So why did Jennie go for bad boys? Obvious to Pell. They were like her mother; subconsciously she kept flinging herself at them in hopes they’d change their ways and love, not ignore or use, her.
This was helpful for Pell to know but he could have told her: By the way, lovely, don’t bother. We don’t change. We never, ever change. Write that down and keep it close to your heart.
Of course, though, he kept these wise words to himself.
She stopped eating. “Honey?”
“Um?”
“Can I ask you a question?”
“Sure, lovely.”
“You never said anything about those, you know, girls you were living with. When they arrested you.
The Family.”
“Guess I didn’t.”
“Did you stay in touch with them or anything? What were their names?”
He recited, “Samantha, Rebecca and Linda. Jimmy too, the one who tried to kill me.”
Her eyes flicked toward him. “Would you rather I didn’t ask about them?”
“No, it’s okay. You can ask me anything.”
Never tell someone not to talk about a subject. Keep a smile on your face and suck out every bit of information you can. Even if it hurts.
“Did they turn you in, the women?”
“Not exactly. They didn’t even know we were going to the Croytons’, Jimmy and me. But they didn’t back me up after I got arrested. Linda, she burnt some evidence and lied to the police. But even her, she finally caved and helped them.” A sour laugh. “And look at what I did for them. I gave them a home.
Their own parents didn’t give a shit about them. I gave them a family.”
“Are you upset? I don’t want to upset you.”
“No.” Pell smiled. “It’s okay, lovely.”
“Do you think about them much?”
Ah, so that’s it. Pell had worked hard all his life to spot the subtext beneath people’s comments. He now realized that Jennie was jealous. It was a petty emotion, one that was easy to put down, but it was also a central force in the universe.
“Nope. I haven’t heard from them for years. I wrote for a while. Linda was the only one who answered.
But then she said her lawyer told her it’d look bad for her parole and she stopped. Felt bad about that, I have to say.”
“I’m sorry, honey.”
“For all I know, they’re dead, or maybe married and happy. I was mad at first but then I understood that I made a mistake with them. I picked wrong. Not like you. You’re good for me; they weren’t.”
She lifted his hand to her mouth and kissed his knuckles one at a time.
Pell was studying the map again. He loved maps. When you were lost, you were helpless, out of control.
He remembered how maps—well, thelack of a map—played a role in the history of this area of California, where they sat right now, in fact, Monterey Bay. In the Family, years ago, Linda had read aloud after dinner, all of them sitting in a circle. Pell had often picked works by local authors and books that were set here, and he remembered one, a history of Monterey. The bay had been discovered by the Spanish in the early 1600s. The Bahia de Monte Rey, named after a rich patron of the expedition, was considered a real plum—fertile land, a perfect port, strategic location—and the governor wanted to build a major colony there. Unfortunately after the explorers sailed away they managed to lose the bay entirely.
A number of expeditions tried unsuccessfully to locate it again. With every passing year Monterey Bay took on mythical proportions. One of the largest contingents of explorers departed from San Diego and headed north on land, determined to find the bahia. Constantly at risk from the elements and the grizzly bears, the conquistadors covered every inch of the state up to San Francisco—and still managed to miss the huge bay altogether.
Simply because they had no accurate map.
When he’d managed to get online in Capitola, he’d been thrilled with a website called Visual-Earth, where you could click on a map and an actual satellite photo of the place you wanted to see came up on screen. He was astonished at this. There were some important things to look at, so he hadn’t had a chance to browse. Pell looked forward to the time when his life was more settled and he could spend hours on the site.
Now, Jennie was pointing out some locations on the map open in front of them and Pell was taking in the information. But, as always, he was also listening to everything around him.
“He’s a good puppy. Just needs more training.”
“It’s a long drive, but if we take our time, it’ll be a blast. You know?”
“I ordered ten minutes ago. Could you see what’s taking so long?”
At this last comment, Pell glanced toward the counter.
“Sorry,” explained a middle-aged man at the cash register to a customer. “Just a little short staffed today.” The man, the owner or manager, was uneasy and looked everywhere except at Pell and Jennie.
Smart people can figure outwhyyou changed, then use it against you.
When Pell had ordered their food, there were three or four waitresses shuttling back and forth between the kitchen and the tables. Now this man was the only one working.
He’d sent all his employees into hiding.
Pell leapt up, knocking over the table. Jennie dropped her fork and jumped to her feet.
The manager stared at them in alarm.
“You son of a bitch,” Pell muttered and pulled the pistol from his waistband.
Jennie screamed.
“No, no…I—” The manager debated for a second and fled into the kitchen, abandoning his customers, who screamed and spilled onto the floor for cover.
“What is it, honey?” Jennie’s voice was panicked.
“Let’s go. The car.” He grabbed the map and they fled.
Outside, in the distance, south, he could see tiny flashing lights.
Jennie froze, panicked, whispering, “Angel songs, angel songs…”
“Come on!”