She put everything back as she’d found it except her mother’s expired driver’s license and Jon Wycliffe’s—which she slid into her back pocket. The last place she looked was in the large armrest between the driver and passenger seats. Popping it open, Summer stared inside: it was messy, unlike everything else in the RV: a polaroid camera, a pack of Doublemint gum, a handheld voice recorder and two pairs of rolled-up white socks. She heard a door slam and instinctively ducked her head, thumping the armrest closed and sliding down in the driver’s seat so that her body was half under the steering wheel and her legs jutted awkwardly toward the pedals. Footsteps and voices. Summer made a mewling sound in the back of her throat. If she were to be caught... She tallied up her crimes, knowing the harshest punishment would come from the stolen items in her pockets. They’d be angry she’d used the key and snuck out, even more that she’d gone through the RV without permission, but Taured hated stealing—said it was the most dishonorable of all the sins.
The driver’s-side door was still open and unlatched; she pushed on it roughly with her shoulder. It would leave a bruise, but it opened enough for Summer to wriggle out from under the wheel and drop to the asphalt. She hit the small of her back on the step as she went down, landing on her haunches. The pain was sharp and she gasped from it, clapping a hand over her mouth. They were on the other side of the RV now, and any minute one of them would walk around the front of the vehicle and see her, crouched and panting. She pushed the door closed silently with her palms, but there wasn’t enough force to latch it. Two men: Taured and someone else. Real fear flowed through her now, making her tremble, as if she were cold. But she wasn’t cold, it was a hundred and four degrees outside. The only option was under, so she dropped to her belly and rolled. Summer came to a stop faceup, the underbelly of the RV staring back at her. Her heart was hammering and she’d swallowed a good amount of dirt, but she lay as still as she could, afraid the slightest movement would alert them to her presence.
“The money is under the seat, passports and IDs in the glove box.” The voice belonged to Sammy, one of the men who went on the mission trips with her mother. Sammy did most of the driving, her mother had once told her. His boots stopped on the passenger side, so close Summer could see the yellow stitching on their soles. She blew out her cheeks, holding her breath, her hand still over her mouth, and followed the other set of shoes to the driver’s-side door. Nice boots: gray snakeskin.
“The photos?” Taured’s voice this time.
“In your car,” Sammy said. “Front seat.”
The driver’s-side door didn’t open as suddenly. Taured was hesitating. Summer breathed through the hand cupped over her mouth. It was the door. He never missed anything that was half-finished, half-closed or half-assed.
“You didn’t close the door.”
“What—yeah, I did. I always—You’re right. I probably didn’t. It won’t happen again, boss.”
Summer couldn’t hear what Sammy said after that, because both doors to the RV were now fully closed and the engine had started, with her still underneath.
9
Now
Ursa was taking her bags from the Lyft driver, her eyes hidden behind the largest sunglasses Rainy had ever seen. Her shoulders were hunched forward, and the rain pounded her back as she sprinted for the lobby. A woman jogged past them in a dress so short Rainy could see her underwear. She was barefoot and clutched her Louboutins against her breasts as she screamed, “Javi! Let me have my bird!”
Only when they were in the hotel’s lobby, the air-conditioning chilling the raindrops on their skin, could Rainy relax. By force of habit, she reached up to make sure her necklace was still there, flat against her skin. Her fingers caressed the metal as she watched Ursa dust raindrops from her clothes.
“Do not play with me, rain! I am a pro.” Mackenzie, whose blond hair was plastered to her face, shot Ursa a woeful look and escaped to the bathroom, presumably to dry herself with paper towel. They had come to escape a snowstorm and had found a rainstorm instead. As an artist, Rainy appreciated the comedy of the situation, though she’d never say so; the rest of them looked ready to cry. Didn’t most of what happened in Vegas happen indoors, anyway? They could still gamble and see shows while the desert got her watering.
“Will you watch the bags? I’m getting a drink,” Ursa said. Rainy followed her eyes to the hotel bar and nodded. “Want anything?”
Rainy shook her head and watched Ursa’s leggy stride as she made her way to the bar. Braithe and Tara stood in front of the check-in counter, their shoulders pressed so closely together they looked like conjoined twins. Not for the first time, Rainy noted that two of them seemed to have nothing in common but time—a grandfathered-in friendship. She thought of Sara then, wondered what had happened to her; it was fleeting and uncomfortable, and she pressed it to the far back of her mind. Sara didn’t belong in this world with these people, and Rainy had practiced hard at separating that life from this one.
A check-in attendant became available, and they shuffled forward together. Rainy might not have grandfathered-in relationships, but if Viola were here, she’d be standing with Rainy, making sarcastic comments about the whole situation. As Rainy stood in the center of their little luggage brigade, she slipped her phone from her back pocket and texted her friend. If partners existed in this strange Tiger Mountain square dance, Viola was hers.
The hotel is gold.
Stop bragging, came the quick reply. One corner of Rainy’s mouth lifted at Viola’s snarky humor.
Anything yet? Rainy asked.
The only thing arriving today is four inches of snow. This baby is stubborn. How are things there?
There’s a really bad rainstorm. Girls are freaking out.
Rain is better than snow, Viola texted back, and Rainy scrunched up her nose in disagreement. Sitting by the fire while the world outside was still and white sounded nice.
Is Tara still acting weird?
Rainy glanced over at the check-in desk, where a receptionist was handing Tara their room keys. She was gesturing wildly, probably making jokes about how she was going to get lost every time she left the room. She sent one last text to Viola.
It’s like she’s mad at me about something.
She slid her phone into her back pocket and smiled at Tara and Braithe as they made their way over. Tara didn’t make eye contact with her as she passed Rainy her room key. Rainy looked around their little group to see if anyone else had noticed, and then felt foolish. Braithe caught her staring at Tara and gave her a weird what’s going on? look.
Rainy shrugged, embarrassed at being caught. She was being crazy; of course she was. Making things up in her head. She got like this with relationships sometimes, trying to find things wrong that weren’t there. How many therapists had confirmed she had trust issues? Not that she needed to be told that, but it stung a little every time she had to hear it. The truths you didn’t want to hear, right? She could accept that she avoided most relationships because of what she’d experienced. What she could not accept was when a well-meaning therapist tried to tie that distrust to her mother, painting her as weak and unable to protect her daughter. Rainy did not have trust issues because of what her mother had done; she had issues because of what was done to her mother. If they started in on her mother, she’d look for a new therapist. That’s how it went.
“Up, up and away!” Braithe called. With the grace of the former dancer she was, she wove through the crowded lobby toward the elevators. They followed behind her single file, like little ducklings, Tara in second place, Rainy at the rear. When they crowded into an elevator, Mac had a sneezing fit that lasted four floors and made the other six people in the elevator scootch to the far side. By the time they reached their floor, they were giggling uncontrollably. Mac’s face was shiny with embarrassment as she whacked her friends playfully on the arms.
“Ya’ll don’t understand. I get nervous around this many grown-ups and then I hiccup and sneeze!”
That sent them into a fresh round of laughter with Mac admitting that she hiccuped through parent/teacher nights.