Erica Spindler - Fortune

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.”

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.