“Where’s your mom?”
He hesitated a moment, feeling her question like a punch to his gut. “She’s dead.”
“Oh.” Skye drew her eyebrows together. “What happened? I mean, was it an accident or—”
“She got sick,” he said roughly. “And then she died.”
“Oh.” An awkward silence stretched between them. After a moment’s hesitation, she cleared her throat. “Chance?”
“Yeah?”
“What’s it like? Being without a mother?”
“I don’t think about it much. Not anymore, anyway.”
Tears flooded her eyes, and he knew she was thinking about her mother, thinking that she would never see her again. He leaned toward her. “It’s bullshit, Skye. She’s going to be home any minute.”
“But wha’if she’s not?” Her words slurred slightly, and he knew the medicine was kicking in.
“She will be.”
Her eyelids fluttered. “Don’t…leave me. You promised.”
“Yeah, I know. I promised, and I won’t.”
Within moments her eyes closed and her breathing became deep and even. He stayed beside the bed, anyway, watching her while she slept. Silly, sweet Skye. She liked to play the tough kid, the invincible one. But that wasn’t the way she looked now. She looked young. And soft. And lost. He lightly touched his index finger to her cheek, then drew his hand away, surprised by the rush of tenderness he felt for her.
He’d never had a brother or sister, though once upon a time he had wanted one. Someone to share things with, someone to belong to when his mother didn’t have the time—or inclination—to belong to him.
That had been a long time ago. So long he had almost no memory of it anymore. He’d been lonely, he supposed. Ages ago, back when he had needed people to make him happy. To make him feel safe.
He unwedged himself and crossed to the door. There, he stopped and looked back at her. What she had told him earlier, about her and her mom picking up and moving in the middle of the night did sound weird. But the mob? No way. That was just too Hollywood.
No, Claire was probably trying to stay a step or two ahead of the bill collector. She had probably refused to tell Skye anything about her father because she didn’t even know who he was.
Ugly but true. Too ugly, he supposed. Too true to tell a little girl who loved her mother.
After one last glance at Skye, he went to the front of the camper to wait. He sat. He paced. He checked—and re-checked—his watch. The minutes ticked past. Still Claire didn’t show.
He shook his head. She probably had a boyfriend and had sneaked off to fuck her brains out.
Even as the thought filtered through his head, he acknowledged to himself that it didn’t ring true. He didn’t know why. He didn’t know Claire well, hardly at all, in fact. She could be a raving nympho, for all he knew.
But he had seen the way she looked at her daughter. He had seen how much she loved Skye. Nothing meant more to Claire than her daughter, and certainly not some small-town, back-lot fuck. Maybe he was being naive, but he didn’t believe Claire would leave her daughter alone to go do that.
Then, what had she left her alone to go do?
Even as the question registered, he heard her at the door. A second later, she stepped into the kitchen, saw him and stopped dead.
“Hello, Claire.”
She looked past him, toward the back of the trailer where Skye slept, then back, her expression alarmed. “What are you doing here?”
“I think the question is, why weren’t you here?”
“I went out for a walk. I couldn’t sleep and—”
“It’s the middle of the night!” He jumped to his feet. “Jesus, Claire, Skye was scared to death. She came to get me, she was so scared.”
Claire paled. Her hand went to her throat. He saw that it trembled. “I’m sorry. Like I said, I couldn’t sleep, and I…” She turned her head toward Skye’s bedroom. “Is she asleep?”
“I think so. She took a couple of those headache tablets, but only after I promised her I’d stay. She was afraid to be alone.”
Tears flooded Claire’s eyes. “Thank you, I’ll…I need to see her. Excuse me.”
Chance thought about leaving, then decided against it. Something didn’t sit right with Claire’s explanation. Skye was right, her mother acted as nervous and jumpy as a cat. She was afraid of something. Or someone.
Chance took a seat at the dinette and waited. From the bedroom, he heard the sound of muffled voices. And of tears, though whether Skye’s or her mother’s he wasn’t sure. Maybe both.
Several minutes later Claire reappeared. She looked shaken. “I can’t believe I…I didn’t think she would wake up. She’s always been a sound sleeper and…”
Her voice trailed off. She met his eyes. “I need a drink. You want a beer?”
“Sure.”
She went to the mini-fridge and took out a couple of beers. As she opened the door, a shaft of light speared through the dark kitchen, illuminating her expression. Something was wrong. Definitely.
She handed him a bottle of beer. “Glass?”
He shook his head. “This is fine. Thanks.”
Without another word, she slipped into the booth across the table from him. She took a swallow of the beverage, her gaze on a place somewhere over his right shoulder. He was reminded so vividly of his mother he winced.
He shook the thoughts off and narrowed his gaze on Claire. “What the fuck’s going on?”
Startled, she swung her gaze to his. “Pardon me?”
“You don’t add up. Neither does Skye. Why are you traveling with this two-bit outfit?”
“Why are you?”
“It’s a way out. It’s not permanent.”
“It’s not permanent for us, either. It’s just for the summer.”
“Same question still applies.” He brought the bottle to his lips, tipped his head back and drank, his gaze still on hers.
She looked away first. “What question was that?”
“Please, give me a little more credit.” He set the beer sharply on the table. “Why are you here? You don’t belong. You’re too…” He cocked his head, studying her, trying to put his finger on what it was that had bothered him about her all along. “You’re too classy. These people are rough, they’re a breed all their own. You have other options.”
“Maybe I like it.”
“That’s bullshit.”
“Thank you for helping Skye.” She slid out of the booth and crossed to the door. “Good night, Chance.”
He met her eyes but didn’t stand. “Skye thinks you’re on the run from the mob.”
She caught her breath. “That’s ridiculous.”
“Is it?”
“Yes.”
“She brought me the front page of a newspaper. On it there’s this bit about a mobster set to testify day after tomorrow in Philadelphia. She found the newspaper on your bed and put two and two together. Is she right, Claire?”
“No.” She shook her head for emphasis.