Page 2 of Entangled

The stale air of the house greets me and I look around curiously, seeing a small living room to my right with a plain couch and two chairs. No TV in sight. A square-shaped kitchen lies to my left with white cupboards and a small breakfast table, while a narrow hallway shoots straight down the center of the house, leading to what I’m guessing are the bedrooms. I leave my suitcase in the entry and walk aimlessly into the kitchen, opening the fridge out of habit, unsurprised when nothing but empty shelves stare back at me. Yvie had warned me that while she had hired someone to maintain the place, everything had been cleared out after Gram’s passing.

My phone vibrates in the back pocket of my shorts and I pull it out, lips twitching when I see who’s calling.

“What, did you have this place armed with motion sensors or something to alert you when I arrived?”

“No. That’s a great idea though. Wish I would’ve thought of that,” Yvie greets me cheekily. “I might have calculated your estimated arrival time using Google maps.”

“May I remind you, dear aunt, that you let me lounge away in Costa Rica last summer, then bounce all over Europe for the rest of the year and weren’t the least bit concerned about my safety,” I tease. “I’m pretty sure I can handle Landing Point, Alabama. The town has like four stoplights, in total.”

“Ha. Ha. Very funny, El.”

“Seriously, I think it’d be impossible to get lost here even if I tried.”

“I know, I know. I keep reminding myself you’re twenty-three and fully capable of taking care of yourself. It’s just… this is different.”

“I know.” My voice softens in understanding as I walk aimlessly from the kitchen to the living room, eyes wandering. “But I’ll be okay.”

“Plus, I knew Stef was keeping tabs on you all last summer before he and the guys met up with you in Europe.”

“Dammit.” I sigh dramatically. “I knew he was ratting to you.”

“Are you sure you want to do this? Be there?”

“Yes.”

Asked and answered for the millionth and one time, Yvie.

Turning to the fireplace, my gaze locks onto the picture sitting dead center on the mantel. “I need to do this for me.”

Why the hell did Grams keep that thing?

“Okay.” Tense silence sounds through the phone for a beat. “Call if you need me though, promise?”

“Promise,” I lie, ending the call before she can get a second wind.

What my aunt didn’t know couldn’t hurt her, and after all that she had given me, given up to raise me… I wasn’t about to be the one to let her know all those hours of billable therapy might not have had the outcome she desired.

I stare at the picture on the mantel, eyes narrowing on it as I try to find any little clue and an uncomfortable mix of feelings rises within me. Too many for me to name even if I stood here for an hour, not that I’d care to. They look so happy, my parents. My mother Nadia, with her pert nose and full lips. Light-golden skin glowing on her willowy frame and platinum hair lifted by some breeze that faded away to nothing long ago. Looking at her is like looking in the mirror, warm and familiar. But it’s my father Cane’s eyes that make me pause. Those are my eyes. The huge round shape and steel-gray color an exact replica of my own. Their smiling faces are pressed up against each other as if they hadn’t a care in the world, a small pink bundle of a baby tucked between them.

And maybe they had been happy in that moment, or maybe it had been just as utterly deceptive then as it had turned out to be in the end.

I jerk my gaze away from the picture, hurrying away from the ghosts haunting the living room and back into the kitchen.

God, I needed to get out of here for a while. Find some food and liquid courage.

Not necessarily in that order.

Otherwise my ass might hop back into Franny and drive right the hell back out of town.

Looking down at the time on my phone, I see that it’s almost half past seven despite the streaks of summer light lingering in the sky. That settles it. I’ll find a grocery store tomorrow… and a bar tonight.

***

Apparently, the town of Landing Point was sorely lacking in the area of alcohol and food establishments. After a quick Google search, I discovered that the town had a total of four restaurants and three bars. Not willing to risk going to a place that might not have a liquor license, I quickly focused on the bars. Two out of the three had only foggy pictures on their Google tab, making me think I was more likely to get salmonella at them than a good time. So I had chosen the third, a bar called Adam’s Place.

I walk up the steps of the white plank building and spot a ramshackle sign that lets me know I’m in the right place before pulling open the door. The smell of beer and cigarettes hangs in the air as I step in, scanning the space and seeing the bar sitting along the back wall. I quickly make my way to it, weaving my way through the scattering of tables situated throughout the space and noting the small stage that sits to my right. The place definitely wasn’t anything like what I’d find in LA, but it’s clean and after the two-day drive I just endured, I can make it work.

I feel eyes follow me from every direction as I head to the bar at the back, my pin-straight platinum hair trailing behind me. The place isn’t packed yet but the locals here have already spotted me and know I’m not one of their own. Looking from side to side with a small smirk, I seek out those eyes, loving the thrill I get when the onlooker’s eyes dart away, embarrassed at having been caught.

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