Page 49 of Taming Tesla

TWENTY-SIX

Cari

Eleven months later...

“Nervous? “

I look at Grace, draped across her twin bed, long legs swinging over the side while she flips through one of the fashion magazines she pinched from the post office. She works there with mom as a mail sorter a few days a week. Benton, Ohio, population: 875 doesn’t have a whole lot of mail to sort. Not enough to warrant full-time employees. She supplements the post office job with working sporadic shifts as a cocktail waitress at the local dive. The only place around here that offers full-time work is the factory where Dad works, and the only way a job opens up there is if someone dies.

Looking at her, long blonde bangs sweeping across her forehead, elbows dug into the worn mattress as she flips the pages, I can almost believe we’re in high school again.

Almost.

Downstairs, I can hear Molly screeching out the happy birthday song. Her birthday was a few weeks ago. Since then, every time someone puts food in front of her, she sings the song before blowing a raspberry all over her plate. Mom’s feeding her breakfast before she leaves for work, while Grace helps me get ready for my trip back to Boston.

“No,” I say, tossing some underwear into my carry-on. I look up to see her watching me, an exasperated expression on her face. “Miranda said the charity show went really well, so well that—”

Grace rolls her eyes at me. “That’s not what I meant, and you know it.” She flips the page, pulling the tab on one of those fancy perfume samples and rubs it on her wrist. “Are you nervous about seeing Patrick again?”

I shrug, debating on the necessity of bringing both of my dresses. “We haven’t spoken in eleven months,” I remind her. “I’m not sure there’s anything to be nervous about.”

“What does that matter?”

“He hasn’t called me, Grace.” I flip my carry-on closed, leaning on it to zip it up. “What if he changed his mind?” I’ve been gone for almost a year now, and while I talk to Tess every day, I haven’t heard from Patrick. I’ve even talked to Con and Declan a few times, when she’s passed the phone around Gilroy’s—but no Patrick, even though I can hear him in the background.

She gives me an exasperated look. “Have you called him?”

I sit on the edge of the bed and sigh. “No.”

Smiling, Grace flips her magazine closed and throws it on the floor. “And have you changed your mind?”

I shake my head, bottom lip caught between my teeth. “No.”

Grace beams at me triumphantly, like she’s solved the world’s energy crisis.

“It’s going to be okay, you know?” Grace says, sitting up, tossing the magazine on the floor. “Your opening is going to be fabulous.” She flips her hair and bats her eyes at me. “Your new series is fantastic. So fantastic that you’re going to sell every last one of your paintings, and you’re going to be famous.”

Famous? The thought sours my stomach a bit. Thanks to Con’s computer program, the video James and Sara posted online has been completely erased from existence… but that doesn’t mean people didn’t see it before it disappeared and it doesn’t mean people won’t recognize me. Point at me and say, hey, didn’t I see you online somewhere? Or you look familiar—do I know you? Just the thought of it makes me want to get a job at the post office with my mom and hide in Benton forever.

“Come with me, Gracie,” I say on impulse, sitting on the edge of my bed, across from her. The room is so small our knees touch.

“I’ll be there for the show with Mom and Dad,” she says, shaking her head at me like I’m crazy. “You’re gonna be too busy for the next few weeks to—”

“No,” I say, grabbing her hand. “I mean, come with me. To stay.”

“That’s not funny.” Gracie pulls her hand out of my grasp, looking at me like I just made her the butt of a cruel joke. “You know I can’t.”

I know she thinks she’s stuck here. That deciding to keep Molly when she found out she was pregnant at eighteen put an end to any plans she might’ve had about getting out of Benton. That our parents need her just as much as she needs them. I reach for my cell, charging on the nightstand and pull up my banking app. Tapping in my password, I hand her my phone. “You can.”

I know when she sees it because her mouth falls open and her blue eyes grow to the size of dinner plate. “Holy shit,” she gasps, hand flying to her mouth. “Cari.” She looks at me. “Where—”

I take the phone from her and close the app. “Do you remember the certified letter I got a few weeks after I got back?”

She nods, laughing a little because she’d been the one to deliver it. Seeing the Boston postmark, I signed for the letter and took it upstairs. Hiding in the bathroom—the only room in the house with a locking door—I ripped it open to find a single piece of folded paper.

Legs -

Try not to set this one on fire –

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