The girl was shocked at first. It wasn’t just that she was getting older and developing her own sense of morals that didn’t seem to gel with the world her parents had created, it was that no one in their family had pulled a scam in years. Her father had steady work at a casino and their tiny apartment in Gulfport had become as much of a home as a home could get. Her parents had promised her that they were finished with grifting for good and that they’d try and lead as normal a life as they could, all for their young daughter. Or so they said.
But her mother had her reasons, reasons that the girl didn’t understand. If they were friends with this Travis man, why were they robbing him? If he lived in an outlandish house with marble pillars and a driveway full of fountains, why didn’t they just ask him for the money? This was another reason why the girl doubted her mother’s story. This man wasn’t a friend at all.
And the girl was being sent right into his clutches.
When the time was up, the girl slowly got out of the car, careful not to make a sound, and hugged the shadows of the house, moving toward the back. She listened for the telltale buzz of security cameras or the click of motion sensor lights and felt relief when she couldn’t detect them. She kept low, quick and quiet until she was in the sprawling backyard, the manicured grounds lit by the moon. She paused behind a fragrant bush and counted the windows down the side of the house. The plan was for her to go in the second window, the master bathroom, then walk out of the bedroom and take the first door on the left. That’s where she’d find the safe, the code written in permanent ink on the top of her sweating hand.
How her mother knew the code to this man’s safe, she had no idea. She stopped asking her mother these things a long time ago.
She scampered over to the narrow, frosted pane window, and just like her mother said it would be, it was open a crack.
The girl would always look back at that moment, the hesitation as she stood below it, the moon behind her. She remembered having a choice—she didn’t have to go through with it. She could run back to the car and tell her parents she changed her mind. But fear and pride kept the foolish little girl from acting on her instincts.
Instead, she silently opened the window and went into the house.
When she eventually left the house, her life would be changed forever.
Now
Bright blue skies, rough desert, open blacktop spreading before me.
Cue the music.
I fumbled with my iPod and selected the Desert Playlist I concocted a few days ago in a hotel room in Colorado. The Doors’ “Roadhouse Blues” came blaring from Jose’s speakers and I let myself smile as the hot breeze blew my hair back.
It had been two months since I escaped Sergei’s fat-knuckled clutches in Ohio. Two months of being on the road and lying low from state to state. Two months of trading in my long, naturally strawberry blonde hair for a choppy black bob. Two months of surviving on Sergei’s money until it ran dry. Two months of being Ellie Watt.
Two months before I finally had to return home.
Well, the only place I’d ever called home.
I loved the high desert though, always have, and seeing the Joshua trees as they clung to rocky, chalk-colored hillsides made a familiar thrill run through me. The same kind of thrill I got when pulling off a scam. Only there were probably more repercussions for returning to the Coachella Valley. A scam, yeah, I was usually good at those. Being home again—being me again—not so much.
But I brushed that worry out of my head and gunned the engine. Roadrunners shot out of the bushes at the barren roadside, their little legs kicking up dust onto the rippling asphalt. There wasn’t a car or a soul around for miles. It was just me and Jim Morrison and the extreme landscape. The endless sky, the searing heat, the relentless sun that made the highs pop and the lows sink. This was a high contrast land and I lived a high contrast life.
I followed Highway 62 while listening to my favorite Calexico songs and surf music until Joshua Tree National Park appeared on my left.
And that’s when I had to pull the car over to vomit.
Ugh. I sat back down on the passenger side, away from the road, and leaned forward on my knees, Jose making a clicking noise under the hood as the engine settled. I tried to breathe in deeply through my nose. My hands were shaking slightly, my heart running around in my chest as if it were looking for a way out. This was going to be a lot harder than I thought. A semi-truck roared past, making Jose tremble beneath me. Now we were both scared.
You can do this, Ellie, I told myself, even though my own name sounded weird in my head. No one will know you’re in town. You’re twenty-six, not nineteen. You don’t look the same. You don’t even walk the same. And like anyone from high school would still be living here. They all probably left just the same as you did.