5
BECKETT
Age 14
Thunder crashed overhead, making me jump. I knew Tracy would be calling me in for dinner soon, but there was no way I was running across the field with lightning like that. No way at all.
This was the fifth storm in three days, which meant I was a perpetual ball of nerves. I gave up trying to face the storms when they came near, because it only made it more difficult to breathe. It was easier to hide, even if it made me feel like a coward. I hated that I was fourteen years old and still couldn’t handle a thunderstorm. Kids at school teased me about it, but how could I explain to them that each crash of thunder made me feel as though my world was falling apart? That every time the ground shook, it felt like it was going to open up and swallow me whole? I didn’t like that feeling, not when so much of my life was already crumbling beneath my feet.
I turned on my heel and ran for the first solid piece of shelter I saw. Harold’s old Ford pickup. The door slammed as I climbed inside, curling into a ball on the cloth seat that smelled of sweat and dust. I smashed my hands to my ears and began muttering to myself to drown out the noise. When the door opened on the opposite end of the truck, I screamed, but then Riley’s face came into view when I finally opened my eyes. His presence helped me relax a tiny bit. He pressed his lips together, making that face that told me he knew exactly what I was thinking, even though I hadn’t said anything at all.
Another loud rumble crashed down over us and I jumped. This time when I closed my eyes, it wasn’t only in fear, but shame, too. My best friend gestured for me to sit up so he could slide in next to me. He didn’t say anything as he took my hand and, after unfolding my fingers, held it against his so our palms were flat against one another, fingers perfectly aligned. I noticed the tips of my fingers were roughly a half inch longer than his, reminding me just how much smaller my friend was than me. Smaller, yet so much braver.
He caught my eyes and I could read the unspoken question in their depths. I still wasn’t convinced it would work, because it hadn’t the last few times we’d tried. Maybe, though… just maybe…
I moved each finger one by one, breaking our contact for only a second before moving on to the next finger. Each time he’d count for me.
“One, two, three, four—”
BOOM. I flinched away, trembling. Riley murmured something patiently and I tried again.
“One, two, three, four, five—” We made it all the way to twenty before the thunder crashed, this time louder than before.
“This is never going to work.” I whimpered, letting our hands fall. He didn’t let me pull away, though. He merely turned his hand, so he was holding mine in a more casual way. I could tell he was frustrated his technique wasn’t helping and even more so that he didn’t know what else to do.
Slowly, the thumb of his free hand began tracing simple lines against the scar on my wrist, and I glanced down. It was such a small thing, yet I felt that tiny movement everywhere. I was always a bit ashamed of that scar, like it made me ugly somehow, but Riley never seemed disgusted with it. In fact, he seemed fascinated by it. It was in the shape of a backwards seven, covering a large portion of the outside of my wrist. I’d gotten it crawling through a window when I was eight, trying to convince Tosh not to run away again. It didn’t work, she still left.
The longer Riley stroked the jagged, raised flesh, more of the tension uncurled in my belly. By the third thunderclap, I barely felt the rumble. All of my attention was on him. After a few more minutes, he rested his head against my shoulder and began telling me a story while he continued to soothe my worries.
He didn’t stop until the storm was miles away.
***
I arrived in South Carolina late in the day and went straight for the park where the street fair had been the previous week. I nearly ran across the distance to Riley’s—Preston’s—booth, arriving just as vendors were starting to tear down for the day.
To my surprise, Amelia was working the booth this time. She was busy wrapping some glass pieces in bubble wrap as I approached and recognized me immediately, tensing in expectation of more bad news.
“Hi,” I said. “I’m looking for Ri—Preston Miller. Is he around?”
The disbelieving expression had me quickly reassuring her it wasn’t for anything involving the case.
“I know him,” I told her. “I didn’t realize I did, but I do.”
“Oh. Well, he should be here soon. He said he’d help tear down today.”
Not sure what else to do, I said, “Can I help you? I’d like to wait for him, if that’s okay.”
She reluctantly accepted my offer when I lifted one of the heavier items, nodding her chin at the red and black trailer with the Phoenix Feather Creations logo on it. “It’s the trailer right there.”
We worked together for about fifteen minutes before a petite golden retriever bounded into the booth smacking its tail on the now empty racks.
“Hey, girl,” Amelia said as she bent to scratch the dog’s ears while it rubbed against her legs, eager for the attention. “You’re so pretty, you know that? Such a pretty Lady, yes you are!” The golden whined her enthusiasm, prancing on her two front paws.
“Lady, sit!” A voice called just before the man I presumed Lady belonged to stepped into the booth.
My entire body froze as soon as I saw who it was.
Amelia looked up. “Hey, Preston,” confirming what I already knew to be true.
