Page 18 of Adam's Rising

Maybe Lala was right. Maybe Thomas would be at The Pitts. And if Thomas were there, maybe Adam would be, too. Like he had been two years ago, before her world had been ripped apart.

* * *

Claire optedfor a denim prairie skirt and an airy cream-colored peasant top, cinched together with a wide belt. As much as she hated sandals or even heels, for that matter, she chose a pair of Candie’s with a 4-inch chunky wooden heel so she wouldn’t be noticeably shorter than Lala.

She strolled into the living room, dancing to the old-time music as bubbles floated across the screen of the Zenith. Lawrence Welk ambled into view, doing a little jig as he gestured to the orchestra.

Leaning over the back of the recliner, she kissed her grandmother on the cheek. “Don’t wait up, Grams; it’s a double feature.”

She knew better than trying to sneak out without a goodbye or an explanation of where she was going. Grams locking her out of the house the first time she hadn’t told her where she was going and then missing curfew, cured that practice. Her parents had never cared. Then again, there wasn’t a lot to do in Talkeetna.

She looked up at the old clock over the mantel. They were going to be late — again.

“Claire?” Grams said, pulling on her arm so she could whisper into her ear. “You be smart. Don’t follow Lala’s lead.”

Claire snickered softly. “If you don’t want me to follow her lead, why must she always accompany me?”

“Two girls are safer than one, Claire-bear.”

“I know, Grams. Love you!”

Gramps popped an Old Milwaukee. “Pipe down, ladies. Welk’s on.”

Lala skipped into the room, dressed in the tight new Levi’s and a black-and-white striped halter top her mother had sent her.

Grams scrunched up her nose and mouthed, “Tramp.”

Claire cocked her head and whispered, “Grams!”

Her grandmother shrugged.

Lala kissed her grandfather on top of the head, then plopped down on the arm of his recliner. “Can I have some cash, Gramps?”

The old man reached into the back pocket of his overalls and pulled out a tired-looking brown leather wallet stuffed to the seams. He removed a ten and held it up to Lala. “You better clean your room, or you won’t get any next week.”

“I will. I promise. Can I have a bit more?”

He removed another ten, handing her both bills.

“Thanks, Gramps!”

Claire rolled her eyes. He never denied Lala anything. Not that Claire was ever refused, but she rarely asked. Her parents had left her more than enough — something Lala didn’t like.

Grams reached for her purse on the floor. “You need money, Claire-bear?”

Claire shook her head. “I’m good, Grams. Thanks.”

Lala hooked her arm through Claire’s. “Come on,Claire-bear. We’re gonna be late.”

Claire grabbed her corduroy blazer and tossed Lala her pink satin bomber jacket.

Lala scooped her keys out of her black drawstring bag with gold letters and sprinted to her bright-red Blazer. The girl was a contradiction in terms.

* * *

Fifteen minutes later,Lala skidded to a stop in front of Roger’s house. Seconds later, both guys ambled down the crushed gravel driveway. According to Lala, they’d been friends since grade school, even though they looked nothing alike. Not that looks have anything to do with guys being friends, but it seemed to Claire that guys cared more about having common interests and backgrounds than girls did.

One of the things Lala always bragged about was Roger’s height. They were both tall — something Claire cared nothing about — but that’s where the similarities ended. Roger had curly blond hair that brushed the collar of his flannel shirt. His jeans were stained and worn thin at the knees, like he spent the afternoon working under his truck. Probably had. Lala had told her he was sick of riding in the passenger seat while she drove them around.

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