The Road to You (47 page)

Until then, I’d never really seen the powerful struggle my brother would have to face within himself, probably for the rest of his life. The dichotomy tugging between his beliefs and desires. He possessed an inherent contradiction in his nature so strong, it created an unsolvable conundrum. Not only was I utterly unable to resolve it, but neither was he.

It was interesting. I couldn’t be sure if Gideon was destined to be more of an antihero than a hero. More of a vigilante than a trained secret agent. I think he equally liked the idea of both.

But the one thing that was crystal clear to all of us on this memorable Independence Day was that—however much he loved Mom, Dad and me, and however much he respected Donovan, Billy and his agency friends—Gideon would be making his own decisions about his future. And he’d take as long as he needed to do it.

The day ended too fast, in darkness, as night ushered us out of the park and pointed us toward our different destinations.

My parents, Donovan and I were all flying back to Minnesota together early the next morning. Donovan was going to leave his Trans Am at the airport in San Bernardino until he could make the return trip to Albuquerque to say his final goodbye to his little brother. Billy was headed back in his own car to New Mexico that night. And Gideon (a.k.a. “Andy” from that point onward) was riding west on his motorcycle.

Before we all disbanded, Donovan lit the last firework we’d gotten in Crescent Cove. I heard him whisper, “This is for you, Jeremy,” and we all watched it light the sky with a hot, quick flash and a boom. We were grateful for our country but not blind to the fact that freedom came with sacrifice and, sometimes, with losses too painful to name.

Donovan and I were no longer quite so young after our trip ended, and I, at least, didn’t feel nearly as inconspicuous in the eyes of those who loved me. Having had to fully face death, I think we both felt we could now truly live.

Regardless, it was time for all of us to finally move on.

Chameleon Lake, Minnesota ~ Wednesday, July 5

I
T MAY
have been only nineteen days since I’d last set foot in my hometown, but it might have been a decade for how differently I felt when my parents, Donovan and I drove back down Main Street.

Donovan squeezed my hand in the backseat, out of view of my parents, before we dropped him off at his apartment on Sixth and Main. My mom and dad had thanked him a dozen times already—for helping to find Gideon and for taking good care of me—so, in a way, there were no other words left to say but, “We’ll see you soon.” A phrase all of us repeated like echoes in a canyon.

I walked into my bedroom and collapsed on the mattress, my tie-dyed bedspread feeling soft and comforting after nearly three weeks of scratchy motel coverlets. David Cassidy stared back at me from my wall. I snickered.

When I worked up enough energy to pull myself to standing, the first thing I did was march over to that poster and tear it down.

The next thing I did was go to the Grocery Mart.

Dale was feverishly happy to see me. Not because he was glad to have me back, of course, but because he’d had to save up almost three weeks’ worth of bile toward me and couldn’t wait to begin spewing it.

I let him get as far as “You have some nerve, Aurora Gray, to neglect your work responsibilities here just so you could go
joyriding
around the Midwest—” before I strode past him and into the backroom, letting the door swing closed in the middle of his rant. I didn’t have many personal belongings in my work cubby, but I liked the “Addams Family” thermos I’d stashed there and fully intended to eat my last unopened package of chocolate Hostess Cupcakes, too.

I grabbed both of those, waved to Sandy, who was watching me with growing admiration—especially after I gave my still-hanging puce-colored apron the finger—and pushed my way through the door and back into the store again.

Dale was still pitching a fit in the middle of the canned foods aisle. I caught a glimpse of three shelves of tuna and winced.

“Don’t think you can just ignore me when I’m talking to you, young lady. I’m your boss and I—”

“You’re not my boss anymore, Dale,” I said very loudly and very clearly, causing the few customers in the shop to pause and watch us with interest. “I quit. Bye now.”

And as I left the Grocery Mart, I felt the fresh summer air fill my lungs and the world of possibility opening up to me again.

Freedom
.

B
ETSY CAME
over that night.

“Mrs. Larrabee overheard you at the store today,” she said with a giggle. “She told my mom she was just ‘minding her own business, buying some eggs and milk’ when you came in and ‘damn near gave Dale Geiger a heart attack.’” My friend grinned. “Good for you, but why’d you quit now?”

“Because it’s time,” I replied. I told her a highly modified version of my “college scouting trip” and said that the experience convinced me I really should go away to school. “Still not sure exactly where or when, but it’s going to be sooner rather than later.”

She nodded and worried her bottom lip a bit. “Well, maybe this won’t be necessary then.” From a brown paper bag she was carrying, she drew out a small, flat, gift-wrapped package. “You were away on your birthday, so I couldn’t give it to you until now. But I hope you like it.”

I peeled off the wrapping paper and found a very pretty set of stationery. Light pink with my first initial embossed in glossy white on the left corner of every page and on the back flaps of each matching envelope.

“Thanks, Betsy. It’s really lovely and so thoughtful of you. I can’t wait to write on it.”

“I just wanted to make sure we kept in touch after I left for U of M next month,” she said. “You know, be pen pals.” She gave an apologetic laugh. “But, if you’re maybe gonna be in the Twin Cities, too—”

“I won’t be there,” I told her quickly. “I’m not planning to stay in state. I think I need a total change of scenery, actually, so I’ll definitely need this.” I held up the stationery and then patted it against my heart. “And I should probably get some for you before you leave. If I write, I want you to be able to write me back.”

She hugged me. “I’ll always write back to you, Aurora.”

“Good,” I said. “I’m counting on that.”

T
HE NEXT
couple of days were a series of readjustments, resolutions and decisions—for my parents as well as for me. All of us were feeling our way through this new world of having Gideon back but not quite back, and being thrilled about it but not able to share the news with anyone aside from each other.

Gossip was buzzing around town about the recent arrest of Officer William James, but word on the street didn’t even hint at a connection to my brother’s disappearance. It was all about the dirty cop’s “shady financial transactions,” which wasn’t untrue…just not exactly the full story.

My dad pulled me aside Thursday afternoon. “I still don’t know what to say about any of this.” He was, I could tell, completely torn as a parent between wanting to lecture me for putting myself in such danger and wanting to praise me for having pulled off far more than I’d promised him before I’d left. “It was such a risk, Aurora. But—”

“But it was worth it,” I finished for him. “It really was.”

The rest of the world didn’t have to know any of the details, but our family did, and we finally had the closure we’d all sought. At least most of it.

Knowing this one-ton weight had been lifted off all of our shoulders gave me the courage to add, “I’ve been thinking a lot about the fall. I have an idea for school that I’d like to share with you and Mom tonight.”

He agreed, but as he hugged me, he whispered, “I talked to Donovan when we were in California. I could tell he cares about you a lot.” He pulled back a little to study my face. “Am I right that it’s mutual?”

I nodded. “Very much so.”

My dad nodded back. “Well, I can’t fault your choice. He’s a good man.”

“I know, Dad.” I kissed his cheek. “I’ve spent a lifetime watching you. I know how to recognize the best ones.”

T
HAT NIGHT,
I pulled out the Northern Arizona University admissions packet and went through it with my parents, telling them about the buildings I liked on the campus and the natural beauty surrounding Flagstaff.

“It’s not exactly close to home,” I admitted, which was something almost too obvious to utter aloud, “but if they accept me, it would be a college I’d love to go to next year. This September, if it’s not too late. January, otherwise. Either way, I’ve been thinking about maybe moving there…soon. Getting a job somewhere in the city to earn money for classes. The only downside is how far away I’ll be from you.”

My parents shared a look that told me in half a second all I needed to know. That they loved me, but they knew the time had come to let me go.

I knew that time had come, too.

With tears brimming in her eyes, but a genuine smile on her lips, my mom said, “Why don’t you apply there, sweetheart? Send it out this week.”

My dad agreed. “If you liked the place so much, that’s where you should study. It’s only a two-hour flight away. Not so far.” He put his arm around Mom’s shoulders and squeezed. “Won’t that be a great state for us to visit during winter?” he asked her.

She nodded. “And maybe your brother will be able to meet us there sometimes.”