Make Me Lose Control (21 page)

“No,” Colton replied. “I didn’t say anything to anyone. Amy and I told our parents we were going out for milk.”

“We still need that,” Amy said. “I want milk with the pie Mom made. Apple with the crumb topping.”

London’s stomach churned on its emptiness at the thought of food. She’d not had dinner before running away. Sticking her hands in her pockets, she searched for leftover gum or mints. Nothing.

Amy traipsed into the dark room and slid down the wall to take a spot beside London. “It smells like mildew in here.” She bumped her shoulder against London’s. “Are you going to tell us what happened?”

“Parents suck.”

Colton propped himself against the opposite wall and crossed his arms over his chest. “Yeah. At one time or another. It’s inevitable.”

“I’m going to have five children,” Amy said. “Two sets of twins and then the baby. I refuse to dress the twins alike, however, which just goes to show that as a parent I will
not
suck. As a matter of fact—”

“Ames?” her brother said.

“What?”

“Shut up,” Colton said. “England, tell us what happened.”

It poured out of her then. How she’d come to Blue Arrow Lake to get prepared to enter an American high school and that Jace let her assume it was going to be high school here. Until tonight when he’d told her it wasn’t going to be as she’d imagined at all.

He’d looked her straight in the eye when he imparted the news. It had taken a moment for his words to sink in, but when they did she knew they were no joke. He’d flinched when she yelled, but he hadn’t backed down, not when she yelled some more and not even when she stomped her feet like a spoiled two-year-old.

So then she’d gotten control of herself and tried reasoning with him, but he had reasons, too. When she couldn’t move him, she’d opted for moving herself out of the house as fast as her legs would carry her. She was never going back.

“My father’s signed me up for a boarding school,” London told her friends now.

Amy scooted to face her. “Why?”

“Oh, it’s a great school, he claims. Has a stellar computer science department, which he knows I’m interested in.”

“That...that doesn’t sound so bad,” the other girl said. “I mean, if the computer science stuff is your thing.”

“I’m enrolled in the summer session, which starts soon.”

Amy gasped. “Summer school? That really does suck. Everybody knows that the only structured summer activity that’s any good is if you go to something like space camp or drama camp, or I heard of this camp that’s set up like a government and you run elections and—”

“Ames,” Colton said. “Shut
up
.” Then he dropped to the ground, to sit cross-legged opposite London. “What’s your dad have against public school?”

“Nothing in particular I know of,” London said. “But he’s going to be working off and on in Qatar—”

“Where?” Amy asked. “Is that in Northern California?”

“It’s in Western Asia,” Colton told her. “God, Ames, for a girl on the honor roll you can be really dim.”

“Geography is next year,” his sister said, sounding insulted.

“Never mind,” Colton muttered. “So your dad needs to find a place for you to live and to go to school, is that right, England?”

“That’s what he says. Where he works in Qatar is very remote...he’s building some sort of solar energy facility.”

“That’s green,” Amy offered. “Green energy is good.”

“I don’t give a flying whatever about green energy,” London muttered.

“I’m sorry,” Amy said. “I don’t always know the right thing to say.”

“That’s okay.” London yanked her sweatshirt more firmly over her knees. “You’re being nice. Thank you.”

“So what are you going to do?” the other girl asked.

“I’m not going. Not to the school and not back to the house.”

“You’re going to run away?”

London shook her head. “I’m going to stay here. After a few days without food or water, I’ll just fall asleep and my body will become mummified.”

Beside her, Amy shivered. “A mummy? That creeps me out.”

“And it will make my father very sorry.”

“I like that part,” Amy said. “But wouldn’t it be better not to be hungry or thirsty? I’m sure he’ll still be sorry you’re gone.”

“I don’t even have my wallet with me. And I’d have to sneak into town to get to a grocery store.” She put her head on her knees. “Starving is the only way.”

“No, no it’s not,” Amy said, her voice getting excited. “I can smuggle food to you! I’ll slip a bunch of stuff in my backpack and bring it after school. Granola bars and some of those juice pouches and I don’t know...what do you keep saying is the perfect food, Colton?”

“Snickers bars.”

“That’s it! We have a bunch of them in the freezer. They’ll never be missed.”

“Maybe by me,” Colton put in.

“Oh, shush,” his sister said. “So you’ll have plenty of sustenance. I can bring you some blankets, too.”

“Amy, I can’t have you do that.”

“Of course you can. You know I love a project, right? I told you that. And I told you that you were the one I was going to dedicate myself to this summer.” She took in a breath. “Now, what else? We need to think of some way for you to shower...”

“She can use the lake,” Colton said. “You’ve got a ton of those little hotel shampoos in your bathroom, Ames.”

In the dark, London couldn’t see his expression, but there was something in his voice...

“Perfect,” Amy told her brother. “And for laundry—”

“How did the local Native Americans do it?” he asked. “I’m sure we learned about it at Lake Elementary School.”

“Hmm...” Amy seemed to be thinking back. “I believe they first made reed baskets, then they...well, I can bring you a plastic basket or a mesh bag or something. When they washed, didn’t they beat the clothes on a rock?”

“That’s how I remember it,” Colton said helpfully.

Feeling hopeless and miserable, London lifted her head. “How long do you think we could keep me hidden away?”

“Until you’re eighteen, of course,” Amy replied. “And then you can emerge from the boathouse and do anything you want to. But
I
think we should write a book.”

“Good God,” Colton groaned.

“You shut up this time,” his sister said. “We’ll write a book about your time in hiding, London. It’ll kind of be like Anne Frank—”

Colton groaned again. “Minus the Nazis and the Holocaust.”

“I don’t think I should compare myself to Anne Frank,” London said hastily. “It’s not anywhere close to the same thing.”

“Well, of course,” Amy answered. “We wouldn’t put that on the back cover or anything.”

To get the other girl off the subject, London brought up something else. “How are we going to communicate? I don’t even have my phone with me.”

“Oh.” Amy went silent a moment. “Let me think...”

“Smoke signals?” Colton asked, helpful again. “Maybe you could train a homing pigeon, Ames.”

“Don’t be silly,” Amy said. “Really, Colton, you come up with the dumbest ideas.”

“Amy—” London began.

“I’ve got it.” The other girl snapped her fingers. “I’m going to break into your father’s house and get the things you need. Your wallet and your phone and...we’ll make a list. I’ll sneak out of my bedroom tonight at midnight. Then after I’ve gathered your stuff, I’ll bring it to you here. When you hear two hoots like an owl, you’ll know it’s me.”

London stared at her. Even in the darkness, she could see the teen was serious about taking on this adventure. It made London feel thirty instead of fifteen, because she couldn’t even entertain the possibility. Not when it involved her new friend wandering around at midnight doing illegal things.

With a sigh, she looked over at Colton. “It’s not going to work, is it?”

“It’s not going to work,” he agreed.

Amy made a worried noise. “But—”

“I’m going to have to go back,” London said.

Colton nodded. “You’re going to have to go back.”

“Wait,” Amy protested.

“No, he’s right,” London told the other girl. “I can’t ask you to do those things.”

Amy was silent a long minute. “Well, you can ask me to write to you at the boarding school. I’ll do it, real letters. That would be cool.”

“That would be,” London agreed.

“And there’s still some time before you have to leave,” Colton added. “We’ll hang out some more.”

For a moment, her misery subsided. Maybe he’d hold her hand again. Maybe she’d be in a boat with him again, flying, and they’d exchange glances and it would be her and an almost-senior sharing boy-girl secrets that until now had seemed so mysterious. There would be more movies and maybe real dates and she’d consider it Seven Years in Heaven if he would be her very first kiss.

“London?” Amy said, shaking her out of her brief reverie. “Is it a plan?”

“Yeah.” She got to her feet as did the other two. What other choice did she have?

As she approached the house alone—she’d told the Hallidays to go home, promising to text them ASAP—she didn’t even bother dragging her feet. The place was lit up; it looked to London as if someone had switched on every bulb, in the closets, kitchen, bathrooms, deck. She stuck to the shadows at the side of the back lawn, but when she reached the stairs, she stepped into light as bright as day.

“London!”

Glancing up, she saw her father come running. “Are you all right? Where’d you go?”

“I took a walk,” she said, and without another word, began trudging upward.

“You were gone for hours. In the dark. We were worried.” He kept pace with her, forking his hand through his hair. “I called the police.”

His concern left her unmoved, she told herself. “Maybe they should arrest me,” she said, and heard the snotty tone in her voice. “It’s probably against the law for me to have my own mind.”

“London.” Jace sighed. They’d reached the deck and he put his hand on her shoulder.

She shrugged it off. “Look, I’m back. Okay? And I know I’ll have to do what you say. But I don’t like it...and I certainly don’t like you.”

He jerked as if she’d slapped him. Then he sighed again. “I realize I should have told you right away. I screwed up. And I’m...sorry. I’m a piss-poor father.”

“That’s the first thing you’ve said tonight that I agree with.” She swept past him into the house.

Inside, she found Shay hurrying toward her. “I thought I heard your voice. Are you all right?” Poppy followed behind her.

London looked past Shay. “Is Mason with you?”

“Past his bedtime. I came to talk to Shay only to find out that you went MIA.”

“I took a walk.”

“We were so worried—” Shay began.

“I needed some time to get used to the fact that I still don’t have my own life. That everything that happens to me is at someone else’s whim.” She glanced over her shoulder to see Jace had remained on the deck. He was leaning against the railing, staring out at the lake.

Poppy’s brows rose. “You’ve got some ideas of your own?”

“Of course I do. But he—” she jerked her head toward the deck “—doesn’t listen to me.”

“Well,” Poppy said, drawing nearer so she could tuck London’s hair behind her ear, “you’re not going to just give up, are you?”

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

S
HAY
STARED
AT
her sister, groaning inwardly, then sidled closer. “Don’t give her false hope,” she murmured, for Poppy’s ears only.

The other woman acted as if she didn’t hear her. “Sometimes life kicks us in the head,” she said, and shot a quick but meaningful glance at Shay.

Crap. Brett had called her.

“But you can’t lie down,” Poppy continued. “Because Walkers aren’t whiners.”

London made a face. “I’m not a Walker.”

“I’m making you an honorary one,” Poppy said. “If Mason has his way, you’ll marry him someday, which will make you my daughter-in-law.”

“Mason,” London said, and her mouth curved in a ghost of a smile.

“So let me tell you about one of the Walker ancestors—Hortense.”

This time Shay groaned out loud. “Not that old saw.”

Poppy shushed her. “Now Hortense raised chickens, and sold the eggs for spending money. To do so, she had to travel over the mountains to the next town.”

“On her mule,” Shay added, “named Persimmon.”

“Lemon,” Poppy corrected, “because of its sour disposition.”

London put her hand to her mouth and made a sound that might have been a smothered giggle.

Poppy shot Shay a triumphant glance. “So there was Hortense, on her mission over the mountains. An especially important mission, because she was going to use her egg money to buy tatting—a kind of lace—for the gown she was sewing to wear to her upcoming wedding.”

“London,” Shay said, “ask Poppy why the very accomplished chicken-raising, egg-selling, dress-sewing, mule-riding Hortense didn’t make her own lace.”

London pressed her lips together, as if holding back more laughter. “What she said.” With her gaze on Poppy she indicated Shay with her chin.

“Because,” Poppy answered, “Hortense only had three fingers on her left hand due to a childhood accident. For your information, it’s very difficult to tat with eight fingers.”

London blinked. “Is that true?”

Shay shook her head. “Remind me to give you a lesson on the segment of American folk literature known as tall tales.”

Poppy looked affronted. “Granny swore on her mother’s grave.”

Gesturing with her hand, Shay said, “Carry on.”

“So on her journey to the next town, Lemon stumbled and broke his leg. Hortense, loath to see the poor animal suffer—”

“Though maybe not quite as sad as she might have been due to its sour disposition.”

“—shot the animal dead. Then Hortense continued on her way, on foot, alone, for two days and two nights.”

“Here comes the best part,” Shay said to London.

“That’s right.” Poppy beamed at them both. “Once Hortense reached her destination, she successfully sold the eggs and bought the tatting.”

“Then walked back home and married her man?” London guessed.

“No,” Shay said, trying to keep a straight face. “She fell for some guy who bought her a root beer at the general store. Ended up eloping with him and got married in her dirty, travel-stained dress. They resold the lace in order to pay the fee to the justice of the peace.”

“I love that story,” Poppy said, smiling again.

Shay shook her head. “You’re kidding, right? What is the moral of it, do you suppose?”

“Don’t give up,” Poppy answered promptly.

“How about ‘Hortense was a floozy’?”

“She made the most of every situation,” Poppy countered.

“Some other poor man ended up with a broken heart,” Shay pointed out.

But London was laughing now, which Shay thought might have been the real reason behind her sister’s sharing that family legend. Poppy brushed the teen’s hair from her forehead, in that effortless maternal manner she had. “Why don’t you start a conversation with your father,” she said quietly. “Who knows where it might lead?”

London glanced behind her, to where Jace continued to stand on the deck, his pose pensive. “Do you think it will do any good?” she asked.

“No promises,” Poppy answered. “But I don’t think it can hurt, do you?”

The girl shrugged, seeming to think about it. After a few moments, she squared her shoulders and headed back outside.

The two women watched her go. “I’m guessing,” Shay said, when she saw Jace turn and greet his daughter, “that part about life kicking you in the head was for me?”

“For you both.” Poppy faced her. “Brett called me.”

“I figured.”

“He’s the only one of us kids who knew that those papers were...”

“Fantasy,” Shay said flatly.

“Dad told him before he died. He and Mom honestly didn’t think not having them would make any difference—and it doesn’t make any difference.”

It does to me
, Shay thought.

They both went silent. Then Shay shoved her hands in her pockets. “I learned one important thing from this kick in the head, Poppy.”

Her sister’s brows rose. “What’s that?”

“Secrets are destructive.” She glanced out to the deck, where London and Jace appeared to be in conversation. “You should know I’m going to take that teaching position in Nice.”

Poppy’s brows drew together. “The one your friend Dee is always dangling like a carrot?”

“Yes. It’s good money. I’ll send most of it back and you’ll invest it in the cabins.”

Her sister frowned. “Shay, don’t leave because of that. We’ll find another way—”

“There’s other reasons.” Shay’s gaze drifted to the deck again. “I need to get away.”

Poppy glanced over her shoulder. “Oh.” Her voice filled with understanding. “Have you done it, then? Have you fallen in love?”

She lifted a shoulder. “I really like London a lot.”

Poppy gave her a pointed look. “Try again, little sister.”

“Okay, I love the girl,” she admitted. Then she inspected her sandals, pretending a fascination with them. “Maybe her father, too.”

“I wish you didn’t look so miserable about it.”

“He’s not interested in anything...you know. Permanent. I’d be stupid to believe that’s going to change soon. Or for me.”

Poppy sighed. “We all make ourselves fools for love, I’m afraid. It’s part of the deal.”

Shay looked up. “You and Ryan aren’t fools.”

“I worried I was one when I fell for him—you even warned me about it, remember? But still, I put myself on the line. And I didn’t give up when he pushed me away.”

“He certainly didn’t hold you off for long, either,” Shay said drily.

Poppy grinned. “Because I’m stubborn, another wonderful Walker trait. And I kept my heart open, even when I thought I would lose him.”

“But that’s you. Always openhearted.”

Her sister touched her arm. “To find true love, to become a partner with a man, you’ll have to strip the locks off yours, Shay.”

She didn’t want to tell Poppy she was terrified that she already had...unlocked the darn thing and offered it to a man who would never take it up.

* * *

W
HEN
HIS
DAUGHTER
let herself back onto the deck, Jace didn’t speak right away. There was more to be said between them, he knew that, but he’d screwed up earlier and would be more cautious this time. He didn’t know if she’d ever buy why he thought this was the best decision, but he had to give it a try.

When the silence between them turned awkward, he glanced over. “Do you feel like telling me now where you were and what you did?”

“No.”

“All right.” He looked over his shoulder at the two women inside the house. “But you did scare the bejesus out of Shay. Poppy, too.”

“And you?”

“I told you I was worried.”

“You called the police on me.”

“I didn’t call the police
on
you. I called the police because I wanted help finding you.”

“Will they give me a ticket or something?”

“No. But they’re building up quite the file. First joyriding in the boat and now this.”

Her head whipped toward him and she looked aghast. “Really?”

“No.” He ruffled her hair. It was soft and as light as feathers. “I’m teasing.”

She smoothed the tangles he’d left behind, a frown between her brows. “Don’t mess with my hair.”

The boy in him wanted to do it again, but he held himself in check. “I beg your pardon,” he said, very polite. “Especially since I’m so glad it’s not blue.”

She peeked at him from under her lashes. “Who knows what color might strike me as interesting when I’m in boarding school?”

He refused to give in to panic...or blackmail. “Who knows,” he said mildly. “But maybe you’ll run it by me if you think about making a drastic change. We’re going to be Skyping. Sending emails. You’ll be able to text me whenever you want.”

Her head came up and her eyes widened. “You...you want to be in contact with me?”

The sting of a thousand lashes struck him and he knew it wasn’t nearly enough punishment. “I’m not losing contact with you again.”

“Promise?” Her voice sounded incredibly young.

Five thousand more strokes strafed his skin. “I promise.”

Her eyes narrowed. “I thought you said that where you’d be working in Qatar was very remote. What if I can’t reach you?”

There was that, Jace thought. He’d just have to make the long trip into Doha often, to make sure he was available if she needed him. “We’ll make sure you can,” he assured her. “And I’ll be returning to the States, um, I don’t know, every month, to check on you.”

Had he just said
every month
? It would mean rearranging his team, giving more control to one of his managers—maybe even hiring another. But money wasn’t an issue and he couldn’t renege on this new promise. His conscience wouldn’t let him. The way he was coming to care for this kid wouldn’t let him.

He glanced over his shoulder, saw Shay still talking with her sister. If he came back to Southern California every month he could see her, too...but no, she was going to France. Fucking faraway France.

Looking back at his daughter, he noticed she was scowling. “What’s the matter now?”

“I don’t like the idea of you ‘checking’ on me.” Lifting her hands, she put the word in scare quotes. “I’m fifteen, remember?”

“Yes.”
So old.
This time when he reached out, he stroked her hair instead of tousling it. “How about we call it something else...something simple. Visiting?”

“But not just to make sure I’m keeping up with my homework or not dyeing my hair green. It needs to be more of a sharing thing. You tell me about your work, what you’re doing. I tell you about school, what I’m doing.”

“Okay.”

That sounded much like the conversations they’d been managing to have at the dining table here at Blue Arrow Lake, with Shay directing, or prodding, or initiating, whatever was needed. Those had been the most entertaining meals in his memory and he’d miss them when he was eating alone again, going over plans and running numbers for the latest phase of the latest project.

Back in the rat race.

Back on the hamster wheel.

For some reason he thought of the fantasy future Shay had concocted for him.
Bowled over by love, you’ll rearrange your life to cease almost all the travel—except for jaunts you can do as a family.

He rubbed at his forehead, disturbed at how good that sounded. But he was incapable of loving like a family man should know how to do. Not only had his old man been a lousy example, but the early failure of Jace’s own marriage and the way he’d walked away from his daughter had also proved that.

“Jace,” London suddenly said.

Jace.
He realized, with another pang, that she’d never called him Dad. Who could blame her? “Yeah?”

“I know it was you who sent the books.”

Going still, he stared at her. She was leaning against the railing, her gaze on the lake, where the reflection of the moon rippled on the water. “Books?” he asked, cautious.

“The ones that came every month. How...how did you pick them out?”

“You told me your mom—”

“I don’t know why I said that.” She shoved her hands in the kangaroo pocket of her hoodie. “I just wanted to...I don’t know.”

To hurt him, he thought with sudden insight, like she’d been hurt. “It’s all right,” he said. “I understand.”

She threw a quick glance at him. “When they came in the mail, Mom handed them over, or Opal. No one hid that they were from you.”

He was glad about that. It seemed like such a small thing to do—but had been important to him, too. His best memories of his little girl had been reading to her and because it was clear she’d loved books, he’d sent her a packet of them every month.

London looked over now. “I have a hard time picturing you browsing the children’s and teen section at a bookstore, though.”

“I did, actually.”

“No!”

“Yes. Some that I picked were my own favorites.”

“Willie Wonka? The BFG?”

He smiled. “And
Harry Potter
, of course.”

“But there were lots of...well, I guess I’d call them girl books.”

“I made a contact. A retired librarian. She’s helped me with recommendations over the years.”

“Mystery solved,” she said. “I’ve been wondering.”

And it seemed as if asking the question showed she trusted him a little. He couldn’t express how glad that made him feel. “Do you want to know another secret?”

Clearly intrigued, her brows rose. “Sure.”

“This has gotta be hush-hush. Seriously messes with my man cred.”

“Man cred?”

“Man credibility. None of the guys will ever invite me into a football pool again if this gets out.”

Her lips twitched. “Do I have to cross my heart?”

He held out his little finger. “Pinkie swear.”

When she hesitated, he explained what he meant. Pain knifed into his heart when she curled her much, much smaller digit around his. “Do I say anything?” she asked, looking up into his face.

“On pain of death,” he answered solemnly.

She giggled. “On pain of death.”

Then their hands unlinked, and he surprisingly, keenly, felt the loss. Jace leaned close to his daughter. Whispered, “I bought double sets.”

She frowned, then her face cleared. “Of the books?”