Page 40 of Find Me in California

Matt shrugged again. He didn’t want to sit there. He didn’t want to be anywhere around there. He wanted to go home. He wanted everything to go back to the way it was.

He wanted his mom and dad.

“Use words, Matthew.”

He groaned. “Yesterday was my birthday.” He pouted, looking up at the butler when Adam didn’t say anything. Matt didn’t like whiningor complaining because it gave his grandmother more reason to be annoyed with him. But he’d been feeling especially low.

Adam stared at him. Then he pivoted and opened the refrigerator. He took out a half-eaten cake Matt figured was left over from the previous Saturday’s garden party.

“You should have told us,” Adam said.

“Like you care.” Matt stared at his hands on the table.

“How old are you?”

“Eleven.”

A moment later, Adam set two slices of cake on the table and sat beside Matt. He gave Matt a fork, which Matt reluctantly took as he warily eyed Adam.

Adam nudged Matt’s plate closer. “Happy birthday, young Matt.”

Matt didn’t know what to say. He watched Adam take a bite of his cake, and when the older man nodded, Matt dug into his. Adam asked what he missed most from his life in Florida, aside from his parents, of course, and Matt told him he missed his friends. He missed crabbing with them, hanging out at the shake stand where his dad docked his boat, and Saturday morning baseball games.

The next day, he found a wrapped gift waiting for him on his bed. Inside were a baseball and glove. He’d left his glove behind in Florida. There wasn’t a card, but he didn’t need one to know it hadn’t come from his grandmother.

A horn goes off, jolting Matt back to the present. He’s holding an open beer can. He stares at it with no idea how it got there. But he doesn’t hesitate to tip it back and guzzle half. As if he’s looking for an excuse to procrastinate.

Across the road he sees a motel with a fenced pool out front and a neon sign flashing VACANCY. Exhaustion pours into him, and he makes a decision. Today is shot. Julia’s doing research on his behalf. He can afford the time. He’ll crash for a few hours, sleep off this funk, and leave before dawn. He estimates another eight hours. He’ll make it to Pasadena around noon.

Matt drives to the motel and checks into a room on the second floor above the pool. It’s the size of a shoebox and smells like stale cigarettes and sex. But it has a queen bed, functioning shower, small couch and table, and square minifridge. He doesn’t need much else.

He leaves the grocery bag on the table, drops his duffel on the bed, and opens the window to air out the room. He then finishes off his beer and drops onto the couch with a bag of Lay’s barbecue chips. He eats by the handful, eyeing his phone. He picks it up to call Julia to tell her that he’s arriving later than planned.

“Hey, it’s Matt,” he says when she answers.

“Hi. You here already?”

“Not yet.” He glances out the window. Some guy walks past his room pulling a piece of luggage. The wheels rumble loudly across the concrete balcony. “Not exactly sure where I am.” He can’t remember specifically from the map. Only that he’s over a hundred miles farther south than he should be.

“Are you okay?”

He thinks on that a moment. “Not sure. Ran into a couple snags.” They go by the names of Magnolia Blu and Jack Daniel’s.

His gaze levels on the bottle, and he debates opening the hard stuff. This Liza debacle is making him remember things he prefers to forget. Events he’s neglected to process as expertly as his grandmother neglected him. He isn’t prepared to deal with them now.

Hence, Jack. He’ll help him get through the night.

“Were you in an accident?” Her voice warbles with concern.

A short laugh escapes. Picking up a stranger and driving her to God knows where was the accident. He should have stuck to the course. Now that he’s veered off, he’s tempted to go home.

He would if he weren’t curious. He’s hoping Elizabeth wants to share a family secret that changes the course of his life. Wouldn’t that be something? He’d love for her to tell him they aren’t related.

“Nah. Just ...” He cracks open another beer. “Tired.”

“Are you drinking?”

“Yes, but I’m not driving. I checked into a motel, so don’t worry about me. I won’t get pulled over for a DUI.”

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