Page 41 of The Coffee Bar on Camellia Court

Amen and amen, child.

Juno hated secrets. She knew exactly how heavy secrets could be. She knew the taste of them—like blood in the mouth. She knew the smell of them—like the odor of cheap vodka and fear. She knew the weight of them—like stones in the pockets of a drowning person.

Her thumb hovered over the phone screen again, then she pressed the power button instead. The room plunged into darkness.

It was well after midnight; she was tired, unsettled, emotionally drained, and more than a little disillusioned. Right now was not the time to make decisions about how to handle difficult matters. She set the phone face down on her nightstand. Whatever Alex had to say, whatever explanation he might offer, it could wait until morning. When the sun was up. When they could both see clearly.

How well she knew, from personal experience, that post-midnight decisions were rarely good ones. How many times had her father woken them in the darkest hours, demanding they pack and leave with no explanation? How many terrible choices had she witnessed being made after the sun went down?

The memory surfaced like something dark and bloated rising from the depths, bringing with it the acrid taste of fear in the back of her throat. The beam of a flashlight in her face, her father's voice—urgent, demanding. Not this time. Not again.

FifteenYearsEarlier…

Junojolted awake in a panic, a blinding light in her eyes, a rush of cold air against her legs as her covers were ripped away.

"Get up. We're leaving." Her father's voice was low, urgent. Not raised—they'd learned years ago that shouting attracted attention.

"Dad, what—"

"No lights. No questions. Grab your pillow and whatever you can fit in a backpack. That's it." He swung the flashlight toward her closet with its crooked door that wouldn't shut. "You got five minutes."

Juno's body responded with practiced efficiency. She didn't bother arguing that he'd promised they'd stay this time, that she had finals next week and a date to the Spring Formal. She'd learned the futility of such protests, and she should have known not to believe his promises. The only thing she should have counted on was that he wouldn't be able to stay away from the bottle or the gaming tables, no matter what he said.

She reached for her pillow, unzipping the lining and shining her phone light inside the case to make certain all her most treasured possessions were there. The only doll she'd managed to keep, her two favorite books, her journal. Her emergency stash of cash from the coffee shop tip jar. She'd been forced to hand over her paychecks as part of her contribution toward rent on the dive apartment they lived in.

She slipped into a pair of jeans, layered on three of her favorite shirts, followed by her dark blue hoodie, then dragged her backpack out of the closet, and began methodically filling it with her toiletries bag, her good work shoes, and a few more items of clothing. She knew better than to toss in her Lakeshore Coffee work shirt; she was never allowed to bring anything with her that might tie them to their past. On the floor by her bed she saw the paperback she'd borrowed from the school library and she shook her head in helpless impotence. The book would become yet another casualty, another debt that would follow her to the next anonymous town.

Juno sat on the edge of her bed and shoved her feet into her high-tops. They were the nicest pair of shoes she'd ever owned, thanks to her after-school job. She had just stood and was taking one last look around the room, when a muffled sob from her parents' bedroom cut through the silence. Juno froze, her hands tightening around the straps of her backpack. Her mother didn't usually complain about their midnight flights, but she'd been sick a lot, lately, and Juno knew she wasn't feeling good. She was also presumably under the influence of the oxy her dad kept supplying her with, which meant her emotions were all over the place.

The sobbing grew louder, followed by a crack like a gunshot, then a crash. Something—or someone—had fallen to the floor.

Juno flung her pack over her shoulder and snatched up her pillow, then hurried to her parents' room, her steps quiet even on the threadbare carpet. The door was ajar, and by the beam of her father's flashlight, she could see her mother crumpled on the floor beside the bed, holding her cheek. A thin trickle of blood ran from her split lip.

Her father stood over her, car keys dangling from one hand. "Get up, Celia. We need to go."

When her mother made no effort to move, Juno made a noise to draw his attention away. He almost looked relieved when he saw her.

"Pack her things," he ordered, tossing another backpack at her feet. "She goes with or without her stuff. Two minutes."

Juno knelt beside her mother, whose eyes were glassy and unfocused. The familiar signs of an oxy high—the constricted pupils, the slack mouth, the faint sheen of sweat despite the chilly air from the open window.

"Mom," she whispered, stroking her mother's hair back from her forehead. "Mom, we have to go."

Her mother's only response was another gurgling sob.

Juno's jaw tightened as she turned to the closet. She'd done this enough times to know what her mother would need. Comfort clothes. The flowered blouse she favored. Underwear. Toothbrush. The prescription bottle from the bedside table that was always close at hand.

Her father returned, standing in the doorway. "Time's up."

"She needs help getting to the car," Juno said, not looking at him as she zipped the bag closed.

"Then help her," he spat, hurrying out of the room.

Juno couldn't shoulder both bags, their pillows, and the cumbersome weight of her mother, too, so she left their pillows on the bed, hoisted both backpacks over one shoulder, then got her other shoulder under her mother's arm, and dragged her to her feet. Celia leaned heavily against her, her head lolling to the side. She continued to weep quietly, and from her peripheral vision, Juno could see a string of blood-tinged saliva dribbling down the front of the nightshirt she still had on.

Juno maneuvered her mother out the back of the apartment and across the small parking lot and to the salvaged Escalade backed into a spot close the dumpster where most folks didn't care to spend too much time. Juno longed for the old sedan they'd driven into Autumn Lake; getting her mother to climb up into the vehicle was a challenging feat.

Juno finally got her strapped in, then she shoved their bags onto the floorboards, and turned to race back inside to grab their pillows.

---