Page 6 of No More Secrets

Popping it open, she cries out. The backpack’s been ransacked. What clothes she has—a shirt, two panties, a pair of shorts, and a bra, each just as filthy as the articles she’s wearing—her Sharpie, earbuds with the knotted cord, and a small notepad filled with her doodles are strewn about the trunk. But the money she’s slowly been collecting is gone.

“Irving,” she cries, terrified at how much the loss has set her back. He promised to watch her car if she got him something to eat. It took her over a week to pickpocket the thirty-two dollars she had. People don’t carry cash, and she’s too petrified to get caught using a stolencredit card. But worse, if whoever did this to her car did it in broad daylight, imagine what they could do to her at night.

Irving doesn’t answer. He raises his arms, waving side to side as if he’s at a concert, singing to himself.

She looks over her shoulder to see who might have taken her things. The lot appears desolate, with everyone hunkered in their cars to escape the direct sunlight.

Shiloh holds in her scream. She pounds the car with her fists when she’d rather beat Irving instead. Where’s she supposed to sleep tonight? There isn’t anywhere else to go where she won’t run into someone who’ll report her. People call the cops on underage kids like her. They all think teen runaways have a home to go back to, that they’re spoiled brats who think they know everything.

Near tears, Shiloh repacks her bag, adding her sweatshirt and the snacks from the Dusty Pantry, and slams the trunk. After she uses a small piece of cardboard to sweep the glass from the seats, she returns to Irving and kicks his shin. “I’m leaving,” she says when he grunts.

He gives her two thumbs-up before his hands flop onto his chest.

What should have been a dull day trying to escape the sun, one day closer to getting out of this hellhole, has turned into a disaster. A scream builds in her chest, and frustration burns her eyes. She’s never going to get out of here. At this rate, she’ll be homeless forever.

Shiloh kicks a rock.

Then she shoulders her backpack and starts walking.

4

After mounting the bracket and setting the length of the downrod, Lucas wires the ceiling fan he’s installing in Ivy’s living room. They closed the market after the lunch rush of three customers. But Lucas recently installed a doorbell for customers at the market’s entrance that rings in Ivy’s apartment, giving her the freedom to come and go as she pleases and Lucas the time to repair and improve the property.

Her odd jobs keep him busy and his anxiety-ridden mind occupied. He left his meds in Seaside Cove. Renewing his clonazepam prescription would alert authorities to his location. Yes, improving the property in exchange for a reduced rent and no signed lease is their arrangement. But he works to keep the edge off.

He attaches the blades and bulbs and steps off the ladder. He flips the circuit in the juncture box in the hallway, restoring power, and flicks on the switch. The blades slowly spin, picking up speed.

Ivy joins him from the kitchen where she’s been baking cookies. She stands under the fan, face uplifted, savoring the breeze. “That’s nice.”

“Told you.” Lucas folds the stepladder and leans it against the wall by the door to take with him. He packs up the tools that once belonged to Ivy’s husband and breaks down the ceiling fan’s box.

“Decision made. I want fans in the two rear apartments and my bedroom.”

“On it.” He’ll swing by Ace where Ivy has a line of credit before he meets up with the guys tonight at the Lone Palm for a beer.

“Start with Mike’s old place.” Mike, a longtime friend of Ivy and Tom who’d lived in apartment three for almost twenty years, moved out a couple of months ago. He and the girlfriend he met while grocery shopping purchased a house near the ballpark. The apartment has been empty for weeks despite Ivy’s ads and the sign in the market’s front window.

“After that, give yourself a break.”

“Beg your pardon?” Unease twists in his gut.

“You’ve been working nonstop since you got here. And I’m not talking about today.”

So far he’s installed new carpeting and linoleum, and painted all four apartments. In addition to general maintenance around the property, he’s also updated Ivy’s kitchen and bathroom.

“I like the work.” He needs to work.

“You’ll run yourself into the ground.”

It’s a miracle he’s still aboveground.

“I don’t mind.”

“You remind me so much of my Tom. He never knew when to quit.”

If he quits, he’ll die. The only thing keeping him alive is her odd jobs, his guilt, and a deep-seated wish for his sisters’ forgiveness he doesn’t deserve. He failed Lily and he left Olivia without a word. He knows they’re worried sick.

But also, he wouldn’t want to leave the old woman high and dry. He’s all she’s got.

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