should listen.

So I had. I’d made this crazy plan, taken this desperate trip across thousands of miles. Doing exactly what I’d done today and attaching myself to a series of moms with little kids. Because Mom had been that mom who helped out other kids, other women. Which meant I knew the look of good moms who would help. And they had. So no one had realized that I was traveling entirely on my own, and I’d avoided creepers and cops alike as I switched from bus to bus.

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