Fortune

She searched his gaze. “What if she doesn’t?”

“She will.”

“Where’s your mom?”

He hesitated a moment, feeling her question like a punch to his gut. “She’s dead.”

“Oh.” Skye drew her eyebrows together. “What happened? I mean, was it an accident or—”

“She got sick,” he said roughly. “And then she died.”

“Oh.” An awkward silence stretched between them. After a moment’s hesitation, she cleared her throat. “Chance?”

“Yeah?”

“What’s it like? Being without a mother?”

“I don’t think about it much. Not anymore, anyway.”

Tears flooded her eyes, and he knew she was thinking about her mother, thinking that she would never see her again. He leaned toward her. “It’s bullshit, Skye. She’s going to be home any minute.”

“But wha’if she’s not?” Her words slurred slightly, and he knew the medicine was kicking in.

“She will be.”

Her eyelids fluttered. “Don’t…leave me. You promised.”

“Yeah, I know. I promised, and I won’t.”

Within moments her eyes closed and her breathing became deep and even. He stayed beside the bed, anyway, watching her while she slept. Silly, sweet Skye. She liked to play the tough kid, the invincible one. But that wasn’t the way she looked now. She looked young. And soft. And lost. He lightly touched his index finger to her cheek, then drew his hand away, surprised by the rush of tenderness he felt for her.

He’d never had a brother or sister, though once upon a time he had wanted one. Someone to share things with, someone to belong to when his mother didn’t have the time—or inclination—to belong to him.

That had been a long time ago. So long he had almost no memory of it anymore. He’d been lonely, he supposed. Ages ago, back when he had needed people to make him happy. To make him feel safe.

He unwedged himself and crossed to the door. There, he stopped and looked back at her. What she had told him earlier, about her and her mom picking up and moving in the middle of the night did sound weird. But the mob? No way. That was just too Hollywood.

No, Claire was probably trying to stay a step or two ahead of the bill collector. She had probably refused to tell Skye anything about her father because she didn’t even know who he was.

Ugly but true. Too ugly, he supposed. Too true to tell a little girl who loved her mother.

After one last glance at Skye, he went to the front of the camper to wait. He sat. He paced. He checked—and re-checked—his watch. The minutes ticked past. Still Claire didn’t show.

He shook his head. She probably had a boyfriend and had sneaked off to fuck her brains out.

Even as the thought filtered through his head, he acknowledged to himself that it didn’t ring true. He didn’t know why. He didn’t know Claire well, hardly at all, in fact. She could be a raving nympho, for all he knew.

But he had seen the way she looked at her daughter. He had seen how much she loved Skye. Nothing meant more to Claire than her daughter, and certainly not some small-town, back-lot fuck. Maybe he was being naive, but he didn’t believe Claire would leave her daughter alone to go do that.

Then, what had she left her alone to go do?

Even as the question registered, he heard her at the door. A second later, she stepped into the kitchen, saw him and stopped dead.

“Hello, Claire.”

She looked past him, toward the back of the trailer where Skye slept, then back, her expression alarmed. “What are you doing here?”

“I think the question is, why weren’t you here?”

“I went out for a walk. I couldn’t sleep and—”

“It’s the middle of the night!” He jumped to his feet. “Jesus, Claire, Skye was scared to death. She came to get me, she was so scared.”

Claire paled. Her hand went to her throat. He saw that it trembled. “I’m sorry. Like I said, I couldn’t sleep, and I…” She turned her head toward Skye’s bedroom. “Is she asleep?”

“I think so. She took a couple of those headache tablets, but only after I promised her I’d stay. She was afraid to be alone.”

Tears flooded Claire’s eyes. “Thank you, I’ll…I need to see her. Excuse me.”

Chance thought about leaving, then decided against it. Something didn’t sit right with Claire’s explanation. Skye was right, her mother acted as nervous and jumpy as a cat. She was afraid of something. Or someone.

Chance took a seat at the dinette and waited. From the bedroom, he heard the sound of muffled voices. And of tears, though whether Skye’s or her mother’s he wasn’t sure. Maybe both.

Several minutes later Claire reappeared. She looked shaken. “I can’t believe I…I didn’t think she would wake up. She’s always been a sound sleeper and…”

Her voice trailed off. She met his eyes. “I need a drink. You want a beer?”

“Sure.”

She went to the mini-fridge and took out a couple of beers. As she opened the door, a shaft of light speared through the dark kitchen, illuminating her expression. Something was wrong. Definitely.

She handed him a bottle of beer. “Glass?”

He shook his head. “This is fine. Thanks.”

Without another word, she slipped into the booth across the table from him. She took a swallow of the beverage, her gaze on a place somewhere over his right shoulder. He was reminded so vividly of his mother he winced.

He shook the thoughts off and narrowed his gaze on Claire. “What the fuck’s going on?”

Startled, she swung her gaze to his. “Pardon me?”

“You don’t add up. Neither does Skye. Why are you traveling with this two-bit outfit?”

“Why are you?”

“It’s a way out. It’s not permanent.”

“It’s not permanent for us, either. It’s just for the summer.”

“Same question still applies.” He brought the bottle to his lips, tipped his head back and drank, his gaze still on hers.

She looked away first. “What question was that?”

“Please, give me a little more credit.” He set the beer sharply on the table. “Why are you here? You don’t belong. You’re too…” He cocked his head, studying her, trying to put his finger on what it was that had bothered him about her all along. “You’re too classy. These people are rough, they’re a breed all their own. You have other options.”

“Maybe I like it.”

“That’s bullshit.”

“Thank you for helping Skye.” She slid out of the booth and crossed to the door. “Good night, Chance.”

He met her eyes but didn’t stand. “Skye thinks you’re on the run from the mob.”

She caught her breath. “That’s ridiculous.”

“Is it?”

“Yes.”

“She brought me the front page of a newspaper. On it there’s this bit about a mobster set to testify day after tomorrow in Philadelphia. She found the newspaper on your bed and put two and two together. Is she right, Claire?”

“No.” She shook her head for emphasis. “Not even close.”

He gazed speculatively at her for a long moment. “Then, what is close?”

“This is none of your business, you know. I’d appreciate it if you left now.”

“It became my business tonight. When you weren’t here.”

“I made a mistake, Chance. I shouldn’t have left her alone. It won’t happen again.” She opened the door. “But thank you for your concern.”

He slid out of the booth and crossed to her. “Skye thinks you’re in some sort of trouble. She’s thinks you’re running from something. Or someone. If not the mob, Claire, who? Skye’s father?”

She opened the door wider, then motioned out with her half-full bottle. “I’d like you to leave now.”

“Fine. My pleasure.”

As he moved past her, she caught his arm, stopping him. “I love my daughter, Chance. More than anything. I’d move heaven and earth for her, I’d face the most unspeakable evil to save her. And that’s all you need to know.”

Something in her expression told him that she had already faced the unspeakable for her daughter. But that didn’t change what had happened tonight. He looked her square in the eye. “I’m sure you do love her, but she thought you either ran away or were taken away. And she was really scared. I think you need to face that. I think you need to deal with it.”

She dropped her hand. “Good night, Chance.”

He took her invitation to leave, turning back to her when he had cleared the stairs. “You know, Claire, Skye doesn’t buy what you’ve told her about her father. She doesn’t buy that you pick up and move in the middle of the night because you enjoy it. Frankly, I don’t buy it, either.”

Chapter Thirteen

The weeks slipped by. June became July; the Fourth came and went. The initial days of August brought both blistering heat and, unbelievably, the first tinges of fall’s golden hues. Marvel’s had traveled from Pennsylvania, through West Virginia, up to Ohio, and was now deep into small-town Indiana. From Indiana, the show would head south, winding its way through the Deep South on its way back to winter quarters in Florida.

Chance planned to be long gone before then. As would Claire and Skye, he knew. The question was, who would be the first to leave.

It didn’t really matter; either way, he would miss them.

Over the past weeks, the three of them had become friends, forming a kind of family. Chance supposed sharing that strange, emotion-charged night all those weeks ago had, on some level, connected them, for after that they had slipped into a familial role. They helped each other, they kept each other company, they filled the empty hours between gigs together. Chance took many of his meals with them, and always breakfast, as that was the one meal they all had at the same time during show runs.

Most mornings he would wander over to their trailer on the pretense of saying good morning, and Claire would offer him coffee and eggs. It had gotten to be a kind of joke with them, about how his morning stroll always ended up in a home-cooked meal.

In truth, he liked to check on them in the mornings, just to make sure they had made it through the night, to make sure that one or both of them hadn’t disappeared. For, as the weeks had passed, Claire had seemed to become jumpier, more nervous. She had lost weight; her eyes had taken on a hollow, hunted look.

And as those weeks had passed, Chance had come to believe that Skye was right about her mother. She was in some sort of trouble; she and her daughter were on the run from something. Or someone.

He wondered who. He wondered where Claire was from and what had happened to Skye’s father. Though when he did, he reminded himself that they, like his stint as a carny, were only temporary. He reminded himself that Marvel’s was only a means to an end; their friendship only a way to fill a few hours.

In truth, he was glad he didn’t know more about the mother and daughter, glad that Claire didn’t offer up personal information the way she did eggs and bacon in the morning. Because then he would feel compelled to share himself with them, then he would feel closer to them.

He preferred his isolation. He preferred some distance. He had never belonged, not anywhere or with anyone. He never wanted to worry about having to say goodbye.

Chance alighted from his trailer and tipped his face to the turbulent gray sky, the early-morning sun obliterated by the approaching storm. The weather forecast called for rain across the entire region for the next thirty-six to forty-eight hours. An extensive line of slow-moving thunderstorms, some possibly severe, was headed their way. The night before, Marvel had told them all to hold on to their butts, it looked like this one was going to be a doozy. For the first time in a decade, he’d ordered an early teardown. Depending on how the weather played out, they would either batten down the hatches and sit tight or pick up and try to outrun the weather.

Either way, the next few hours were going to be a real bitch.

“Chance!” Skye ran toward him, eyes wide. “Did you hear about the weather? A twister touched down in Fulton!” She skidded to a halt, then fell into step with him. “I can’t believe it.”

He cut her an amused glance from the corner of his eye. “You’re awfully charged up this morning.”

“It’s just so exciting! That twister touching down and all.”

“You’re right,” he teased, “we could all be killed in the blink of an eye. That is exciting.”

Ignoring his sarcasm, she skipped out in front of him. “Do you think Marvel’s going to have us haul out early?”

Thunder rumbled in the distance, and Chance shook his head. “All these trailers on the road? No way. I think we’re here for the duration.”

As they walked the rest of the way to her and her mother’s trailer, Skye kept up a constant flow of excited chatter. Her mother was making her favorite for breakfast, French toast; she mentioned that damned twister three more times and shared some gossip she’d heard about Len and a girl back in Florida. Then she mentioned that her mother had had a nightmare the night before.

“A nightmare?” he repeated. “What about?”

“I don’t know, but she screamed. And when I ran in to check on her, she was all sweaty and out of breath.” Skye pursed her lips. “She has nightmares a lot, but lately…lately they seem to be worse.”

Chance wanted to ask Skye more, but they had arrived at the trailer. They stepped inside just as Claire set a heaping plate of French toast in the middle of the table.

“’Morning,” she said, turning back to the range. “Get it while it’s hot. You know where the coffee is.”

Skye didn’t need to be told twice; she grabbed a plate, piled on several pieces of toast and drowned them in Aunt Jemima’s. Chance took his time. He poured himself a cup of coffee—a taste he had acquired in the past two months—took a seat at the table and filled his plate.

“So,” Claire asked, “what do you think? Are we going today or staying?”

“Skye asked me the same thing.” He poured syrup over his toast. “Staying, I’m certain of it. It would be too dangerous to be on the road.”

“I agree.” Claire sat across from him. “Better safe than sorry.”

She speared a piece of toast with her fork; Chance noticed that her hand shook. He shifted his gaze to her face, and made a sound of concern. She looked like hell.

He told her so, and Claire laid her napkin in her lap. “I’m fine. I just haven’t been sleeping well, that’s all.”

“I told him about your nightmares,” Skye said around a mouthful of food. “I told him you had one last night.”

“It’s no big deal. Really.”

Claire met his eyes, then motioned toward Skye and shook her head. He nodded, understanding that she didn’t want to talk in front of Skye.

Twenty minutes later, after sending Skye out for an updated weather report, Claire turned to Chance. “I need a favor.”

“Sure. What’s up?”

“I need you to watch Skye for a while. Tonight, after she’s gone to sleep.”

“After she’s gone to sleep?” he repeated, the hairs on the back of his neck standing up. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing.”

“Right.”

“No, really. It’s nothing, I just—”

He caught her hand and looked down at her nails. They were raw, bitten to the quick. He met her eyes. “You practically jump out of your skin every time someone speaks. You’re constantly looking over your shoulder, and you’re not sleeping. I don’t have to be a fortune-teller to know something’s wrong.”

She snatched her hand away. “You’re not a fortune-teller.”

“Exactly my point. You want to tell me what’s going on? Maybe I can help.”

For a moment he thought she was going to feed him the same line of bullshit she usually did. She opened her mouth, then shut it again. Turning away from him, she crossed to the sink and stared out the small window above it.

“I wish you could help,” she said softly. “But you can’t.” She swung to face him. “I have to go into town. I have to make a…phone call, and I…I don’t want to leave her alone. Especially with the storm.”

“Why can’t you take her with you, Claire? Who’re you calling? Skye’s father?”

“No!” She shook her head for emphasis. “No.”

“Last time, that night you disappeared, is that where you were? Making a call?” She shifted her gaze, and he had his answer. He held out a hand to her. “I know you’re in some sort of trouble, Claire. And I’m pretty sure it has something to do with Skye’s father.”

“Well, you’re wrong. It has nothing to do with him.” She caught his hands. Hers were like ice. “I need your help. I need you to do this for me. Will you? Yes or no?”

“Claire—”

“Yes or no? It’s important, Chance.”

He hesitated, not at all certain he was doing the right thing, then nodded. “What time do you want me here?”

Chapter Fourteen

Claire had asked Chance to come at ten-thirty. She checked her watch, thankful to see it was almost that now. She could hardly think for the terrible sense of urgency, of impending disaster, pressing in on her. She had to call Dorothy. Now, tonight. She had no more time, she felt that keenly, with every bit of psychic ability she possessed. She and Skye had run out of time.

Shuddering, Claire glanced toward the back of the trailer, at the closed bedroom door. Skye was asleep and had been for better than a half hour. Still, Claire worried about her waking, worried about how she would explain where she was going if she did.

The wind buffeted the camper, rocking it; several particularly strong gusts seemed to actually lift it off the ground. She crossed to the door and peered out, struggling to see through the driving rain, feeling suffocated in the tiny trailer. She thought back to her last call to Dorothy, to the way she had sounded—distracted and nervous. Guilty, even.

Claire froze, searching her memory. After seeing the bit in the newspaper about Monarch’s having hosted a charity benefit in Philadelphia, she had, on impulse, called Dorothy. But she hadn’t told the woman anything that would give them away. Had she? She’d been just as careful as always.

Claire checked her watch again. Ten-thirty. Finally. She collected her rain slicker and car keys and went to the door to wait. She had unhitched her car from the back of the trailer before the rain started; after lunch she had darted into town and filled up its gas tank. While there, she had bought a sack of nonperishable food for the car and two gallons of water. Her and Skye’s duffel bags were in the camper, stuffed into the storage compartment above the dinette. The pouch of gems was already tucked into her duffel, just in case. She couldn’t chance forgetting them.

That she and Skye might be leaving the carnival tonight was a very real possibility.

It all depended on what Aunt Dorothy said. It all depended on Pierce.

Claire drew in a deep, shaky breath. Even if Dorothy reassured her, she might choose to leave, anyway. The advent of the school year wasn’t that far off; if she and Skye left now, it would give them more time to get set up someplace. That would be good for Skye, it would be good for her, too.

She had laid the groundwork for her and Skye’s departure with Marvel already: she’d told him that they had friends nearby, and if he didn’t mind they would wait out the storm with them. She’d told him that she had asked Chance to watch their camper while they were gone, because of the storm. Marvel hadn’t asked any questions, he had merely nodded and muttered something about wishing he could wait out the storm elsewhere, as well.

Claire rubbed her arms, chilled. She couldn’t go on this way, not knowing, unable to sleep for the nightmares, for the horrible feeling of doom that hung over her and dogged her every waking moment.

Last night the nightmare had been particularly vivid. The monstrous dark bird had nearly had Skye, its great, sharp talons had closed around her. Claire had snatched her daughter away, a moment before the longest of the talons had pierced her daughter’s heart.

Claire had awakened out of breath and drenched with sweat. And she had known, just as she had known every time in the past, that Pierce was close to finding them.

He had never been so close before.

Chance arrived. They spoke little, though the silence between them was heavy with her anxiety and his unasked questions. For one moment, she considered telling him the truth, sharing her fear. The desire to lean on someone, to have someone support her, even if only a boy, was so strong it took her breath. It had been such a long time since she’d had someone to lean on, someone to be strong for her.

But in the end, she knew she could depend on no one but herself. It had always been that way; she feared it always would.

Promising Chance she would be back as quickly as she could, she headed out into the storm.

The trip to town took nearly three times as long as usual because of the wind and driving rain. She had planned to call from the pay phone in the tavern; she hadn’t planned on the place being so crowded. It seemed the entire town of Ridely had decided to wait out the storm drunk.

Claire picked her way through the crowd, heading for the back of the bar and the phone. A woman stumbled over to her and grabbed her arm, though Claire wasn’t sure whether to get her attention or to steady herself. The woman reeked of booze.

“You’re that psychic, ain’t you? From the carnival?”

Several people turned, and Claire averted her face. The last thing she needed was to have a roomful of people able to confirm having seen her.

“Please, leave me alone.”

“Aw, come on.” The woman swayed. “Tell my fortune. I need to know if that big stud over there is gonna take me home tonight.” She laughed and winked at Claire. “I could use a little premonition, you know.”

That’s precognition, Claire wanted to shout. Instead, she leaned closer to the drunken woman. “Leave here, now,” she whispered. “I see something terrible happening to you here.”

The woman paled. “Here?”

“Yes. You must hurry. Tell no one you saw me.”

The woman backed away, eyes wide.

“And don’t drive drunk,” Claire added, “just in case I’m wrong about where I see the terrible thing happening.”

“I live just around the corner.”

“Good. Go. Now!”

The woman turned and ran, stumbling, bumping into people, earning their glances of amused disgust. Feeling almost sorry for the woman, Claire went to the phone. She hated doing that, but she couldn’t chance the woman making a scene.

A stool was positioned in front of the phone; Claire moved it out of the way and after depositing a fistful of change, she dialed. Dorothy answered on the third ring.

“Dot, it’s me. Madeline.”

“Madeline? Thank God! I’ve been hoping and praying you’d call. You must come home. You must! If you do, I know he’ll go easier on you. I know he will.”

Claire’s stomach sank. She knew the answer to her next question, but she asked it anyway. She had to. “What’s happened?”

“He’s found you.”

A squeak of terror raced to her lips. Claire’s knees gave and she sank to the stool.

“Tonight, we all had dinner at the Astor Street house. Pierce was positively preening. He told us that a private investigator had found you. He said that within twenty-four hours Grace would be returned to the family and to Monarch’s, where she belonged. He said you were so close he could smell your stench.”

Claire squeezed her eyes shut, battling for breath. It was her every nightmare coming true; her every fear being realized.

“There’s more. He said he has everything in place and that you’re going to pay for what you did. That you deserved whatever you got.” Dot’s voice rose to a hysterical pitch. “He said you would never see Grace again. Never! I tried to reason with him, but he wouldn’t listen.”

Claire bowed her head, paralyzed by what she was hearing. The monstrous dark bird was almost upon them. She had been right. She should have trusted her premonitions and gone, weeks ago.

“It’s my fault, Madeline. All my fault. I didn’t mean to hurt you or Grace. I really didn’t. I only wanted you and Grace home, where you belong. I thought Pierce would bring you home and we’d all be a family again. It’s all I wanted.”