Page 10 of The Lonely Hearts Guide

Elliot sat on the dock, his legs dangling over the ledge, looking out at the slowly approaching ferry. He pulled Alexander’s card from his pocket and memorized it by heart.

Alexander Davenport. Davenport Developments. A phone number.

Alexander Davenport. Davenport Developments. A phone number.

Alexander Davenport. Davenport Developments. A phone number.

The scent of Twylah’s cookies reminded him of a county fair he visited once. It was like sweetness and strawberries and so much cotton candy. He wanted to taste those strawberries and to let the cotton candy melt on his tongue, the way Jared said it did.

His punishment was going to be torturesome anyway, Elliot rationalized. Why not make it worth it?

He opened the bag Miss Twylah packed the cookies in and lifted the lid to the box. Elliot gasped. Inside was an individually wrapped cookie resting on top of all the others. Miss Twylah drew a heart on the wrapper and everything. “Everyone deserves a Sugarplum treat,” it said at the top, and Elliot couldn’t have agreed more.

He opened the wrapper, his hands shaking with nerves. Elliot brought the cookie to his mouth and took a small bite, whining at the pop of flavor. He nibbled and nibbled until his teeth reached the jammy dollop in the center. Elliot didn’t realize what he’d been missing out on, and that made everything hurt worse, because he knew this would be the only time he’d ever have the chance to indulge in a sugary treat. Pushing past the crippling fear, Elliot forced himself to relax and live in the moment.

With fear rising like rolling tides and the ferry sailing closer, Elliot closed his eyes, lifted his face to the sun, and smiled.

Three days had passed since Elliot’s visit to Sugarplum Island. At least, he thought it was three days. His days and minutes and months were all jumbled together, and he was having trouble remembering anything that happened since he returned to Jared Price’s home. When he thought about it for too long, it made his head feel fuzzy, like someone had scooped out pieces of his memory and patched the holes with cake frosting. The only thing Elliot knew was he needed to get away. Away from Dallas, Texas, and away from Jared Price.

When Elliot Price stepped off the Greyhound bus with one pastel-pink suitcase, one beige bandage wrapped around his wrist, and one broken heart, he closed his eyes and took a deep breath, hoping to catch the scent of freedom. He knew he smelled it once before, though his mind was thick with confusion, and he couldn’t remember the occasion. It was a good day, though, he thought. Probably even the best day. If only he could actually remember why that was.

It didn’t matter. The past was in the past, and Elliot was looking into his future.

The city square was quaint; like a snapshot of small-town America. There was a courthouse in the center with street lamps lining the concrete walkway around it. A red brick road surrounded the courthouse, and across the road, a swarm of stores surrounded the courthouse. There was a diner, a dollar movie theater playing hits from yesteryear, and a small, second-hand store that appeared to sell compact discs containing music. It was fabulous—a word Jared never allowed Elliot to use, as he deemed it “too gay,” whatever that meant. Words didn’t have sexual orientations. They were simply strings of consonants and vowels stitched together to form sound.

But, yes, Elliot thought. Yes, he could see this place becoming his new home. He just hoped his unexpecting future hosts wouldn’t turn him away. It didn't feel likehishome, though. Elliot's heart belonged somewhere—he knew it did—but he couldn't remember where that home was.

Elliot crossed the red brick road and walked onward, trying to locate Main Street. Before leaving Dallas in a haste—though he still couldn’t remember why his exit had been so sudden—he wrote down an address. Two addresses, actually. One was in Dallas, though, and Elliot knew he needed to stay far, far away from Dallas, Texas. The other address was for a building in Genevieve, Georgia. A library, apparently. His only means of escape from a life spent in silver cages.

So Elliot walked. He walked and walked until his feet were sore, but those sore feet didn’t hold a candle to the ache he felt in his knees each time Master Jared Price forced Elliot to kneel at his side as he watched television. Elliot needed to be still and quiet, just so Jared would have someone to strike should something offend him on screen. Lately, it seemed Jared was offended by everything.

Elliot passed person after person, each smiling cheerfully at him, as if his presence genuinely pleased them. Women wearing pearls and men in fedoras. Even some men in pearls, some women with fedoras. It was truly a picturesque sight.

He got lost along the way, and he wasn’t sure he would ever find his destination. Elliot thought it happened when he crossed over Mill Street. Elliot took a right when he probably should have taken a left, and he didn’t realize he went off track until he reached a small country road leading out of town. The road tilted downward, and, because the town rested atop a rather large hill, Elliot believed if he looked long enough, he could see forever laid out before him.

Elliot sighed, setting his pastel pink suitcase on the ground and taking a seat. Normally, he would be happy as a lark to take an extended walk, because Jared rarely let him take them, but on that day, his ankles were tired and swollen, and he needed a rest. He placed a hand on his tummy and sighed.

Elliot stared down the seemingly endless hill, drinking in the sights of overgrown fields and a small stream leading out past the horizon. A small part of him wanted to follow the stream to see if it might lead him . . . where, exactly? Elliot couldn’t be sure, but he was sure he’d know it when he saw it.

Home.

Elliot ran his fingers up and down the sides of his pink suitcase, realizing what a stark contrast it was to the green scenery around him. Inside the suitcase were two tiny keepsakes he kept for himself, as well as one pair of pressed khaki trousers and a pink Polo shirt. His shoes were now scuffed from the hike, but he didn’t mind. What were a few scuff marks when his freedom was at stake?

A bluebird landed on a nearby bush, chirping out its midmorning song. Elliot’s fingers twitched with each note, following along like an orchestra’s conductor, his body lightly bopping to the tune. Elliot allowed himself the moment, because he hadn’t been allowed much else. The song sounded a bit like an unbroken promise, and it played the entire time Elliot rested. He wanted to pull out the celebratory treat he brought with him, all the way from Dallas, Texas, but he feared the click of his suitcase might startle the bird, and Elliot was enjoying its song.

Eventually, when Elliot rose, he did so with a groan and two popping knees. He held his hand to his back, trying to catch his breath. The cracked rib was recent, only three days old. Or had it been three months?

Elliot startled as the bluebird flew in front of him, then circled Elliot round and round. It paused long enough to peck at his nose, then quickly darted behind Elliot’s back like a cheeky scamp. Elliot twirled around, wincing from the pain of his aching ankles. There was heat in his chest, like someone had lit a fire in his esophagus. He’d felt the burn quite often in the recent days and months and minutes, only having brief moments of reprieve between the bursts of discomfort.

The bluebird chirped in Elliot’s face then flew away. As he watched the bird flutter off, the initial rush of happiness that flooded his veins faded, and Elliot once again found himself alone. He closed his eyes and sighed. Bending over, he picked up his suitcase and groaned.

The journey back into town took longer than the journey out, but he didn’t let it deter him. As he walked for what felt like miles, he kept his eyes peeled, but he still couldn’t find Main Street. Just as he was about to sit down on his suitcase again, the bluebird returned and pecked Elliot with its beak. It flew westward, pausing long enough to look back at Elliot, as if waiting for him to follow. He shrugged and followed along, figuring he couldn’t get more turned around than he already was. He put his faith in the blue songstress, knowing if he wound up at a landfill, at least he would have been escorted there by a pretty bird singing a pretty song. Thankfully, the bird didn’t lead Elliot to the landfill. Within minutes, Elliot was back where he began, right in the center’s heart, and the bird flew away, leaving Elliot alone again.

A bell tolled in the distance, though Elliot couldn’t place its source. It rang five times before stopping, and then pandemonium hit Genevieve, Georgia. One by one, shop doors opened, and owners and workers locked them on their way out. Elliot counted forty-two and one-half people, although the half-person could have simply been the upper half of a window mannequin. Elliot couldn’t be sure.

The courthouse door opened and another hundred-or-so people filed out in nice, neat, single-file lines. He was amazed at how peaceful the square was, even with umpteen workers all walking toward a large parking garage down a side street on the square. He stood there watching happy people heading to happy homes with happy families. Elliot prayed he may one day know the feeling of having someone waiting for him at home, or to be waiting for someone he truly loved who truly loved him back. A fool’s dream, perhaps, but that didn’t stop Elliot from dreaming it, anyway.

One by one, Cadillacs and Lincoln Town Cars pulled away, some using the red brick road around the courthouse, others driving away from him. Then, be it hours or minutes or months later, Elliot was alone in the city’s heart. His chest ached and his stomach dropped at the realization that sundown had come, and it was getting dark. He would never find his destination if he lost daylight.

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