Prologue #2
Loud, happy music starts playing from somewhere down the street. It’s an upbeat melody, not the kind you’d hear on the radio but from a kids’ toy when you press a button.
I lean forward and turn my head to the right when it gets louder. It’s coming closer now. An ice cream truck rolls down the road, heading for the open parking space by the curb next to my bus stop.
The truck is mostly white, but the bottom half is painted blue, the same color as the sea. The windows are covered with pictures of cones and ice pops. It rumbles as it pulls into the empty spot.
The music cuts off before the song can finish and people walk over, pointing at the pictures, ready for their Friday treat.
“When I’m sad, ice cream always cheers me up. Cookie dough is my favorite. What’s yours?”
“Anything chocolate,” I say.
He swings his legs over the wall, hops off, and makes his way over to the ice cream truck. A few minutes later, he returns with a container in his hand.
My eyes go wide as I take in the different scoops and toppings piling up on top of each other.
“Wow, that’s a lot of ice cream,” I say as he sets it down between us and hands me a yellow plastic spoon.
“Good thing there are two of us, then.”
I snatch the spoon from him, and he laughs when I shimmy after taking a bite.
“What’s your name?” he asks, his mouth just about full.
“Lucia Alvarez,” I say after swallowing my bite.
He nods and turns his head to face the hotel entrance. I’m not sure if he’s looking for the person he told me he’s waiting for or my mom—not that he’d know what she looks like.
“Are you going to tell me your name?” I ask him.
His eyes find mine again. “Ms. Hazel is my new teacher, and today she asked us to stand up, say our name, and tell everyone what they want to be when they grow up.” I beam with pride, my face lighting up.
“I told everyone I want to be a library lady because I love books.”
“I think you would make a great library lady,” he says, giving me a big grin.
“Ms. Hazel said I’m very good at using the ‘shh’ finger when the boys are still yapping and it’s quiet time in class.”
He puts the spoon in the tub.
“Well, Lucia, my friends call me Langford. I want to be a detective who catches the bad guys.”
“That’s a funny name.”
“Most detectives are called by their last names, so I’m practicing now so it’s not so weird when the time comes.”
“That’s smart. I read a book about a detective once. It’s my most favorite ever. My daddy gave it to me. The detective was hired to help a little girl find her stolen kitty.”
“You know, I think I read that book to my brother when he was about your age.” Langford taps his chin with his finger. “The cat was called Salem, right? The florist thought he had powers, so she stole him to try and get him to grow her flowers quicker for the flower contest.”
A full grin takes over my face. I pull my feet up onto the wall and sit on them, nodding with excitement.
Langford’s eyes fill with fondness as he looks at me and lets me tell him my favorite parts from The Detective and Me.
“That’s all you want?” Langford asks when I put my spoon down.
“I’m only allowed one scoop,” I say, wiping my lips.
“Live a little.” He shrugs, handing me back the spoon. “It’ll be our secret,” he says, his expression kind and friendly, but his words make my tummy start to feel funny again.
Why can’t you ever just understand!
My hands twist in my lap, and I shrink back a little.
“Lucia, are you alright?” Langford asks, his brow furrowing slightly as he moves the ice cream container behind him and shuffles a little closer.
“M-my mom said that I couldn’t tell. That I had to keep it a secret, but I don’t like this secret. It makes my tummy feel like worms are wiggling inside of it, and I don’t like worms.”
“Did you see someone do something bad, Lucia?” Langford asks, but his face and voice don’t carry the same anger Mom’s did. “I once saw something bad too, and I didn’t say anything,” he tells me when I don’t answer.
“Why didn’t you tell?”
“I didn’t want anything bad to happen, but even though I stayed quiet, the bad thing still happened, and now, I don’t get to tell the person I wanted to tell because they’re not here anymore.”
“Where did they go?” I ask him, curiosity getting the better of me.
“Someplace I can’t get to them.”
I scratch the top of my head. “You can’t take a bus or something? I’m really good at reading maps. Maybe I can help you, if you want.”
“You’re a sweet kid, and I bet you’re so, so good at reading maps, but transportation isn’t the problem, Lucia.”
I’m not sure what he means, but there’s a sad look in his eyes. I wonder if he needs a hug. Daddy always says my hugs make him feel better when he’s down.
A car beeps from behind us before I can mention it, and we both turn to look at it. There’s a girl sitting in the front seat behind the wheel.
Big sunglasses cover her face, even though it’s not sunny anymore. She leans out of the open window and waves at us both before twisting her hair into a bun on the top of her head.
“That’s my girlfriend, Emma,” Langford says, holding a single finger up to her. She gives a small nod, her lips curling slightly in acknowledgment. “We came here to watch a baseball game and stayed at the hotel last night. We’re going home now.”
“Where’s home?”
“Michigan.”
“I’ve never left Crescent Creek Lake or Cincinnati.”
Langford smiles at me. “Maybe one day, you will.”
I look up when someone steps out of the revolving hotel doors and stands to the side.
Mom.
Her hair’s pulled back into a tidy bun, not messy in the same way as before. Her makeup isn’t smudged. She has her phone pressed to her ear, one hand on her hip. Her back is straight and stiff as a board, her one foot tapping the ground fast.
I swallow hard.
I made her have a bad day.
“That’s my mom,” I say, pointing at the hotel door. Langford swivels to look, but she has her back to us now. “Thanks for waiting with me until she came out. That was nice of you.”
“You’re welcome. Bye, Lucia. Make sure you stay in school so you can become a library lady, okay?” he says, then turns to walk away.
“Wait!” I call after him. He faces me, and I jump off the wall and reach into my bag to pull out the packet of unopened Jelly Tots I have. “The green ones are my favorite. They taste like watermelon.”
“They’re my favorite, too,” he says, taking them.
“Do you think I should tell?” I bite my lip and lower my gaze, letting the question float between us.
He lowers himself to the ground so that we’re eye level and opens up the packet. The first one is green, and he holds it out to me.
“That’s up to you, Jelly Tot. When I had the chance to tell, and I didn’t, it was because I didn’t want to make someone I cared about sad.
What I’ve learned since then is that people deserve to know the truth—the whole truth even if it makes them upset.
Everyone deserves the chance to make their own choices and have their own feelings. ”
“I think I understand,” I say. “I hope you get to be a detective, Langford.”
He winks at me before he rises to his feet and turns to walk to the car. I notice his name printed on the back of his T-shirt.
As they drive away, I can’t explain why, but I’m lonely.
I go back to sit on the wall again, swinging my legs as I stare at the sign and wonder if I’ll ever be lucky enough to see Langford again.
Another car pulls out of the parking lot. I let out a big sigh.
Now there’s only one car left.
When Mom walks back through the revolving doors, I know I’m not going home any time soon. And somehow, I think I know what it feels like to have a bad day.
TWO WEEKS LATER
I rub the tiredness from my eyes and jump out of my bed.
It’s finally morning—and my birthday.
My bare feet hit the plush carpet and flex around the velvety fibers a few times, soaking in that cozy feeling.
Today’s going to be the best day.
I’m full of energy as I bounce out of my room and head to the landing, grinning from ear to ear.
I peek through the gaps in the wooden railings where some of my clothes are hanging over it, left there from when I got too busy to fold them. I spot Daddy standing in the foyer. He’s dressed for the day, but looking out the front door.
The mailman must be on the porch.
I cup my hands around my mouth, ready to call out to him and let him know I’m awake. That I’m ready for the birthday pancakes he promised me. Hope and excitement bloom in my chest.
Then three sharp bangs ricochet off the walls.
BANG! BANG! BANG!
The sounds crash throughout the foyer. My ears immediately start screaming in protest, my shoulders snapping up toward them in protection.
I squint against the commotion, a reflex I get when the sun’s too bright, but there’s nothing in my eyes.
I drop to the floor and lie on my belly.
My jeans act as a shield, hiding me. My heart is beating so loud it sounds as though it’s right next to a microphone, its speakers pressed against the side of my face.
I tell myself I need to be quiet. My stomach twists, the exact way it did at the hotel, sensing something bad is about to happen.
I know it, too.
I take a deep breath, but all I smell is smoke as I lift my head a little and peek through the bars.
My hands slide over my mouth to cover it, but a tiny gasp slips out as I watch Daddy stumble back a few steps, like someone pushed him too hard. But I don’t see anyone, and I don’t think it’s the mailman anymore.
Then Daddy falls.
His body crashes to the ground with a loud thud. Blood starts to spread under him, reminding me of the time I spilled red paint over the floor when I was dancing to a song.
My brain screams at me to move, to go help Daddy, but my body doesn’t listen.
I can’t blink. I can’t move. I’m stuck.