“Dane read the manuals to me when I was recovering. To pass the time. It’s not hard. This one means go and this one means stop,” she said, pointing to the pedals on the floorboard. “It’s fun! And look at the wheels—they spin like windmills.”
“Oh my God! Is this our car? Our Escalade?” I gasped as I ran my hands over the hot, butchered metal. “Tanner said he wanted to turn it into a convertible, that it would be good for hauling trash. I can’t believe he actually did it. Poor Tanner,” I said as I thought of his head rotting in the corn.
As much as I wanted to jump in and go, I had to be somewhat practical about this. I had Beth to take care of now. “I’m sorry, but we can’t.”
“But I thought—”
“Spencer took it . . . all of it. No cash . . . no gold . . . no gas.”
“Oh, looky here.” Beth heaved a giant pickling jar full of coins into my arms.
“Where did you get this?”
“Dane gave it to me. He wanted me to have it . . . just in case. I think he’s been collecting it for years.”
The mere mention of his name opened up a fresh wound.
“It won’t get us very far.” I swallowed my emotions as I handed the jar back to her.
“If it’s just money you’re worried about, you can always make more,” she said as she put it back in the car.
“Okay?” I burst out laughing. “So, you’re a counterfeiter, too?”
“I’m not sure what that is, but I don’t think so,” she said with that unreadable smile. “Nina left you the formula.”
“The formula for what . . . disaster?” I mumbled.
“For making gold, silly.” She grinned, slapping me on the arm.
My heart leapt into my throat. “What . . . what are you saying?”
“The formula. It’s written all over your skin.”
The realization grew inside of me like a slow-spreading fire. All the money we had growing up, the gold ingots, the secrecy of her work, the strange metallic smells, the fine gold dust that always clung to her fingertips.
How hadn’t I seen it before? The marks on my skin weren’t just protection symbols. My mother wanted to make sure I’d have the means to support myself and my brother. It was her final gift to me.
In a daze, I climbed into the passenger seat and Beth squealed. “Oh my stars! Are we really doing this?” She revved the engine. “We look so hump-able in this car.”
“Kissable, Beth,” I corrected her gently. “We look totally kissable.”
“Where to?” She smiled as she grinded the gear into place. “New York . . . Spain?”
“Just drive,” I whispered.
As we drove through the corn, following Rhys’s scorched path, I wrapped the black silk ribbon around my throat and tied it into a bow—the way Marie and I had always worn it.
I pulled the CD from my pocket and slid it into the player.
“This is Dane’s song!” Beth trilled as she sang along and bobbed her head to the awful synthetic beat.
A boundless smile seized me from deep within. Tears sprung to my eyes as I breathed in the wonder of the universe.
Maybe it wasn’t so black-and-white. Maybe I didn’t have to belong to anyone but myself.
As I looked back over Quivira, to the disappearing lake, I closed my eyes.
I didn’t want to erase it from my memory. I wanted to take in every scent, every detail, so I could conjure it up whenever I wanted. Quivira was a part of me now, as was my mother, Rhys, Beth, Dane, Marie, Coronado, and Katia. If I listened closely I could hear my mother whisper, “Uhurahak a u’ a.”
And there I was, once again, at the edge of a precipice. I knew what I wanted. I knew what I had to do.
I simply let go and let myself fall.
Master Set - 1st Pass
Master Set - 1st Pass
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
THIS STORY has been with me for a very long time. It brought me the most unexpected career and a slew of people that I love.
My editor, Arianne Lewin—I keep going back to our first e-mail correspondence. I said something idiotic, like I was looking forward to getting my ass kicked. To which you replied, “One day you will laugh at the idea of wanting your ass kicked.”
Still. Not. Laughing.
There were tears, and there may or may not have been a corn-husk doll involved at one point, but I’m a stronger person because of you. I’m a better writer because of you. I’m forever grateful you cared enough about my book to give me the “what for.”
My assistant editor, Katherine Perkins—thank you for all the time and care you put into Blood and Salt. And for agreeing to meet me for chocolates whenever I felt weary.
Thank you to everyone at Putnam who helped bring this book to life—my fabulous cover designer, Kristin Logsdon; interior designer, Annie Ericsson; and copy editor, Anne Heausler.
My agent, Josh Adams—thanks for believing in me—fighting for me. Much love to you and Tracey and my entire Adam’s Lit family.
Lorin Oberweger—my mentor and friend, thank you for challenging me in the gentlest way and never letting me censor my writing.
Gina Carey—my muse. You are that wayward ray of sunshine.
Bess Cozby—thank you for being such a wonderful friend and for putting up with my heathen ways.