1
LEXI
The bus jerking to a stop jolts me awake. Peeking through the grimy window as the bus doors creak open, a vibrant blue sign with white text catches my eye.Hope.
“Shit.” Shooting out of my seat, I grab my backpack from the overhead storage. The bedroll catches on the lip of the storage compartment, and I yank it free.
“This is my stop,” I call to the driver.
I must’ve slept for longer than I realized.
It seems like a lifetime ago that I left the bus terminal in Jersey City with its hundreds of coaches. It’s been several changes and many hours since then, and as I shoulder my backpack, I get a whiff of myself. I need a shower, a hot meal, and a soft bed. Pronto.
“You got luggage underneath?” the driver asks as I make my way to the front of the bus.
“No. Just this.”
I step down onto the asphalt, and the door closes behind me with another wheeze and a blast of warm air. As the bus pulls away from the curb, the main street of Hope is revealed;birdsong mingles with the engine of a pickup as it rumbles into town and past the clock tower at the top of the street.
Beyond the tower and stretching into the distance are the green valleys and the majestic peak of Wild Heart Mountain, nestled amongst the mountain range. I stare in awe at the majestic mountain range with white-capped tops.
“Wow.”
Mom never told me how beautiful this place was. I know Hope only as the place where my mom conceived me during a summer of seasonal work.
But seeing the beautiful mountains, so different from the suburban sprawl where I grew up, makes me wonder why she was in such a hurry to leave.
I find the car rental place two blocks back from Main Street. My rental is a small hatchback, and I hold my breath when they take my credit card for the insurance payment.
Thankfully, they hand me the keys, which means it must’ve gone through.
On the other side of town, I find the lawyer’s office, a shabby building with paint peeling off stucco walls. His address appears on the letter that arrived three weeks ago.
The door catches on the maroon-colored carpet as I push it open. The receptionist is on the phone, cupping the receiver in the crook of her shoulder as she peers at me over her wide-rimmed glasses.
“Yes?”
I take a moment to realize she’s speaking to me, not the person on the other end of the call.
“I’m Lexi Gibbs.” My voice is scratchy, and I cough. “We spoke on the phone.”
“I’ll fax the details over to you.”
I blink at her, confused, before realizing she’s speaking to the person on the phone now. And also, do people still use fax machines? I’m not in Jersey City anymore.
The receptionist keeps speaking to the person on the phone as she swivels in her chair and pulls an envelope from a cubbyhole behind her.
“Mr. Larson apologizes that he can’t be here.” She holds the envelope out to me. “He said to drop by the office tomorrow at two, and he can go over the details.”
It takes a beat too long to realize she’s speaking to me again.
I reach for the envelope, but she jerks it back. “I need to see ID.”
I fumble in my purse and pull out my driver’s license.
“Goodbye, then. See you Thursday.”
Thursday? Didn’t she just say tomorrow, which is Tuesday? When I look up, the receptionist is hanging up the phone. She lets out a long sigh and gives me the first smile since I pushed open the door.
