I sighed and opened the truck’s door and an icy breeze made me grab my blanket tighter. The cold seeped through to my bones. “Where are we?”
Dad’s feet disappeared into the snow as he took one of his bags from the truck. “Falmouth, in Maine.”
Yay, Maine. The tone in my head oozed sarcasm. Just three months, and then we would hit the road again.
I picked up my bag and followed Dad around the house to hunt down the front door, which was probably buried behind more snow.
It was warmer inside.Someone must have come and gotten the house ready for us before we’d arrived. I rushed up the stairs to choose a room. It would never be mine, but it would become my dwelling for the next three months.
It was a lot bigger than my last room.
Dad only hired fully furnished places. I couldn’t imagine dragging furniture along every time we’d move.
A narrow bed waited for me. On the nightstand sat a clock radio. The desk was barren, with a chair tucked against it. A long mirror stood next to the table with a dresser by the window. Light beige curtains matched the bedding, but Dad would replace all of it in the next few days.
The sad part was that I had no bed to call my own, no belongings except the few things I carried along in the tin box. Mom’s picture was among them.
I sat down on the bed. It was one of those bouncy ones, those heavy ones. I took the tin box out of my backpack and opened the lid.
Mom’s picture was the first thing that stared back at me. She was beautiful with her long golden blonde hair, and she had the friendliest blue eyes. Mine were green—forest green.
Dad was the odd one with his copper hair and dark brown eyes.
I looked nothing like him.
I pushed her picture away and looked at the admission tickets I’d kept. It was one of the best memories with Dad. I was twelve when he’d taken me to the carnival. It was the best night of my life. He was so relaxed, and I thought we would stay, but a few days later, we’d packed up and hit the open road again.
The next treasure was a leather bracelet. I didn’t know where I’d gotten it from, probably from my mother. Whenever Dad laid eyes on it, he became uncomfortable. It was one reason I didn’t wear it. Still, it was exquisite. Not like the other bracelets they sold. I would know.
My fingers brushed over the rough, thick leather. I’d tried to find something similar in all the shops that sold bracelets, yet I hadn’t seen one. Whoever made it, made it with all the care in the world.
I dropped the bracelet into the tin and put the lid back, sliding the box under my bed. I needed to be grateful for what I had. To stop figuring out the reasoning behind Dad’s irrational behavior. He wasn’t crazy. Dad didn’t act as crazy people do, but how did crazy people act again?
He was just paranoid, and the reason was something I still have yet to discover. I knew it would be something worthy. Dad was as bright as a person could get. He freelanced most of the time and always worked from home.
Still, why he was paranoid around the three-month mark was a mystery, as Dad refused to talk about it. He kept telling me I wasn’t ready.
I wondered if I would ever be ready.
I stared at the ceiling. This time, Taylor Swift embraced me with one of her songs. The melody seemed so familiar.
It wasn’t because I listened to this song a thousand times. It was a feeling that something about this tune felt familiar. Like music had a deeper meaning than just a girl listening to songs.
Like music was always part of my life in a deeper, more spiritual way. The tune in my ear trailed off as the one in my head became louder.
I switched off my iPod. I could still hear it.
It always happened when I listened to a song reminiscing about music. The tune didn’t belong to any song that I’d heard before. But it was so familiar. Like it used to be part of me in another life. Like it was something I’d lost, and nothing could replace it. I was not too fond of this feeling.
And then, just like that, it disappeared.
2
BLAKE
Istood against the wall with my arms crossed while my father was on the phone. The clang of a heating system turning on irritated my enhanced hearing, and my nostrils stung from the bleach that hung in the air. I officially hated motels.
A few months ago, my dad had left on a trip. It was right after Samuel had taken away the knowledge that my father was a pathetic waste of a man.
