The Wayward Sons: Starlee's Heart: WhyChoose Contemporary Young Adult Romance Read online

  And then that slice…it just…it gave me peace.

  Peace.

  In a thin line of blood and pain. It made me feel…something different from the numbness I’d used to block out the voices all day. And then I felt bad. So bad. And when my mom asked me about the scars, I said it was the cat. And when my friend asked me about the cut, I said I was careless shaving. And then one day…one day the whole world felt like it was swallowing me whole. Gulping me down like a whale in the ocean, and the cut got bigger, deeper, and I knew. I couldn’t stop, wouldn’t, until the voices ceased entirely.

  And my mom, when I told her, the look on her face, it was bad. Scary. She was scared and my mom was never scared. I’d written in a poem in third grade titled, “My Mother is a Wolverine.” I’d meant it. My mom was scary, but when she saw that cut, the deep one, I saw it. Felt it. That’s when I knew I was in trouble.

  So she plucked me out of school.

  That was it.

  No more.

  Because my mother acted. She didn’t wait for others to fix problems. She fixed problems. Or tried to, and she tried with me, but the one thing she wouldn’t do, even after the program, after the therapy, after the medication change and my brain became unscrambled, was let me go back to school.

  She kept me at home.

  Because she was scared.

  And then even though I was better, I got scared.

  Together, we were scared.

  There were too many unknown variables. Could I handle it? What if the cutting started again? What if it was worse? What if the boys didn’t stop? What if the boys knew? What if everyone whispered? Did I even have friends anymore? Because they’d certainly stopped calling or inviting me places.

  So we silently agreed, no school except at home, online, or with tutors, and that’s how it was for years. My friends dropped away while I was still sick. Were they ever friends at all? It seemed like they forgot me quickly or maybe I forgot them, and all interactions happened through the computer, over my phone. In pictures and single-word messages or tiny emojis.

  Until…I met Sara. Her handle was @sarafinahomeschool. I met her in an online homework chat. One of the few places I was allowed to go because physics was outside my mother’s realm of knowledge. Our science-related discussions turned personal and suddenly I had a friend. A real one—even if I couldn’t meet her face to face. She asked if I had a Snapchat account. I didn’t. I wasn’t allowed a phone, but we kept talking until one day she asked me to meet in person.

  In. Person.

  All those worries and fears were overtaken by something else. For the first time, I was filled with excitement and anticipation. I hadn’t wanted to admit it, but something was bigger than my memories of mean classmates and depression.

  Loneliness.

  I was lonely and Sara, with her pink hair and nose ring…she was brave—fearless, even. She lit a spark in me. One that told me I could have a life outside my home—away from my mother. I mean, why did I ever think I couldn’t? She was good. So good at making me feel capable. Strong. Liked.

  We pushed too far—too fast, and got caught. And that’s how the decision was made. How I’d ultimately made it and we ended up driving through the desert across the country to live with the second Starlee Nye in the little town of Lee Vines.

  3

  I’ve only been to Lee Vines once before. I was about six and my mother and I flew from North Carolina to Vegas and took the long drive through Death Valley. I don’t remember much about that trip, so this time it’s like seeing it all over again. When we get out of the desert I’m just happy to see green again. And buildings. And people.

  The desert is hauntingly beautiful while also being oppressively scary. It’s weird.

  We take the same route as the last time over the last two days but there’s no doubt it feels different, probably because it’s not a quick visit at my grandmother’s lodge, but I’m headed to my new home.

  “I’ve set everything up with the online summer school program,” my mother tells me for the one-millionth time. “You’ll just have to log in daily and do the work. Everything is organized.”

  “Mom, I’ve been in online school for the past five years. I know how to do it.”

  “I know, it’s just a little different out here. It’s a new system and the program they use isn’t the same. But I’ve emailed you the coordinator’s information and if you have any questions…”

  “I know, Mom. I do.”

  She sighs and drives, her hands gripping the steering wheel. I hold my breath and watch the little towns slip by. A large lake appears to the east, flat and wide, going for mile after mile. The water looks like smooth glass, reflecting the mountains around it.

  “I bet that was an amazing sight for people crossing the desert.”

  “You’d think,” Mom says, “but it’s salt water.”

  “The whole thing?”

  “Yep. Can’t drink it or water anything with it. If I remember correctly, it was mostly used by the mines for transportation.”

  I think about it, traveling mile after grueling mile across the barren rocky desert. Getting over the Sierra Nevada mountains and seeing an amazing, beautiful, refreshing lake in the distance…and then nope. Nothing. You’re screwed.

  I laugh darkly to myself and my mom glances over, but we’ve just passed the sign that says “Lee Vines” one mile ahead and I find myself eager to get out of the car. The temperature dropped as we got further from the desert and the window felt cool to the touch. We’re up in the hills, just east of Yosemite, with an unusable lake on one side and craggy rock on the other. There’s literally nothing out here, but I’m excited anyway. Nervous, too.

  “I remember this,” I say as my mother slows down. It’s a two-lane highway and the small town is a blink-and-you’ll-miss-it situation. No stop lights. Just a little strip of buildings on each side of the road. One side overlooks the lake. The other backs right up to the mountains.

  The town is small but has character. Big trees stretch to the sky, providing shade for the small lodge on the mountain side. The Vines is a mixture of cabins, painted a deep barn red, and smaller individual rooms with plastic chairs on the front porch. The latter is spread out behind a grassy lawn and beds of wild flowers.

  It’s hard not to find it charming and I can’t help but think about the salt lake below—the allure of something beautiful and different, yet it’s uninhabitable.

  A mint green bungalow sits on a small hill with an ‘Open’ sign in the window. A surprisingly large crowd fills the outdoor seating. It’s a restaurant with a neon sign out front that says, ‘Epic Café.’

  “Mother says that place is quite good. We should try it before I leave.”

  “Sure.”

  I’m absorbing it all when my mother finally stops, pulling into a narrow driveway.

  “We’re here,” she said, sighing in relief. It’s been a long two days and our internal clocks are confused about when to eat and sleep. “Let’s go find Leelee.”

  The original Starlee Nye left the bright lights and glamor of Hollywood for adventure. She loved the outdoors but hated the politics of the film industry, so she started hiking and traveling the mountains of California. The story says, she met a man that matched her spirit and married him. He was a miner, a wealthy one, but she refused to live out in the outpost mining town of Bodee with the rest of the families. She wanted a view and access to the Sierra Nevadas, so he bought the strips of land overlooking Mono Lake and named a town after her.

  Over the years, the little town grew into a stopping point for tourists and hikers, known as a last point of civilization before heading north or west through Yosemite. They built the lodge and when my grandmother and her husband took over, they added the cabins. My mother spent her life wanting out of the isolated strip, and when a group of hippies rolled in one hot summer afternoon, she caught a ride in their van and found herself across the country in North Carolina. There she went to college, met my dad, h
ad me and built a life.

  They split when I was two. My mother says he wasn’t ready to be a dad, but other times she’s let it slip that he had some other issues. Issues that she’ll bring up with the doctor when they’re monitoring my medication. Issues that sound vaguely familiar. Whatever his issues were, he took off and we haven’t seen or heard from him much since.

  I get the feeling from looking at photos that life didn’t turn out the way my mother wanted. I searched the pictures and then her face for that person who escaped the tiny town and craved adventure. The carefree smile. The bright, patterned clothes. I don’t know that person. And I certainly can’t quite figure out why she feels like the answer to my problems is back in the place she ran away from, other than the fact there is absolutely nothing to do here.

  “I cleaned up your mother’s room,” Leelee says. She’s seventy-four but looks fifty. Her hair is gray but cut stylishly. “Got you a new mattress and bedding. The closet is mostly empty. Anything I left is for your mother to pick through.”

  The house is a green bungalow nestled against the mountainside—not far from the lodge. Three bedrooms, a kitchen, living room, dining room, and one bath for us to share. It’s clean. Decoratively outdated, but in a funky, retro sort of way. The chrome and Formica kitchen table looked like the kind of thing you’d see in an antique store.

  There’s a beautiful view of the lake and little shops down the main road off the porch. I notice how easily I can breathe here. How quiet it is. The lack of humidity.

  “We should go over the rules,” my mother says. She can’t help herself. Orderliness is how she functions. Me too, but sometimes I wish we didn’t have to be so structured, but when we’re not things tend to go astray.

  “I’m not worried about rules, Star,” my grandmother replies. She’s bustling around the kitchen pulling out containers of food. Despite her smallness there’s no doubt of her self-sufficiency. “She’ll do her school work, help me with the lodge and maybe enjoy a bit of nature.”

  “I don’t want you hiking alone,” Mom says, casting a wary eye.

  “Star, you traveled all over this place when you were a kid. Kayaking on the lake, climbing over in the park. There’s countless things to do out here and from looks of her skin, I think the girl could use a little sun and fresh air.”

  I glance down at my pale arm and tug down my sleeve.

  “Things were different back then. Safer.”

  Leelee rolls her eyes and I fight back a laugh. “Honey, back then we had the Hell’s Angels passing through here once a month. Two girls that joined the Manson family stayed down at the campground for a few months, and don’t forget about Bert’s marijuana field back off the highway.”

  “Mom.” My mother looks horrified. I’m enjoying every moment, thinking maybe she’ll change her mind and pack us up to go back home.

  “I’m just saying, things are calmer now than ever before. Half the people coming through just want to fish and get away from the internet.”

  I blink. “What do you mean, get away from the internet?”

  She glances at my phone, securely attached to my hand. Not to call anyone or text. It’s just there for security. My only lifeline to the outside world. “Service is spotty up here, even with the wifi. The only reliable machines are the computers in the businesses and the one hookup I have for your school work. We mostly use the landline.”

  My mother looks amused by this—relieved.

  Nervous energy rolls through me, but there’s part of me that’s okay with it. I know I need a change in my life and sitting behind a device isn’t going to make it happen.

  Mom yawns and it’s contagious, forcing me to cover my mouth a moment later. “I’m sure you’re tired,” Leelee says. “Go to bed when you feel like it, I won’t be offended.”

  Exhaustion washes over me and I go over and give her a hug. My mother too, trying not to think about how at this time tomorrow she’ll be gone and I’ll be without her for the first time in my life.

  It’s past midnight back home, but on the way to my room I see the sunset streaking across the sky. I’m too tired to be afraid, but tomorrow may be a different story.

  4

  The next morning I’m wide awake at four a.m. It makes sense because my body is all screwed up and I went to bed at nine. I tossed for another hour, studying my mother’s old room by moonlight. It’s small. Square with yellow, faded, flowered wallpaper. The bed is a double and the dresser is painted white with gray accents. A mirror hangs over it and a few photographs are tucked along the edges.

  At five, feeling cooped up and claustrophobic, there’s a speck of sunrise peeking through my window and I get out of bed, dress, and sneak out of the quiet house.

  Outside it’s chilly and I tug up the zipper on my hoodie. The view from the porch isn’t great and it looks like if I head down the path from the house, past the cottages and the wildflowers that seem to grow in every available spot, I could get a better view over the lake. But the thought makes my skin prickle. Wandering around alone isn’t something I’m used to doing. Even the one night I did sneak out, Sara was waiting for me at the edge of the yard.

  The urge to see the sunrise is strong, so I walk down the steps across the small, fenced-in yard. Orange and pink spreads through the sky, calling to me to watch. I look around and see a split in the fence that separates LeeLee’s house from the building next door. It’s two stories and I can see the top floor and the roof. The windows are dark.

  If I can get to the top of the fence I think I can get a good view, but the wooden slats are tall, at least six feet. In the gray morning light, I scan the area and find a metal trashcan next to the house. Quietly, I lift it and carry it over to the fence, flipping it upside down. Getting on the top isn’t as easy as I’d hoped and I grunt and grapple with the smooth fence boards to gain leverage. I find a spot to wedge my fingers and finally hoist myself on top, my feet banging against the metal.

  The hassle is worth it, though, when I rise up for the view over the fence. The sky is streaked with orange and pink and a fiery red ball glows as it appears over the mountains. I feel a sense of freedom in the moment. No one knows I’m out here, watching this magical moment. Not my mom. Not Leelee. Not anyone.

  At least that’s what I think, but I hear a scrape from the other side of the fence. I look over, seeing nothing but a shadowy, empty yard. Then a shift of movement catches my eye from the second floor and I see the outline of a figure sitting on the overhang, looking out at the same sunrise. Watching the same thing.

  It’s a strange moment, and I can’t see his face and I’m sure he doesn’t know I’m here, but it’s nice to share it with someone that doesn’t know me or my past or anything else.

  Even though his features are vague I get a sense of the length and size of the person’s body. Big. Male. Our eyes connect before he turns and scrambles off the roof, heading back through an open window.

  With a last glance over the lake I hop down, feeling something strange in my chest. It’s a tiny crack, a feeling that’s unfamiliar. It’s scary because I don’t know who I shared that moment with, but that’s eclipsed by something greater.

  Knowing I wasn’t alone.

  “First order of business,” Leelee says when I arrive downstairs an hour later, “is that I’ll open the office and you’ll go get the coffee.”

  My mother looks up from her computer, where she’s been confirming her itinerary for the rest of the day. She’s heading to the coast to catch a plane back home. “I can do that,” she says, shutting the laptop.

  “Star, I’m trying to establish a routine with my new employee and she needs to learn my coffee and pastry order immediately.”

  I look between the women. I wonder if Leelee truly understands the iron grip her daughter has over me. Sure, I’ve been to restaurants, to the coffee shop. I can order. My mother didn’t raise me to be completely helpless, but just asking me to go to a new place and perform a task…it’s a lot.

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sp; “I can do it,” I declare, wanting out of the room. “Tell me what you want.”

  “Several of the shops have coffee, but the place next door has great coffee and even more amazing pastries. I’d like a chocolate croissant. Get yourself whatever you and your mother want. Tell them to add it to my tab.”

  I raise my eyebrows at Mom but she shakes her head. “I’m fine. Nothing for me.”

  Leelee rolls her eyes, more aware of my mother’s behaviors than I suspected. “I’ll be right back.”

  “Meet me at the office.”

  I nod and head out the door.

  I have to walk down a long path lined with wildflowers to get to the road. From there I see a gas station and a diner, then a pizza place with a wide patio to the right. Across the street, on the edge of the cliff over the lake, is a large store selling camping and outdoor gear. I turn to the left and see the property next to Leelee’s. It’s a two-story house with a large sign out front that says, “Wayward Sun.” A cut-out cup of coffee hangs below.

  My eyes shift to the second floor, where I saw the person this morning. The window is still open, white curtains hanging in the gap. I walk up the old stone steps past the small tables and seats in the front yard and up to the porch.

  The front door is open and faint music along with the scent of coffee wafts through the screened door. Despite my basic apprehension for new places I climb the steps, feeling caffeine-deprived on my old schedule.

  I pull back the door and the springs screech, louder than any bell. The music is hippie stuff, folksy and soothing. Hand-painted lyrics decorate one wall—the words to the song Wayward Son. They’re surrounding a mural of a large black vehicle—an old car from the ‘70s or something. There’s a heart painted on the back panel along with the words ‘Baby.’