No More Secrets: A Novel, page 4
Shiloh heads to the kids’ reading area where a small table sits in the corner with a basket of crayons and felt-tip pens. She picks out black and brown pens and a couple of skin-toned hues, then settles at a computer. While it boots up so she can log on to her email, she retrieves the pocket mirror from her backpack and colors her eyelids, licking her fingertip to blend the shades, fills in her brows with the brown pen and slashes the black across the base of her lashes, hoping Finn won’t be able to tell the difference from her usual made-up face.
Satisfied she’s added a few years to her looks, she logs into her Gmail account. Eight new messages from her mom. Her stomach compresses into a tight, queasy ball. She wants to read them, but they probably say the same as the first one she sent. Come home, baby girl. Momma misses you. Ellis swears it was a misunderstanding. He’s an honest man. Just come home.
She wishes she could.
She wishes her mom would stop taking drugs and break up with Ellis.
But no. Her mom betrayed her when she didn’t believe Ellis attacked her, and she rejected her when she chose him over her own daughter. Even if she could go back, Shiloh doubts she could ever forgive her.
Hurt as hot and raw as the first time she felt it surges in her chest.
She deletes each email with a hard click of the mouse. She then opens the message Finn sent late last night after his gig. Can’t wait to see your beautiful face. See you at 3:00, shy girl.
A thrill of anticipation shoots through her. She smiles at the screen. Finally something good today. Her gaze slides to the time in the lower corner of the monitor. Four more hours.
Four hours to kill before she and Finn can figure how to get her from here to there.
If only he had a car.
If only she hadn’t chucked her phone out the window at the New Mexico–Arizona border so Ellis couldn’t track her through her mom’s phone. She could call Finn anytime.
She closes her email and pops over to YouTube, elated to see another Tabby’s Squirrel short has dropped. After plugging in her earbuds, she watches the clip, copying characters from Jenna Mason’s latest animation into her notebook as her own quirky characters take shape in her mind. Shiloh has dreams, big dreams. Her head bursts with stories.
Months ago, she emailed episode ideas to Jenna for Tabby’s Squirrel, but never heard back. That hasn’t stopped her from storyboarding. Animated characters cover the pages of her notebook, from original superheroes to a mad murdering otter. Video animation is her dream. Her imaginary characters kept her company when her mom couldn’t. Before she ran from home, she’d been practicing 2D renderings. Her digital design elective in high school was her favorite class. One day, her own animated feature film will debut. She just doesn’t know how to start or where. She’s too nervous to upload her work to social media, afraid it’s not good enough.
That’s why she needs to get to Hollywood by Saturday. Jenna Mason is signing her books and giving away merchandise at the Grove in Los Angeles. It’s a huge publicity event ahead of the movie’s premiere. Large crowds are expected. But if she can chat with Jenna for even a minute, she could get the advice and encouragement she needs to share her quirky characters with the world. Jenna’s stories helped Shiloh feel less lonely. She wants her own stories and characters to be that for someone else. Someone like her.
Shiloh passes time doodling and watching videos. She peruses the bookstacks and flips through the few graphic novels available to check out. Older editions of The Umbrella Academy and Fables. She’s read them before and will read them again. And when the librarian turns her back, Shiloh nibbles on a fruit strip, making it last. Hunger gnaws at her like a bear stripping meat off a bone. But it’s all she’ll allow herself to eat until tonight.
Three o’clock comes, and Shiloh logs on to her Zoom account, excited to see her guy. She hasn’t seen Finn’s face since their last Interloper chat. She’d called him right after Moonstar offered her a ride and just before she dumped her phone to tell him that she was on her way. That Ellis got too friendly.
Finn wasn’t cool with her hitchhiking, but couldn’t wait for her to arrive. They’d share a bed. They’d make breakfast together in the mornings and gorge on carne asada tacos from the food truck parked around the corner. He’d help her find a job and make connections. His bandmate knows a guy who knows a guy who works at Disney Animation Studios.
Shiloh starts the meeting and waits for Finn to join. She refreshes the screen, chewing the Sharpie cap, and waits some more. Ten minutes go by, and worry seeps in. Is he ghosting her? She spits out the cap. He wouldn’t. He’s crushing on her. But what if he is? He’s the only person she knows in California. Where would she stay? She can’t live on the streets there. She wouldn’t have a chance.
At a quarter past the hour, she sends him an email. She sends another at half past the hour, then again at three forty-five. Where are you? She’s online. She’s waiting. They go unanswered. When it reaches four o’clock, her stomach sour from hunger and despair, she realizes he isn’t joining the meeting.
Her day just went from bad to worse.
Shiloh logs out, clearing her search history. Fighting tears, she yanks off her earbuds, stuffing them in her backpack. He forgot her.
Maybe he was held up at the Vinyl Hub, the vintage record shop where he works, or rehearsal ran late. Maybe his roommate took his laptop, and Finn couldn’t use it. He doesn’t have his own computer or car. He can barely pay his rent, he explained when she asked him to Venmo her money for a bus ticket before she left New Mexico. He borrows everything, waiting for the day the Sunset Strips have their big break. He plays bass in the band, and when they make it big, he’ll treat her to whatever she wants.
What she wants is to leave this place.
What she needs is a phone.
Shiloh slings on her backpack and approaches the circulation desk. The woman behind the desk sorts books on a cart. She smiles at Shiloh, her brown eyes big behind green-framed lenses. Her oversize teal tunic hits her knees. Underneath, she wears paisley leggings. “May I help you?” Her voice is soft, almost a whisper.
Shiloh clasps her hands on the counter. “Can I borrow your phone?”
The librarian’s gaze dives to the black-office phone on the desk below the counter. “I’m sorry. This phone is for staff only. There’s a pay phone at Maria’s Deli.”
A mile back the way she came.
Shiloh chews her bottom lip, worried. “My friend’s late. He’s supposed to pick me up here, so I can’t leave.” She taps the countertop, her eyes nervously scurrying about, and sighs heavily. She was hoping to talk with Finn about what happened today. He might have an idea on what to do.
“You don’t have a cell phone?”
Shiloh shakes her head. “I dropped it. The screen shattered, and it won’t power on.”
The librarian’s brows meet in the center. “Are you all right, dear? You’ve been here all day. Is there someone I can call for you?”
Her arms tingle with unease at the woman’s concern. “I’m fine,” she says with an uptick to sound better than she feels. If she doesn’t act like her situation is worrisome, the woman won’t think it is. She won’t pry. “I just need . . . I need to call my friend. Can I use your cell? One call, that’s it. Then I’ll go.”
The librarian’s lips pinch. “Just this once,” she decides, going to her purse. The worn brown-leather bag sits in plain sight on a chair, wide open. “I don’t usually allow customers to use it. But in this case . . . I’m worried about you. I’ve seen you here before. How old did you say you were?”
She didn’t. “Eighteen,” she says, itching to dip her hand into the woman’s purse. The overstuffed wallet is right there, dollar bills poking out.
She looks at Shiloh for a beat, her eyes narrowing, and for a second that seems like eons. Shiloh is sure she doesn’t believe her. She’ll call the cops, and they’ll write her up for truancy. But she holds the phone to her face to unlock the screen, and Shiloh lets go of a breath that makes her sound suspiciously relieved. “Here you go.” She gives Shiloh the phone, only to pull it back at the last second. “You’re sure you don’t need help?”
“I’m cool, really.” Just give her the darn phone.
“One call.”
“One call,” Shiloh repeats, taking the phone. She taps in Finn’s number. The librarian hovers close. Shiloh turns around for some privacy and waits for Finn to answer. “Pick up, pick up, pick up,” she whispers, afraid he won’t because he doesn’t recognize the number.
He answers after the fourth ring. “Who’s this?”
“Finn, it’s me.”
“Shy, baby?” His voice rises with surprise. “Hey, guys, it’s Shy,” he yells to the room. Shiloh hears shouts. “Did you get a new phone? This your new number?”
“I borrowed it.”
“Where’re you at? You here?”
“No, I’m still stuck in Cal City.” She cups her hand over the phone so she’s not overheard.
“That sucks.”
“We’re supposed to Zoom today. Where were you?”
He groans and slaps his forehead. She hears the smack over the line. “That’s riiiiight.” He swears. “Sorry, Shy. The guys had me. Beck wrote a new song. We had to work it out, took all afternoon. We’re playing tonight at the Silverlake. This is a big deal, Shy. This could be it, our big break. You understand?”
She understands she was supposed to see this performance. But she’s stuck in the desert, broke, starving, and hasn’t had a shower in over a week. This is not where she expected to land when she ran.
“I thought you’d take the bus, and I’d meet you at the station. You said you had enough for a ticket.”
“Someone stole my money.”
“How?”
“I left my backpack in the car when I—” She glances over her shoulder at the librarian. “It’s just gone.”
“Shyyyy . . .”
“I know. It was stupid of me.” She never should have trusted Irving to watch her stuff. “Can’t you borrow a car and come get me?”
“Not today. We got the thing tonight.”
“Tomorrow, then? I’ll get a job in Hollywood and pay you back for gas.”
“Babe, no.”
“Why not? Don’t you want me to move in with you? You said you loved me.” She’s trying hard to be brave and not sound as scared as she is, but she can’t help it. She’s terrified and desperate. She also can’t understand why Finn isn’t more alarmed. Why isn’t he making an effort to get her out of here?
“I do love you. Of course I want you to move in. I dream about you, Shy. The things I want to do . . .” He groans.
“I want to do that with you, too. But Finn, please. You have to come get me.”
“I can’t.”
“Yes, you can. I’m only three hours from you. You don’t start playing until nine—”
“For fuck’s sake, Shy. I can’t drive. I don’t have a license.”
Shiloh’s hope bottoms out in her stomach. “Oh.” She didn’t expect that. This isn’t good. This isn’t good at all. Why hasn’t he told her before?
“You gotta come to me, babe. You can do that, right?”
How? She needs cash. But she sucks up the tears she wants to shed and murmurs, “Okay.”
A shout comes through the phone.
“What was that?” she asks.
“Gotta run. Guys are loading up. Can I call you at this number tomorrow?”
“No. I . . .” She peeks over her shoulder at the librarian. She stacks books behind Shiloh, pretending she’s trying not to listen. “I’ll email you when I book my ticket.”
“Cool. Can’t wait. Wish me luck tonight.”
“Good—” He hangs up. “Luck,” she mutters.
Defeated, Shiloh deletes the call from the log and returns the phone, wondering where she can find cash and fast. She doesn’t want to spend another day like today here.
“Everything all right?” the librarian asks, tucking her phone in the tunic’s front pocket. Shiloh nods, and the librarian picks up a stack of books, hesitating before she carries them to the cart, her head shaking.
Shiloh eyes the wallet in the purse. An easy grab. She’d have the cash out and wallet dumped in a trash can before she leaves the premises, she’s that quick.
Her gaze lifts to the surveillance camera aimed at the front desk, and her shoulders round. With nowhere to go, the encampment a question in the air, she returns to the stacks. She’s thirsty, filthy, and broke. Back pressed to the shelves, she slides to the floor and hugs her knees. A sob bubbles up, and she covers her mouth to drown out the noise, but she can’t stop the tears.
6
Lucas didn’t plan to meet Mike and Oscar at the Lone Palm. He just knew they’d be there. Permanent fixtures at the bar, the Cliff and Norm of California City. Val is tending. She sends him a smile before going back to the cocktail she’s mixing. Some guy nursing a beer chats her up. She’s only half listening, hardly interested, and walks away to drop off a drink while he’s still rambling.
The Lone Palm is a stucco box on the side of the road with a marquee-style sign above the door that features the night’s cocktail special in lights. The parking lot is asphalt covered in an inch of desert dust. There used to be a lone palm in the center of the property, but the winds of ’96 split the tree, leaving a fifteen-foot toothpick. The bar never changed its name or bothered planting another tree.
A couple of marked transport trucks from the prison are parked out front. Rafe’s buddies. Lucas almost turns around when he sees them. He isn’t in the mood for trouble. But given his luck, trouble would find him anyway. One of these nights Rafe will confront him, and Val will call the cops on the ruckus that follows. Then that’ll be the end of the road for Lucas.
But fuck. He needs a drink. So here he is.
Lucas settles onto the leather stool beside Mike. Oscar’s on Mike’s right. Val approaches, handing off the drink she mixed to a woman in jeans and a cowboy hat. “Usual, Luc?” Blue eyes meet his. Long brown hair falls lower than the neckline of her ribbed tank. Tattoos that mean nothing to him but probably hold stories of their own run up her right arm, ending with a floral burst that coats her shoulder.
“Yeah.” He pops a few pretzels from the community bowl into his mouth.
“Another round, boys?” Mike grunts with a nod, and Oscar slaps the bar in approval. “Coming right up.”
“Ivy listed my old apartment yet?” Mike asks, finishing off his whiskey sour. He slides the empty glass to Val’s side of the bar.
“It’s listed. Still empty. Building hasn’t sold either.” Palms flat on the sticky wood surface, Lucas plays it like a keyboard, anxious for a drink. He wouldn’t call Mike and Oscar friends. More like unintentional drinking buddies. He shows up. They’re here. They drink and shoot the shit, Ivy a mutual acquaintance. In fact, Mike confessed Ivy told him to strike up conversation with Lucas when she learned he was spending his evenings at the Lone Palm. That woman’s always looking out for him.
“Hard to sell without tenants.”
“Yep.” Hard to sell when Dusty’s can’t move product, or said product is swiped from under his nose.
“I thought about buying it,” Mike says. Lucas quirks a brow. Mike shrugs. “It was a thought.”
“You’re supposed to be retiring,” Oscar pipes up.
“I am retired. Sitting behind a cash register chatting with folks is retirement. Janie wants to travel.”
Oscar works a toothpick in his teeth. “Don’t blame her. I wouldn’t want to be stuck making subs either. Though Ivy’s are the best in town.”
Val returns with their drinks. She sets a Corona with a lime and a side shot of Jose before Lucas. He drains the tequila before she serves Mike and Oscar their drinks.
“Want another, baby?” Val asks as Lucas pushes the lime slice through the Corona’s narrow neck.
“That would be great.”
The second shot arrives quick. Val touches the back of Lucas’s hand. “Good to see you here tonight. You doing okay?”
His gaze drops to their hands. Silver rings adorn her fingers. A leather cuff hugs her wrist. Her finger traces his thumb before she lays her hand a mere inch from his. He forgot how soft her skin feels, how silken her hands are despite the repetitive washing as she works the bar.
He feels a buzz in his center. Instinct demands he pull away. But he pushes past the urge to retreat and luxuriates in the split second of human contact she offers him, that he allows himself to feel. He skims the back of his fingers along her forearm before reaching for his beer. When he doesn’t feel repulsed by the contact or break out in a sweat, he nods. “I’m good.” Tipping back the bottle, he takes a long swig.
“Let me know if you need anything.” She taps the bar, her eyes meeting his again, and leaves to help another customer.
“So Janie’s got a thing tomorrow night,” Mike says. “A pampered something or other.”
“What of it?” Oscar picks up his Ferrari, a mint-and-orange concoction Lucas has never acquired a taste for.
“I have an extra ticket to the game.”
Lucas tosses back his second shot, motions for a third, and chases the Jose with his Corona. “I’ll take it.” California City doesn’t offer much, but for three seasons it had a lower-division baseball team. Mike went to every Whiptails home game. When the team folded, he bit the bullet and bought tickets for the Bakersfield Train Robbers. Lucas wouldn’t mind the hour drive. The desert is wearing on him. He’s used to fog and sixty-degree highs. Bakersfield won’t offer relief, but it is a change of scenery.
“What if I want the ticket?” Oscar asks.
