She gives me a wobbly sort of smile, and in that moment I understand Olivia was right. If I stay with my mom, my future is destined to be a series of never-ending moves. It will be a life without any true home or any lasting friendships. And if I leave? If, once I’m eighteen and legally free to go, I walk away? I’ll lose the only family I have. Because my mother will never stop moving. Not as long as she believes there are monsters chasing us.
When I start to turn away, she catches my hand. “Gwen,” she says, turning my name into a plea, like she understands where my thoughts have gone. She lets go of my hand long enough to take a bracelet from her own wrist and slip it onto mine. “You’re nearly grown, you know,” she says, brushing my damp hair back from my face. “It’s time you have this.”
I pull my arm away from her and examine the bracelet. It’s one I’ve never seen her go without—blue-gray stones almost the exact color of her eyes. They aren’t quite round, like pearls, but they are smooth and almost translucent. When I was little, I used to love running my fingers over the cool, wobbly stones as I counted them.
“You don’t have to,” I say, because I’m not sure I want this. It feels too much like a bribe. Here, have this bit of glass and forget all the things I’m pulling you away from. All the things you’re leaving behind.
“Take it,” she insists. “Your father gave it to me, and now I’m giving it to you.”
“My father?” I glance up at her, surprised. She’s never told me that about the bracelet.
“He wanted me to keep you safe, Gwen,” she says, which is the only explanation she has ever given me for anything when it comes to my father. As far as explanations go, it stopped being enough a long time ago.
“If he wanted me safe, he shouldn’t have left,” I toss back.
My mom’s face pinches into a scowl, and her whole body goes rigid. “He didn’t want to leave,” she says. “He did it to protect us. To protect you.”
Of course. Because it’s always been my fault that the love of her life left.
I start to pull off the bracelet, but she stops me by putting her hand over mine. “No, it’s yours now. Don’t ever take it off. Promise me.”
Not a gift, then—a shackle. Another burden I’m supposed to carry for her. I frown but don’t argue. There’s no point in it.
Olivia finds us locked in uneasy silence when she returns with one of her carry-ons and my duffel. “Everything okay?” She glances at me for the answer.
“Fine,” my mom replies. “Everything is going to be fine.”
“I brought up your bag,” Liv tells me.
“Thanks,” I tell her, glad for the excuse to turn away from my mom. The bracelet feels so much heavier on my wrist than the small stones should feel.
“I suppose I should help with the rest,” my mom says to no one in particular.
When my mom’s finally gone, Olivia glances at me. In her expression I can see the questions she wants to ask, but she hands me the bag instead. “Rain stopped,” she tells me. “Want to go for a run?”
When the others had gone home from the pub and it was just the two brothers, the boy leaned forward eager to know more. “Do you kill many?” he asked. His brother smiled, his crooked tooth winking in the dim light. “Tons,” the soldier said. Perhaps, if the boy had been paying attention, he would have noticed his brother’s eyes weren’t laughing. Perhaps he might have realized it was like they no longer knew how. . . .
Chapter 3
BY THE TIME WE CHANGE and make our way down the front steps, the evening air is still damp, and a light mist has settled over the streets. Neither of us says much as we work through a few stretches on the sidewalk in front of the house.
When she feels like she’s ready, Olivia glances over to me. “The map I looked at said there’s a park not far from here,” she says. “Want to check it out?”
“Lead the way,” I say, glad she hasn’t brought up anything about my mom’s behavior.
She gives me a sure nod and takes off.
I follow without a word, and with the first few steps, I start to feel the tension draining out of my muscles. For the past week, ever since my mom announced we were moving, I’ve felt like I was holding my breath and waiting for something even worse to happen. But as my shoes connect with the uneven sidewalk in a steady tempo and my arms swing at my side, I feel like I can breathe again.
Running is how Olivia and I met. When I first moved to Westport, we’d see each other on our separate routes, and then somehow we started leaving together and following the same route. Eventually we started talking and discovered we had more in common than the running. Her parents might be rich, but they aren’t there for her any more than my mom is for me.
We never really talk while we run, though. She runs with a focus I don’t have—a better mile time or more calories burned—I’m not exactly sure what drives her. But I run because when I’m pushing myself, when I’m only worried about the next mile or if I can make it back without stopping, I don’t have to think about anything else.
At one point I glance over at her, and she gives me an almost smug smile. She’d known I needed this, and she’d been right.