“Penelope Davis.”
“Why don’t you start driving, Penelope? That way, if he comes to, he doesn’t see the car or try to hurt us.”
Pen snorted. “Try? Did you see how big he was?”
Birdie leaned back in her seat, her wrinkled face oddly serene. “Another reason to get out of here. Not that we need another one—he’s standing up.”
* * *
The women were quiet, each lost in their thoughts, as Pen drove toward the small town she’d now call home thanks to her nana. “Do you think he’ll follow us?”
Birdie shrugged. “Possibly.”
Pen bit her lip. “That’s…scary.”
“Nothing we can do about it now. The alpaca’s out of the bag, so to speak.”
“But…” Pen sighed. “So much for not causing any waves.”
“Now why wouldn’t you want to ruffle some feathers?” Birdie asked. “Sitting still and in the background would be boring, and boring’s no way to live.”
“Boring’s exactly how I want to live,” Pen mumbled. Her mind flashed through all the scenes of life with her mother. She shuddered. Yes, boring, and drama-free. That was the life Pen wanted.
“You sound like Carlo.”
“Who?”
Birdie waved her hand. “A young man who moved to town a couple of years ago. So, what brings you to Cinnamon Bay?” Birdie asked.
“How’d you know I was heading there?” Pen asked.
“Not many other places to drive to this way. So?” she prodded.
Penelope blew out a breath. “My nana.”
At Pen’s silence, the older woman shifted, clearly impatient. “Well, go on.”
“She’s my father’s mom. They’d lived in Cinnamon Bay for generations, I think. But my dad died when I was young. Before I started school.” Pen had only the vaguest of memories of the man. He’d had thick hair and a beard and smelled like mint gum. His shirts had been flannel, and when he hugged her she felt warm and safe.
Those feelings were what she missed most about him. More so than the few memories she’d held on to tightly over the years.
Her favorite was the time he’d taken her shopping for a lunch box to use when she started kindergarten. Her father let her walk through the aisles of the store, testing each one out before oohing over her final choice. He’d taken her for ice cream, which they’d eaten in the shade of the pier.
He’d died in a farm accident just before she was set to attend Cinnamon Bay’s elementary school, and her mother, who hadn’t been in her life much up to that point as far as Pen could remember, blew in and whisked Pen out of town.
If Pen’s mother hadn’t run out of cash a couple of years later, Pen doubted she would even remember her nana. But her mom had been broke and desperate enough to bring Pen back to Cinnamon Bay for the summer. Pen ended up staying with her nana for five months, the first and only time she’d attended an actual school.
She’d loved it. Leaving her nana and her new school friends caused her to cry for a week. Her mother had gotten sick of her sobs and shoved Pen in the tiny bathroom in the camper as they drove through the Smoky Mountains.
To this day, she still hated tiny spaces nearly as much as she’d loved her nana.
“And your mother?”
“She…” Pen shook her head. She’d spent so many years hiding as much of herself as possible, thanks to the whisper of fear of her mother’s choices. “She’s not in the picture for me. Not anymore.”
“Mmm.” The older lady crossed her arms over her chest. “Lucky for you, your grandmother’s farm has a barn for that alpaca of yours.”
Pen started. “How did you know who my nana—”