Page 9 of Smoke

He nodded slowly, thoughtfully, not taking the bait. “It strikes me as odd that someone like you, normally so calm and methodical, left without taking so much as a change of clothing. Or shoes.” He looked pointedly at my feet.

Damn him. He would think of that, wouldn’t he? The slimy bastard.

I scrambled in my head for a believable excuse. “I wore shoes when I left,” I explained. “But they were so filthy and muddy and waterlogged after a few days, I left them behind. You know I have no problem being barefoot.”

“That’s true.” He seemed to accept my story.

“As for a change of clothes…” I shrugged. “I was in a hurry. I never thought it would take me as long as I did to find her. I knew she was planning on a hike, I knew where she generally liked to drive out to when she did that. She took me with her a few times.”

“How did you get there?” he frowned.

“Since she took the car, I hitchhiked.” What a pathetic excuse!

George’s face reddened, then turned almost purple. “You what? Don’t you know how dangerous that is? Why in the world wouldn’t you take one of the other cars? I’m sure anybody would’ve let you take theirs.”

I saw a way to turn things around. “That would’ve meant letting somebody else know what I planned to do—and I knew it would get back to you, and you wouldn’t like it. You would tell me not to go. Wouldn’t you?”

His anger seemed to subside, if only a little. “I suppose you’re right, but I still don’t agree with your methods.”

“I’m safe, and I’m back. So it all turned out as well as possible—at least, as well as possible without Jasmine.”

He stood with a sigh, shaking his head. “I’m so sorry about that. I truly am. You know how headstrong she was. How unlikely it was that she would ever listen to the opinions of others.”

Yes, including yours, you jerk.

He tried to hide his secret glee that she was no longer a thorn in his side, but I knew better. I could see right through him, just the way Papa always could. The way Jasmine could, too.

She never let him get away with anything, always citing what our father would’ve done in any given situation. In his eyes, it was probably as if Papa were still alive. Still giving him trouble and making it impossible for him to lead the clan as he wanted to lead it.

“Yes. She insisted on driving through the mountains, when I told her not to.”

“Precisely.” I fought the urge to vomit at the outright disgust I felt for him.

He steered me toward the door leading out to the hall, and I couldn’t get there fast enough. Anything to be away from him and his questions and his peering, knowing eyes.

I could never be sure if he was telling the truth. I didn’t know if he fully believed my story or not.

“Take care of yourself now. You need to rest. You need to process this, as we all do.”

“I do. You’re right. Thank you, Uncle George.”

“And if you need anything, just let me know.” He guided me out to the hall and nodded his goodbye before I turned and walked away.

I reminded myself to take slow, measured steps even though all I wanted to do was run. I wanted to run far, fast, to put as much distance between us as possible.

Only when I reached the winding staircase which led up to my haven did I put on some speed. Every step put me one step closer to the only solitude I would ever know.

Nobody dared set foot in my room—it was the only hard-and-fast rule I had. I told them it was a matter of guarding the supplies, and the rest of the clan seemed to accept this as the full truth.

They didn’t know how deep my need for space and time and peace ran. For them, life meant sharing every moment with each other, living as one large, extended family. I just wanted to be alone.

I could breathe again with the door locked behind me. I leaned against it with a heavy sigh, looking around as I did.

My sanctuary.

The only good thing about being back home. The familiar smells warmed my heart—good thing, too, since it needed all the warming it could get.

I set my bag down on a work table and took a seat by the window.

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