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  I paused as she stared at me, finally looking down to the packages I’d placed on the edge of the counter. I pushed the two boxes forward, the one on top toppling off and almost falling to the floor. “Shit.” I caught the package, placing it next to the other one. “I’d like to mail these.”

  “Sure thing.” She went about weighing and stamping them and then rang up my postage, flashing me a thin-lipped smile. A couple of people were in line behind me, and after I thanked Bridgett stiffly, I nodded at them. The first woman in line—I was pretty sure her name was Penny—had a little boy with her, and she pulled him against her side, running her hand over his hair as I passed. She shot me a smile that had that same hint of sorrow I was used to.

  A rush of warm air hit me as I pushed open the glass door, and before it shut behind me, I heard Penny whisper loudly to Bridgett, “Did you hear about—” The door clicked shut before I could hear the rest of whatever gossip she’d been about to relay.

  I got into my truck and cranked up the air-conditioning, sitting there for a few minutes, leaned back on the seat, letting my discomfort fade. I knew why some of the people in town treated me the way they did, understood the vast array of reactions I still received. I should be used to it by now. I was used to it. But I hated feeling like the town creep show.

  I pulled out of my spot and almost decided not to do the other errand I’d come into town to do, but at the last minute, I turned right toward the hardware store anyway. If I wanted to live a normal life, I had to force myself to start stepping out of the comfort zone I’d created. Plus, Sal’s was one of the few places in town where I didn’t feel like a bug under a microscope. A bug who was either liable to do something strange and unexpected at any moment, or a bug who still elicited constant sympathy and was a reminder of any mother’s worst fear.

  I pulled into the parking lot behind the store and walked around to the front, the bell chiming over the door when I stepped inside the dim, stuffy shop.

  “Hey, Gabriel,” Sal greeted.

  I smiled. “Hey, Sal. How are you?”

  “Hot as the dickens. I’d be working shirtless today if my No Shirt permit hadn’t been revoked years ago,” he joked, patting his large belly.

  I laughed. “Time to invest in some central air?”

  He sighed. “Gina says so, but I say, my grandfather and my father didn’t need it and neither do I. Heat makes a man strong. You should know—working in that quarry all day.”

  “I mostly work inside, actually, but I won’t disagree with you. George is about as strong as they come.”

  Sal nodded. “So was your dad. Now, hey, I got those gloves in you ordered along with the other things George put on the list.” Sal stepped into the back while I waited. I could have bought the gloves online, but I preferred to give my business to Sal, even for smaller orders. Plus it forced me to come into town with some regularity, and that was a good thing. Supposedly.

  Sal carried a box from the back and set it down on the counter. “These should last you a while, then.”

  “Yeah.”

  “I’ll just put this on your account.”

  “Okay, great. Thanks, Sal,” I said, picking up the box. As I turned to go, Sal called my name. I turned, and the look on his face was one of concern.

  “Hey, uh, I don’t know if you’ve heard, but a little boy went missing yesterday. Still hasn’t been found.”

  My blood ran cold. “A little boy?” My voice sounded hoarse.

  Sal nodded, frowning. “Yeah. Ten-year-old riding his bike to the town pool, and he just disappeared. Name’s Wyatt Geller. You know him?”

  I swallowed heavily, gripping the box under my arm as I ran a hand through my hair. The shop was closing in around me. “No. Thanks for letting me know, Sal.”

  Sal nodded. “Yeah. You be well, Gabriel.”

  “You, too.” I stepped outside, squinting against the sudden bright light, and breathed deeply as I walked to my truck. Just disappeared. Christ.

  I didn’t even remember starting my truck or turning out of the hardware store parking lot. Suddenly I was driving down the road, my mind focused on that day, the day in the empty lot near my house. It had been eighteen years, and I could still recall so vividly the way the air smelled that day—like dust and the hollyhocks that grew along the chain-link fence. I could still remember the way the sky had been so blue, filled with billowy white clouds. Peaceful. It had all been so peaceful. And then it had all been yanked away … stolen. Just disappeared.

  Without making the conscious choice, I found myself headed for that lot now. Of course, it wasn’t empty anymore. There was a small white house with a porch and a picket fence sitting in the spot. I wondered if the people who lived there knew. I wondered if they ever thought about me, ever sat on their porch on a summer evening, sipping iced tea and wondering what it had been like the day I’d been snatched from my life by the devil himself. Right from that spot. If they did, I bet they’d shake their heads and click their tongues and murmur, “How awful. His poor mother. His poor father. I don’t even want to think about it.”

  And then they wouldn’t.

  But I didn’t have that luxury.

  And yet, sitting there in my truck, idling on the calm suburban street, a certain peace flowed through me. I was here. I had survived—that day, and every awful day that came after it for six straight years. And I hadn’t only survived, I had thrived in almost every way that was important.

  Gary Lee Dewey had stolen so much, but not everything. “You didn’t get the best of me,” I murmured. “Not even close.” Despite his best efforts, I had walked out of that dank basement with my soul intact.

  Wyatt Geller.

  Lord, please let that little boy be okay.

  I drove the very short distance to my childhood home, where I pulled my truck over and sat looking at it from across the street. The new owners had painted the house a pale gray with forest-green shutters. The white picket fence looked the same, and my childhood swing, the one my dad had hung, was still in the tree in the front yard. I felt my lips curve into a small smile, hearing in my mind my mother’s voice, my father’s laughter, the bark of my childhood dog, Shadow. I closed my eyes and swore I could smell the lemon meringue pie my mother would make on special occasions because it was my favorite. I wanted that again. To have a family of my own, someone to love me, and someone I could love in return.

  And as I sat there remembering the happiness I’d once known, the face that flashed through my mind was Crystal’s. Beautiful Crystal, so hard, so wary of the world. Why? What happened to you, Crystal, to bring you to that velvet-curtained room? That purple-walled prison? Crystal. The name still felt wrong, even in my thoughts. God, I wanted to know what her name really was. Who she really was.

  And then what, Gabriel? Then what? Will you sweep her off her feet and live happily ever after?

  I ran a hand through my hair, exhaling. She was doing a job, and as far as I knew, it was nothing more. And yet, I’d sensed her own battle in the way she looked at me as she’d moved closer on the couch. If she was struggling with something … Christ, I had so little experience with women. And I had a feeling Crystal was far more complicated than most.

  Feeling confused and somewhat defeated by my own thoughts, I pulled away from the curb and headed back to the quarry. When I arrived, I brought the box inside the office and set it on the counter. Dominic was with customers in one of the showrooms, so I gave him a nod. He raised a hand before turning back to the woman in front of him, her finger on her chin, looking between two samples of granite.

  I walked back outside and took the path to the edge of the quarry area. George was just stepping out of one of the wheel loader trucks and stood for a minute, talking to the driver. My eyes moved around the gargantuan canyon with water at the bottom. I was struck as I always was by the vastness of it, by the miracle of nature, and the fact that the most beautiful things came straight from the earth. When George spotted me, he waved, removing his ha
rd hat and walking to meet me.

  “Hey there. I heard you went into town.”

  I smiled. “Yup.”

  “How was it?”

  “Not too bad.” George regarded me momentarily and then nodded, seemingly satisfied by whatever was on my face.

  “Good, I’m glad.” I followed as he started walking. “How’s the mantel coming along?”

  “It’s done. I finished it early this morning before I left for town.”

  “Well, damn! Let me see it.”

  I laughed, and we walked back up the hill to my workshop. The cool, air-conditioned space made me sigh after the dry heat of the outside air. The large fireplace mantel and surround was against the far wall, covered by a sheet that I removed carefully before I turned toward George. For a moment he just stared at it before moving closer, kneeling down and examining the detail. I watched him as he studied the floral designs and leaves vining up each side of the pale gold marble, his finger following the stem of a rose, a look of reverent admiration on his face.

  I had been hired to re-create a fireplace mantel and surround for a couple in Newport, Rhode Island, who had bought a mansion built during the Gilded Age and wanted to bring back as many elements specific to that era as they could. This piece would go in the formal living room.

  George stood, shaking his head, tears in his eyes. I smiled softly at his emotion—the same depth of feeling he always displayed at the unveiling of one of my pieces.

  “You’re a master. It’s no wonder you have a waiting list a mile long. Your dad would be so damn proud.” His arms dropped to his sides. I knew he wanted to clap me on the back, or maybe squeeze my shoulder like he did with Dominic when he had done something that made George proud, but he knew I didn’t like it, had been conditioned not to get too close to me. I always felt both relieved and mildly ashamed by it. “It’s exquisite.”

  “Thanks. I sent them a photo this morning. Sounded like they really liked it.”

  George smiled. “Really liked it. I’m sure that’s an understatement, and you’re too modest to say so. But I’m glad they’re pleased.” He winked at me and I laughed softly. “Got the shipping all set up?”

  “Not yet, but I will today.”

  George nodded. “Great. What’s next?”

  “I have the balustrades for the terrace in Chicago. Those shouldn’t take long, and then I’ll be starting on the French project.”

  “Okay. If you need any help, you know where to find me.” He laughed as he walked toward the door. We both knew he couldn’t carve to save his life. He turned when he got to the door. “I’m real proud of you, Gabriel.”

  “Thanks, George.” And I was thankful. I had lost my own dad for the first time when I was taken. But even at nine, he was the man I knew I wanted to be. I remembered clinging to his love for me, his affection, his calm strength, believing that if I ever got out of that basement, it was the safety of his arms I was yearning for. And then I’d lost him again when I escaped and found out he was dead. The fact that he never got to know I made it was a constant hole in my heart. Yet George, the man who had been my father’s best friend and business partner, often reminded me that he would have been proud of me. And it helped. It had helped every day for twelve years.

  I took my time covering the piece, cleaning up my studio, and filling out the necessary shipping forms for the mantel. As I was putting some supplies away, I caught sight of the small figures I kept at the back of a high cabinet—the figures that had saved my life once upon a time. The figures that had been my only friends. The sight of them no longer brought a heavy feeling of melancholy but instead a small twinge of happiness. They were another reason—maybe even the main reason—I was standing right where I was.

  “Hi, guys,” I said, nodding at each of them, chuckling softly at myself self-consciously. “Nice to see you.” I told myself for the hundredth time that I should just throw them out. What was the reason I held on to them? They were the last physical reminder of the pain I’d endured for years. And yet I still couldn’t bring myself to do it. I wasn’t sure why my eyes lingered on the figure on the end—the stone girl with the flower held in her hands. I whispered her name. “Eloise. Lady Eloise of the Daffodil Fields.”

  CHAPTER SIX

  Everything is going to be okay. Maybe not today, but eventually. Do you believe?

  Racer, the Knight of Sparrows

  CRYSTAL

  I walked off the stage, limping slightly once I was out of sight. “Damn blister,” I muttered. I’d been walking everywhere for the past couple of days, and the blister I’d gotten on the highway the day my car broke down still hadn’t had a chance to heal. I supposed my job didn’t require many fancy dance moves—the pigs out there were happy enough with a few hip thrusts—but I liked to challenge myself to come up with a new routine every once in a while. Not for them, but for me.

  I had just put my tip money in my locker when I heard yelling from down the hall and walked toward Rodney’s office. The door was standing wide open and Kayla was inside, standing in front of him as he circled her. “It looks to me like you’ve put on a lot more than ten pounds,” he said, his eyes moving up and down her body, his expression one of utter disgust. He reached out and took a handful of her ass, and he must have squeezed because Kayla jumped and let out a little yelp. Her eyes were wide with shame, and her neck was blotchy.

  “I’ve been having a rough time, Rodney,” she said. “My old man walked out on me and—”

  “And it’s no fucking wonder!” He threw his hands up in the air. “Why would he want a lard-ass for a girlfriend?” Kayla grimaced, looking down at her feet.

  I crossed my arms. “Do you really think you’re the one who should be giving diet advice to anyone?” I looked pointedly at his huge gut.

  Rodney smirked at me. “I’m not the one shaking my stretch-marked ass out there for paying customers,” he said, a nasty edge to his tone. “So don’t give me any of that shit. Neither one of you is worth more than your tits and ass, so keep ’em in shape.” He turned back to Kayla. “You’ve got a month to take off the weight, or you can find yourself another club. If anyone else would even have you. And you, Crystal, stop being such a fucking bitch to the customers. Men want a woman who’s warm and inviting—not some ice queen. Now get out.”

  Kayla headed toward me, dejected, and as I stood in the doorway, I felt sick and filled with impotent rage. Men want a woman who’s warm and inviting—not some ice queen. But Rodney was wrong—men didn’t give a hot damn what I was as long as I let them grope my body to their heart’s content. Kayla caught my eye and gave her head a small shake. Whatever was in my expression must have told her I was considering ripping Rodney a new one. Disgusting asshole. The thought was compelling, but I knew anything I said would only make things worse for Kayla, and for me. I needed this shit job. And so I clamped my lips shut and followed her back to our dressing room. I shut the door and let out a growl, picking up a small wastebasket by the door and chucking it. The plastic made an unsatisfying clink when it hit the wall and clattered to the floor, right side up as if it’d been placed there. All I’d managed to do was relocate it.

  “Feel better?” Kayla asked sarcastically, sinking onto the settee.

  “Fucking prick,” I muttered. “You okay?”

  She sighed. “Yeah. He’s right anyway. I have gained weight. I can’t seem to stay away from junk food since Wayne’s been gone. Yesterday I stayed in bed with a bag of Doritos and a box of donuts watching old DVDs until three in the afternoon.” She looked down at her clasped hands. “I thought he was the one. I’m so stupid. I thought we were gonna get married, I might be a mom someday.” She paused, tears welling in her eyes. “And now I’m just … I’m so damn lonely.”

  My heart contracted painfully. “Oh, Kayla,” I sighed. “You call me if you have a day like that. I’ll come over and eat Doritos with you.”

  “Nah, I don’t share my Doritos with anyone.”

  I laughed and she s
hot me a wobbly grin. “Hey, if we can still laugh, we must be halfway okay, right?”

  Her smile slipped. “Halfway okay. Yeah. Is there anything more?”

  The silence stretched between us for a minute, Kayla’s face filled with so much defeat it broke my heart. She was one of the only girls here who had been a true friend to me since I’d gotten this job. She was never petty, never superficial or competitive like all the others. I wanted to tell her there was more. I wanted to share my own hope with her that life held happiness for girls like us. But I’d given up on hope long ago. I’d discovered early that hope was nothing but a cruel and dangerous business.

  “I don’t know, Kayla,” I answered honestly. “But I’m all right with halfway okay. It’s better than completely miserable, or halfway dead. And I’ve been both.” I gave her a small smile, and she offered me a sad one in return. I picked up my brush and started brushing my hair in long strokes.

  “Yeah,” she said on a sigh. “Rodney might be right, you know. What else do girls like us have but our tits and our asses? And what do we do once those are shot to hell by gravity? Who will want us then?”

  No one. No one will.

  “And,” Kayla went on, “what if we get sick? Who will take care of us? What will we do? Die alone under some overpass?”

  What am I gonna do now? Oh, Lord God, what am I gonna do now?

  My mama’s words. My mama’s experience. Was that where I was headed, too? A feeling not unlike dread moved down my spine. I dropped the wooden hairbrush and it clattered to the floor. I bent to pick it up, my hands shaking as I snatched it and stood again.

  “You okay?” Kayla asked. I glanced at her in the mirror, and her face was wrinkled in concern.

  “Yeah,” I said, the word rushing out, more breath than sound. “Yeah,” I repeated more clearly. I set the brush down and turned to face Kayla.

  She sighed again. “I was pregnant once. Did I ever tell you?” I gave her a small shake of my head. She looked down at her hands. “Wayne made me get rid of it.” Tears welled up in her eyes. “I didn’t want to, but he said he wasn’t ready for kids, and he wouldn’t stick around if I kept it. So I had an abortion.” My belly did a slow flip as if I was going to be sick.