I linger in the shadows of the antechamber door. Of all the places a lady should never be, a dank, dark, and—I wrinkle my nose—malodorous cave tops the list.
You’ll chicken out. The mysterious peddler’s voice haunts me. Turn and run like the spoiled princess you are.
I clench my fist…
Excitement skitters across my limbs as I peer over the tops of all the other trees. I can see six-year-old Ruby Sue get off the school bus in front of her house and run straight into the woods. Toward me. Her friend.
Here in the easternmost part of the Berkshire Mountains…
They say the word Kentucky means “dark and bloody ground.” And I believe it—after all, that’s where my blood has been for years.
I floated among the branches of towering trees. Dew clung to the bluegrass below, which made it seem even more vivacious and alive.
Funny how grass had more life than me.
The clown bolted from the trailer across the open space to the big top and hurdled over the velvet rope at the entrance. Serella only had time to sputter “Hey!” before he was inside. Two men wearing FBI vests followed. She unhooked the rope without a word. Damn. Probably another drug dealer.
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“We hit this gas station”—I point at a crease in the map spread out over the RV’s dining table—“grab food, toilet paper, gas—”
“And slushies,” Martin chimes in.
“—and slushies. Then we hightail it to the monument, here.”
I survey my crew. Martin, my younger brother, looks like a…
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