I scowl. “You’ve got an answer for everything. Besides, I thought your shoulder was sore.”
“It’s not sore right now. If I have to, I’ll serve lefty.”
“That shouldn’t make your aim erratic at all,” I say sarcastically.
Dylan chuckles. “One hour. That’s it. And I promise I won’t hit you in the head.”
* * *
Take off.
Tennis wasn’t as bad as I thought it would be. I actually had fun playing with Dylan. And now we’re on the plane on our way to Montana. This time, I’m the calm one, and Dylan’s anxious because we’re going to his hometown and leaving mine behind. I stare down at Los Angeles as the plane climbs higher and higher and heads north. Dylan made sure I packed a winter coat and sweaters. I’ve never been truly north before when it was cold.
“Actually, I have once,” I say to Dylan as he sits across from me and plays a game on his phone. “My foster family took us to New York City in December. I was fourteen.”
“What do you remember?” he asks me, putting the game down to give me his full attention.
“I had fun. It was just for a weekend, and we fought the whole time—my foster siblings and I—but I’m glad I got to see Manhattan.”
“Are you in touch with them still?” he asks me.
“The family? Now and again. We weren’t close. Zoe’s on pills a lot, or alcohol. And Lionel’s a traveler. For business and women.”
Dylan runs his hand down his face. “I can’t believe I’m complaining about going back home. I feel like a big baby right about now.”
“Why?” I ask him. “It was just different is all.”
He shrugs and then says, “I actually meant—are you in touch with your foster siblings at all? I’ve never heard you mention them.”
No, I don’t mention them much. Even to myself. Chloe’s an artist, but she struggles to stay sober. Chelsea’s married with two kids, but she wishes she were still single and without responsibilities. Bud’s the star of all of us—he got in with a dot-com company that made it through several slumps, and he’s a millionaire now. We’re all still in L.A., and we’re all still ashamed, I guess, of where we came from. Ashamed nobody else wanted us and we ended up together by default.
I look at Dylan. “I know where they are. We send Christmas cards now and again. Sometimes we miss a year.” I pause. “I care about them. I wish them well, but that’s about where it ends.”
Dylan’s eyes fill with worry.
“It’s fine. Maybe someday things will change, but right now, it is what it is.”
“Were there others through the years?” he asks me. “Other kids besides from that one family?”
“Yeah. With my first foster family, the lady was a single woman who seemed to collect kids like she did cats, so there were a bunch of us. But I was only eleven when I left her, and I don’t keep in touch with any of those kids.” I laugh. “They’re not kids now, of course. They’re all grown up.”
Dylan smiles and looks out the window. “It can feel like time freezes sometimes.”
* * *
Like Dylan had said, Montana’s definitely cold in February. A strong wind gusts across the airstrip, and I quickly put on my coat and bring the hood up over my head.
As soon as we pick up our rental car, Dylan suggests we check into a motel in town. “Normally, I stay at my parents’ house. Or with Brayden. But I want tonight to just be us. My parents aren’t supposed to be coming home, but they tend to be unpredictable, and I don’t want them showing up in the middle of the night.”
I stare out the window as we drive through the center of Wilcox. It’s very small. There are a lot of antique shops…and not a whole lot else. I think I see a Mexican restaurant. And a bar. It’s called Clyde’s, lit up in big fluorescent letters on the wall.
“Did you drink there a lot?” I point at the nondescript brick building.
“Yeah,” he says. “Clyde’s was about all there was to do around here. Plus, they let us start sometimes at eighteen. After big football games, sometimes we’d be able to coax a beer or two out of the bartender.”
We pull up into the V Motel, and Dylan parks. “I’ll go get us a room. Be right back.”
While he’s gone, I step out of the car and stare down the street, trying to see more. It’s dark already, so my sightseeing—or snooping—will have to wait until tomorrow.
