Page 102 of Take Me Home

When Paul McCartney’s “Wonderful Christmastime” started up on the radio, she laughed bitterly.

But a billboard stopped the sound in her throat. It featured a pale blue Victorian house beneath the bold claim that the Roadrunner Inn was the “Crown Jewel of Garrettsville.” Shewasn’t on the freeway, had taken a back road without a destination in mind—one of those two-lane farm-to-market ones she’d given Ash shit for a week ago—and somehow, she’d ended up right back here, two miles from where she’d gotten stuck with him.

Was it a sign?

Well, it was a literal sign. But Hazel’s blood sang with something magnetic, some visceral frequency only her body could understand. She took the turn the billboard indicated, and soon, the inn was there in front of her.

It was shabbier in the bright daylight than it had looked when they’d taken refuge inside, far from magical with no snow left on the ground, only muddy puddles where it had melted. But still, the sight of its chipped paint and crooked shingles pulled at her heart. It was proof. Of life. Of something new. A tiny spark of a thing just last week, which had since quietly engulfed her whole life. Ash had already taken on the role of her buffer the night they stayed here, tucking her under his arm against the biting wind. He’d let her lean on him while they watchedThe Officein bed. Warmed her icy hands in the dark. Murmured in his low, sleepy voice until she’d drifted to sleep.

It hit her all at once. Her infuriating pattern. Her running. She was never runningtoanything, never runningwithanyone. Except last night, when Ash had helped her ransack her room at her father’s house, when he’d taken her keys and driven her to his home.

Be with me, she’d said.

I am.

All this running had gotten her what? Not safety. Not happiness. She was as alone and untethered as she’d ever been. As she drew boundaries around every new source of hurt, her world only got smaller. Even if she could stomach resuming her ban onLockett Prairie, there was still school, still the café. Still this ramshackle, overpriced, weird fucking place in the middle of nowhere, where she’d unknowingly started something that it already hurt to breathe without. And she knew if she ever came back here, it would no longer bring her joy, only regret. That was the whole point of the running. To not have to feel this.

Except she would always know this place was here. And she’d feel the deep ache she felt now, even if she didn’t look at it.

Continuing another mile away from Ash and her father and Lockett Prairie would only keep her trapped in the same terrible pattern. She knew that now. But going back? She couldn’t quite do that, either. And she couldn’t bear to set one foot inside the Roadrunner Inn.

Instead, she paid for a room at the Motel 6. She would go nowhere until she figured out her next step. Whatever that was.

When she turned her phone back on, the answer was right there among the sea of messages and ignored calls from her dad and Ash.

Sylvia:Proof of life, please! How was the fancy party?

Yesterday, she’d wanted to finally tell Sylvia everything about Ash. Now…just thinking of their fight this morning triggered a wave of nausea and cold sweat. But Sylvia was her last person left. She couldn’t bear to lose anyone else.

Hazel:I’m alive.

Sylvia:Proof?

Hazel chose a nondescript corner of the room and framed the shot to cut off her puffy nose and eyes.

Sylvia:What is that wallpaper? Why is the lighting so bad? IS THIS A HOSTAGE SITUATION?

Hazel:You’ve watched too many true crime shows.

Sylvia:HAS THERE BEEN A CRIME??

Hazel:Not that I’m aware of.

Sylvia:HAZEL

Before she could respond, her phone was ringing. No, not just ringing. Sylvia was trying to video call her.

“You’ve been crying,” Sylvia said as soon as they connected. “Don’t you dare try to tell me it’s allergies.”

“Someone was smoking in here,” Hazel argued half-heartedly.

“Where ishere? You’re not at your dad’s.”

Hazel slumped into a surprisingly hard, upholstered chair. “It’s a motel.”

“What are you doing crying in a motel?”

“Is Dave with you?” Hazel asked, stalling. She squinted at the bit of background she could see behind Sylvia. It hit her that she hadn’t yet seen Sylvia’s new place, not even in proofs of life. Sylvia was always the person demanding evidence of Hazel’s continued existence, not the other way around.

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