"Cameryn?” Justin squeezed her hand, bringing her back. “I think I lost you there.”
“Sorry. It’s just…” She shook herself. “Sorry, I’m listening. ”
Justin cleared his throat. “Right,” he said. His face flushed, which made her pulse kick faster, and she was, once again, in the moment. “So, after that day I talked to you again at the Grand. That’s when you said you just wanted to be friends…” He paused and Cameryn focused, waiting. Nothing would distract her now.
"What?” she asked softly.
She leaned near him, aware they were sharing the same air, their mingled breath creating the barest of clouds against the window. Outside she heard the Silverton Choir warming up, but inside there was only the sound of his shallow breath and the scent of leather- from his Timberline boots or his leather bomber jacket, she couldn’t tell.
Well, why not? she asked herself. Why shouldn’t she relax and let this thing, whatever it was, just… happen?
Before, Kyle had been a distraction when she’d needed it most, when she’d wanted to escape. But knowing the worst thing, the very worst thing about Hannah, was freeing, somehow. Maybe she owed it to herself to take one more chance, to replace the walls inside her with windows.
She whispered, “It’s okay.”
“Cammie, the thing is-”
“Deputy Crowley, this is dispatch,” a voice crackled over the two-way radio. “You’re needed at the Avalanche on a 10- 103f. Do you copy?”
“Oh, man,” Justin sighed. He shook his head apologetically, withdrawing his hand. Picking up the transmitter, he said, “This is Deputy Crowley; 10-65. Over.”
“What’s all that?” Cameryn asked.
“A 10- 103f means there’s a fight. I bet somebody had a little too much mead and, well, I am on duty. I’ve got to go, Cammie. I’m sorry.”
“It’s fine. I probably shouldn’t have sat in here so long anyway. Well, okay,” she said. She rubbed her palms along her jeans, her nerves still jangling. “I’d better go, then, and let you get to work.”
Opening the door, she was about to exit when he grabbed her arm. “Can we pick this up later?”
“Sure,” she said. “I think I’d like that.”
He smiled. “I’m glad you’re back.”
Although she wasn’t sure what he meant, a warmth spread from his hand all the way up her arm and into her face. “Yeah,” she said. “Me, too.”
She watched the police car pull away, this time the sirens blaring for real. Smiling, she waved as it disappeared down the street. Then, jamming her hands into her pockets, she decided to keep walking, threading her way between tourists and townspeople, past the booths and the man juggling snowballs in the air. There was a new lightness inside her. She craned her neck, looking up into the whitened sky. Above her the clouds broke open. Snow fell onto her face, cleansing her, dotting her skin with flakes that melted into water beads. People had gathered around oil barrels lit from within, their hands dancing above the flames. A dog whined, its gold eyes intent on its master’s chili dog. The man stood deep in conversation with a woman. Cameryn couldn’t help but laugh when the dog, a white husky, reached up to nip off half the chili dog while the man yelled, “Max, no!” How long had it been since she’d felt good? Too long, she answered herself. One by one she let her problems go, releasing them like helium balloons into the winter air. She continued east on Greene Street, all the way to Fourteenth Street, and there, less than a hundred yards away, sat Hannah, her engine in idle. The blue Pinto was parked away from the crowd.
Cautious, Cameryn approached the car.
“What are you doing?” she asked, knocking her knuckle against the driver’s window.
The noise startled the girl inside, who’d been deep in conversation with Hannah, gesturing as she spoke. Cameryn thought the girl looked no more than fourteen years old. Her strawberry-blonde hair hung in a long braid, and she had on a too-thin blue jacket without a hood. With eyes so pale blue they seemed almost colorless, she gaped at Cameryn.
Suddenly the window glided down. Hannah cried out, “Cammie, this is Mariah. Mariah, this is my daughter Cameryn.” The storm that had wracked her mother only an hour before had calmed. She was smiling, laughing, her voice almost giddy.
“Hi,” Cameryn said to Mariah. There was something odd about Hannah-her eyes shone too bright, her voice brimmed with false cheer. “Mom, are you okay?”
“I’m fine. Wonderful.”
“After you ran out of the Wingate I was worried,” Cameryn said, remaining vague because of Mariah. “I don’t think you heard me when I said I-I understand.”
Tears of gratitude welled in Hannah’s eyes. “You do? ”
“Mom, it was an accident. It doesn’t change anything. All of it happened a long time ago. You should have told me right away.”
“Say it again.”
“What?”
Hannah’s face pinched with emotion. “‘Mom.’ You just called me ‘Mom.’”
“Mom,” Cameryn said, surprised how easily it flowed. “So-who is this?” Cameryn’s eyes flicked toward Mariah.
Speckles of paint still clung to the back of her mother’s hands as she clutched the steering wheel tight. “I saw her at the gas station and I thought, That girl needs me.”
“Do you need help?” Cameryn aimed this at Mariah.
There was a tremor in Mariah’s voice as she said, “Yeah. I’ve got to get to Ouray. Your mom said she’d take me, but I’m still waitin’.”
“And I will,” Hannah explained, each word as shiny as a freshly minted penny, “but when I saw her I knew something was wrong. I wanted to help.” Hannah smiled again, like something bursting. “I’m making sure Mariah is safe. It’s a dangerous world out there.”
By maneuvering forward, Cameryn got her first really good look at the girl. Mariah’s nose, small and upturned, reminded her of the pretty dolls she used to line up on her windowsill, the kind with too-big eyes and lips the color of pink roses. Gingersnap freckles sprayed across Mariah’s entire face like a honey-colored constellation, and her brows, although unplucked, were perfect arches. She didn’t seem like a girl in danger. But then again, Cameryn wasn’t sure what a girl in danger looked like.
Mariah bent forward so that she could look directly into Cameryn’s eyes. “Your mother said she was goin’ to Ouray.” It was as though all of Hannah’s earlier agitation had siphoned into the girl. Clutching her knees so hard her fingertips blanched white, Mariah said, “We need to be leavin’.” She seemed coiled up, ready to spring at the least provocation. In a way, Cameryn could understand why her mother did not want to turn this girl loose. Behind those pale eyes she could sense Mariah’s synapses firing wildly as the girl looked from Cameryn to Hannah and then back again. “Please.”
It was clear Mariah wanted to leave and equally clear Hannah didn’t want her to go. The girl’s head turned like a ratchet when a group of men, snowboarders by the look of them, walked by, jostling each other, laughing. A truck, followed by a red sedan, slowed before moving on.
Once they passed, Mariah’s eyes grew wider. “You know what? I can’t stay here.” Muttering something Cameryn couldn’t understand, she bolted from the car, not even bothering to shut the door. For a moment Hannah watched the girl’s retreating figure. Then, stretching across the passenger seat, Hannah pulled the door shut and righted herself, stricken.
“What was that all about?” Cameryn asked.
“I don’t know.”
“Why did you even pick her up? Hitchhikers can be dangerous.”
“Not little girls. She was hiding in the restroom at the gas station and she told me she was desperate. I know how desperate feels. I promised I’d help.”
“What did she say just now? I couldn’t hear.”