“I called Bear. He doesn’t like me very much right now either. It must be something in the water. I told him you had only given me a ride, that I was just fine, and that I just needed some time off. He’s sending my things, and he said he’d talk to Gran.”

“And the police?”

“And the police.”

Silence.

“St. Louis, Bonnie.”

And then he was gone. Again.

The phone rang again almost immediately, but the number wasn’t the same as the one Finn had just called me from, so I didn’t answer it, aware that it would be for him, well aware that I didn’t want to explain his absence. It was probably his mama, just like he’d warned, and I had a feeling that just like Bear and Finn, she wouldn’t be too happy with me.

I held the phone for a long time, wondering if Finn would call back or if I dared call him, wondering if he would listen if I tried to explain why I was so crazy, if I tried to explain what life had been like for me for the past six years. We weren’t so different, Finn and I. Cages come in lots of different colors and shapes. Some are gilded, while others have a slamming door. But golden handcuffs are still handcuffs.

I studied the maps, waiting for him to call, but when he didn’t, I gassed up the Chevy and headed for St. Louis, a straight shot westbound on I-70 from point A to point B. I wouldn’t have to look at the map again for this leg of the trip. So I drove and let the miles take me far away.

Chapter Eleven

I DIDN’T THINK I could find the address in the dark, but Finn’s instructions were detailed and precise, even smudged in red lipstick on my window. St. Louis looked peaceful and picturesque in the quiet moonlight. There was snow on the ground, but just a dusting, a bit of glitter in the shadows. The streets were lined with trees, and as I neared my destination, I realized I wasn’t far from the university. I thought about Clyde senior—Clyde said his name was Jason—and whether or not he knew a runaway celebrity was about to crash his pad. It was midnight, and morning was a long ways away. Dread filled my stomach, and I decided to drive around for a while, or find a place to park and sleep until morning came, a place that wouldn’t invite curiosity or cops.

A pretty park edged in trees not far from the campus seemed like a logical place, and I hugged the curb and turned the key with sudden relief. I needed to breathe. I grabbed the keys, shrugged into my coat and was out of the Blazer and stretching my legs within seconds. The park looked old—like it had been built when ladies strolled while holding a man’s arm. Curving benches with wrought iron edging, stately fountains, and winding cobbled pathways meandered through the park. I followed them for several minutes until I came upon a little fence, complete with fleur-de-lis edging and a swinging iron gate that enclosed a towering swing set, a see-saw, and a metal slide easily as old as the park, and just as well preserved. I laughed and thought of Minnie. When we were little she loved to fly on the swings, and I was happy just to push. For all my bluster, I didn’t do well with swings. Heights didn’t bother me, but swinging made my stomach flip and tumble in unpleasant ways.

The playground called to me. It echoed with silent laughter and ghostly twins chasing each other through the trees and down the slide. It made me ache for moments lost and the little girls Minnie and I had been together. Those little girls were both gone. And I missed them so much that I held my breath, gripping the wrought iron bars of the decorative fence, waiting for the wave of painful longing to abate. When the sorrow ebbed enough for me to breathe again, I moved to the gate, hoping it wasn’t locked, hoping I wouldn’t have to risk impalement trying to scale the spiky fence. I smiled when the latch lifted easily. Feeling a bit like Goldilocks entering unknown territory, I pushed through the gate and let myself in.

FINN WAS ONLY blocks from his dad’s house when he passed a little park and saw a familiar orange Blazer snuggled up to the curb, not another vehicle in sight. He slammed on his brakes and slid in front of his old Chevy, relieved that Bonnie was actually in St. Louis, mystified that she had stopped at a park in an unknown city after midnight, and still pissed about what she’d pulled in Cincinnati.

He could see that Bonnie wasn’t in the Blazer as he approached, but he peered into the back windows to make sure she hadn’t crawled into the backseat and fallen asleep again. He couldn’t make out anything but a few of his boxes, Bonnie’s duffle bags, and a lumpy blanket, but as he pulled back and turned away, he noticed the dark streaks on the driver’s side window. In the half-light of the tall street lamps, the streaks looked like blood. Finn grabbed at the door handle, suddenly afraid of what he’d find slumped across the front seat, but the door was locked.

His stomach filled with ice and his hands shook as he framed them around his face to see inside the dark interior. He couldn’t make out a shape or a form, but the light made strange patterns against the seat and camouflaged the floor in shades of black.

“Bonnie?” he yelled, and looked under and around the Blazer. There was no trail of blood outside the vehicle, no macabre footprints walking away. He wished he could open the damn door! He tried to see in again from another angle, looking this time through the passenger window, and felt a measure of relief when he confirmed that Bonnie wasn’t unconscious in the front seat.

“Bonnie?”

He set out through the park at a brisk pace, his eyes scanning benches and quiet corners until after about five minutes, the path curved around and he saw, among the trees, a small play area. He rushed toward it, knowing intuitively that she was there. A girl like Bonnie would be drawn to the playground. Sure enough, standing tall on the top of a steep, metal slide was Bonnie Rae Shelby, feet planted on the platform, hands in her pockets, face to the sky. Was it the bridge all over again? It felt like a loop of the first time he saw her, and the relief he felt at finding her was immediately overpowered by the same dread he’d felt when he’d seen the blood on the car window.