Page 68 of Our Daughter's Bones
“Everyone wants to be Elsa. She’s boring. I want to be different.”
“I don’t like Elsa.”
“Me neither.” Luna pursed her lips. “I like Merida.”
“Is it because of the hair?” she teased. “She reminds you of me?”
“Maybeunconsciousnessly.”
“That’s not quite it, Luna. You mean to saysubconsciously,” Nick gently chided.
While Nick tried to teach Luna how to pronounce the word, Mackenzie’s phone vibrated with a message from Justin.
Remember that thing you asked me to look into a few weeks ago?
Her heart rose to her throat and then rolled down against her ribs. It bounced in her chest, leaving her dizzy. The back-and-forth between Nick and Luna funneled into oblivion.
She wished she felt numb. What she felt was an implosion in her chest, like a black hole was opening up and slowly tearing away pieces of her. She read on:
That woman’s name is Samantha Walker. She’s a waitress at Terroni.
What did Sterling call her? Samantha or Sam?
Thirty-Five
2012
Football season always sparked life in Lakemore. But this year the city pulsated with hope. Victory chants echoed over car honks as the Seattle Seahawks marched toward the playoffs, mascots played with kids, people dressed in jerseys, and walls were covered in Seahawks and Sharks graffiti. The high school team was also on a roll. Business boomed. Sponsors and recruiters came. They flooded the town the digital revolution had seemed to forget. But when it came to football, Lakemore had always mattered. Some of the best players in Seahawks history were from Lakemore. Football was the glaring reminder that the town had something to feel pride over, and it wasn’t footballing skill.
It was the spirit. It had been a surprise to Mackenzie. She had come back to right a wrong, and had found a town with a never-dying spirit. Crime was high. Streets weren’t safe. Ambition was lacking. But during football season, people woke up from their slumber. They remembered what it felt like to be children again—when anything was possible.
She watched the pack of people gathered around the television in the bar. Her hips twisted in her seat to the blaring beats of “Bad to the Bone” by George Thorogood and the Destroyers. She bent down to look through her glass of brown liquid.
On the other side, she saw a smudgy outline of a handsome face with dark skin, light blue eyes, and curly black hair.
“You look blurry.”
“You look drunk.” Sterling cocked his head.
“I don’t get drunk, usually.”
“Any special occasion? I don’t think we’re winning this one,” he gestured at the flat screen television behind him. The Seahawks were playing the Giants. They didn’t have a chance this time.
“If I say I support the Giants, will they kill me?”
“Definitely.”
She cupped her face. “Will you save me?”
“Always.” He smiled. The dimple in his cheek made her heart skip.
“Do you always say the right things? Because that’s suspicious. I feel like you’re a serial killer or something.”
“You can order a background check on me.”
“I do that on the fourth date, not the second.”
“The second date involves drinking an entire bottle of Kraken?” he chuckled.
