Page 1 of Even After Sunset

Chapter One

Jackie

If you spend all your past summer job savings on a rundown motorhome with a history longer than your entire Spotify playlist library, and then paint her in the most glorious sunshine shade of yellow—you need to give her a name. A great name.

Which is why I spent three full lunch hours in the library during the last week of classes poring over a website about baby names and their meanings until I found just the right one.

Trudy.

It means “universal strength”. And also, it sounds cheery.

It suits her perfectly.

Tonight, Trudy and I are heading off on the biggest adventure of our lives. She’s loaded up and ready to go, and I know there isn’t a thing I’ve forgotten. The reason I’m so sure is because I made a fool-proof checklist, which I’ve been adding to and revising and checking and re-checking for the past two months. Every single detail—all two-hundred-and-twenty-seven listed items, have a navy check mark beside them now.

I slam the storage compartment shut and turn toward the house.

“That’s everything!” I call. “She’s locked and loaded!” I pat Trudy’s large rear end and inhale an unsteady breath.

I am actually doing this.

Richard and Meryl make their way down the driveway toward me. Behind them, the outside porch lights are on, illuminating the hanging baskets on either side of the front door. They sway in the evening breeze, and I catch a brief scent of the ocean just a couple of blocksaway.

When she reaches me, Meryl places my thin jacket over my shoulders, smoothing it with her fingers before patting my arm. She pulls me in for a long hug, and because she’s tall and I’m short, my face squishes against her massive bosom.

“I love you, sweetheart,” she whispers, and I can feel the warmth of her breath against my skin. “And I am so, so proud of you.”

Her words make my own breath come out a little shaky, because it’s what I want most in the world: to make her and Richard proud. They may have adopted me just seven years ago, but I’ve known them since I was a toddler. Years before my mother’s death and that horrible, blood-drenched afternoon.

Richard pulls me into his own hug. “We’re both proud of you,” he says. “But my Lord, are we ever going to miss you.”

I’m pretty sure I’ll miss them more.

They remind me to call at least every three days, even though they’ve reminded me a dozen times already. Also, not to drive any time I feel tired. To email lots of photos. To take in every moment. And to stop every two hours for a bathroom break.

I hug each of them one last time and then head round Trudy to climb into her freshly vacuumed driver’s seat. If I linger any more, I will cry. Possibly lose my resolve.Definitelywish I hadn’t decided to do this alone.

But I have to do this alone. I haven’t had to do anything on my own since Meryl and Richard took me under their wings and into their world after my mother’s death. And not a day goes by where I don’t remember that Silas was orphaned that day, too. But unlike me, my childhood best friend was left to faceeverythingon his own. While I was whisked from a home filled with memories of our mothers hanging out as friends, he was left to live in a house tainted with their blood. And with an aunt and uncle who resented him.

So nothing I’ve been given since Meryl and Richard took me in is really mine. And even though I love it all: the close-knit neighborhood, the private school, my amazing friends, Meryl and Richard… it’s all just borrowed. I haven’t done a thing to deserve any of it.

This food truck business, selling cookies at festivals across New England over the summer, is one of the few ways I could think of to prove to myself that I can stand on my own two feet. And that I’m more than just a charity-case who hit the mother load. I need it to be successful.

I slam the driver’s door closed behind me and adjust my side mirror. Then I turn and force a smile past the lump in my throat. I’ve been wavering for the past few weeks between excitement and stress and nervousness. And right now, I’m feeling all three.

“Love you,” I say, blowing them both a kiss.

Richard smiles. “You too, sweetheart.”

“Only drink water at the party!” Meryl calls as I start the engine. She doesn’t even bother to wipe away the tears streaming down her face now.

She means my friend Scarlett’s party. Scarr’s throwing her annual end-of-school bash tonight and I told everyone I would swing by for an hour to say my goodbyes before hitting the road. It means I’ll be driving the first stretch in the dark, but I kind of like that. Night-time is my favourite time to drive.

“That’s right! Only drink water!” Richard calls. “Or soda! Just water or soda!”

“Got it.” I laugh, reaching my arm out the window to give them a thumbs up. “No body-shots or beer-funneling before I hit the road.”

I scan past the driveway for any oncoming cars. Trudy’s a large gal: she needs a wide berth when she makes turns.

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