Erica Spindler - Fortune

“Oh, geez. Don’t cry…” He glanced over his shoulder, then back at her. “Hold on. I’ll be right out.”

A couple minutes later, Chance emerged from the trailer. Skye stumbled toward him. “What am I going to do, Chance? How are we going to find her?”

Chance put an arm around her. “Come on.” He led her away from the trailer, to a grassy spot by a scrubby-looking tree. They sat down, facing each other.

Chance caught her hands and rubbed them. “You’re getting all upset about nothing. She probably went for a walk.”

“In the middle of the night?”

“Here you are, and it’s the middle of the night. I bet she couldn’t sleep and decided the night air would help.”

Skye shook her head, wiping roughly at her tears. “But she’s never done that before! I know she hasn’t.”

“How can you be so sure? Maybe every other time you just didn’t wake up.”

Skye caught her bottom lip between her teeth. “At first I thought maybe she’d left me for good. But her clothes are all there. But now I…I think she might have been kidnapped.”

“Kidnapped?” he repeated, a smile tugging at his mouth. “Skye, don’t you think that’s just a little far-fetched?”

“No. Look at this.” She leaned forward and dug the folded newspaper page from her pocket. She held it out. “Here.”

Chance took the paper, unfolded it, then met her eyes. “What exactly am I supposed to be looking at?”

She reached around him and pointed. “This, about the mob guy.”

Chance read it, then shook his head. “You think this has something to do with your mother?”

Skye nodded, tears welling again. “I found it on the sofa bed. She must have been reading it and now…and now she’s…gone.”

She started to cry again, but softly this time. “What am I going to do, Chance? I don’t have anybody but her.”

He scooted forward, put his arms around her and patted her back. “Look, kid, your mom didn’t run away and the mob hasn’t kidnapped her. She went for a walk. Or to meet a friend.”

“She wouldn’t do that.” Skye pressed her face to his chest, the beginnings of one of her headaches pushing at her. “Besides, you don’t understand. I think she’s…that we’re…I think we’re in some sort of trouble.”

“What sort of trouble?”

Skye rubbed her temples. “I don’t know. She won’t tell me. But we’re…always moving around. We pick up in the middle of the night sometimes and just…go. Don’t you think that’s weird?”

For a moment he was silent, and Skye tipped her head back to meet his gaze. “Chance? You think it’s strange, too, don’t you?”

“What I think doesn’t matter. Ask your mom.”

“I did. She says we’re nomadic adventurers.”

He made a sound of amusement. “Sounds about right, kid. More right than the mob being after you.”

“It’s not funny!” She stiffened. “She won’t tell me where I was born or what my father’s name was. She says he’s dead, but that’s weird, too. If he’s dead, why won’t she tell me about him?”

“I don’t know, Skye. She must have her reasons.”

Skye moaned, the pain in her head intensifying. She pressed her hands to her temples and squeezed her eyes shut, battling it.

“What’s wrong?”

“I get headaches. Bad ones.” She drew in a sharp breath. “I’m okay.”

“Yeah, right. Come on, I’m walking you back. You need some aspirin or something.”

“Wait!” She grimaced as pain knifed through her skull, and her vision blurred. “Did your mom keep that kind of stuff from you? Stuff about your dad?”

Chance laughed, the sound rough. “Hell, no. I wish she had, though. My father was a real prick.” He stood and pulled her gently to her feet. “Come on. I’m getting you home. I’ll bet your mom’s there, waiting for you. She’s probably worried sick.”

But Claire wasn’t there. Chance stood in the center of Skye and her mother’s obviously empty trailer, working to hide his dismay, trying to decide what he should do next. Skye was beside herself, hysterical with worry, her headache nearly unbearable.

Even so, she refused to take her headache medicine, because she said it sometimes made her sleepy. She told him she was afraid to go to sleep. Finally, by promising he wouldn’t leave until her mother returned, Chance convinced her to take two of the tablets and lie down.

He sat on the floor beside the bed, the space so small he barely fit. He forced a breezy smile, all too aware of the time that had slipped past. “It’s going to be all right, kid. Any moment your mom’s going to walk through that door. And boy, are you going to feel silly then.”

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.