Page 55 of Dotted Lines (Runaway 5)

Clara giggled. “She thought you might say that.”

“I feel like an asshole for not keeping in touch.” Though I’d had my reasons. Or excuses.

“He said a bad word.” August sat up straight in his seat, but instead of a glare or scowl, he was grinning eagerly.

“Sorry.” I gave Clara an exaggerated frown.

“You owe him a quarter. He’s going to fund his college tuition off the bad language of the adults in his life, aren’t you, Gus?”

“Yep. I have three hundred twenty-seven dollars and fifty cents.”

“Wow.” I shifted in my seat, keeping one hand on the wheel so I could dig my wallet out of my shorts pocket with the other. By some miracle, there were three quarters inside the main fold. I plucked them out and passed them all back. “This is in case you bust me later today.”

“That’s what Uncle Brody does too. He calls it paying in advance.”

“Brody has supplied the bulk of that three hundred and twenty-seven dollars,” Clara said.

We drove for a few miles, letting the wind blow past us, but curiosity kept gnawing at me.

Where was August’s father? Why didn’t Clara have a ring on her finger? Had they met in Vegas? How long had she worked there? Why had she left? When?

Damn it, I shouldn’t have looked her up all those years ago. One ten-minute glimpse into her life on Facebook, and I’d been haunted by a string of pictures ever since. Those photos had taken on a life of their own in my imagination. I’d seen her with him. I’d seen her happy and free.

I’d lived with them and the envy that tainted them because in my mind, Clara had been happy. She was happy, right? She looked happy. So why were she and August here alone?

Maybe I shouldn’t have let those pictures scare me away.

I glanced at Clara, memorizing the small smile on her mouth. Not that I needed to. I’d memorized that look years ago. August’s attention was rapt on the passing buildings and the ocean beyond.

“Been to the beach yet?” I asked Clara, keeping my voice low.

“Not yet. We came straight to your house.”

I grinned at her, then pushed down the blinker and drove to my favorite spot. When I pulled into the parking lot, August’s excitement was palpable. His legs kicked and he bounced in the confines of his seat’s harness.

“Can we go swimming?” he asked, nodding like he could influence his mother’s answer.

“Uh, not yet. But later we’ll go swimming. After we get checked into the hotel.”

“How long are you staying?” I unbuckled as she climbed out and helped August out of the car.

“Two nights.”

Two nights. Not enough. “What hotel?”

“The Kate Sperry Inn. It’s a local spot, I guess.” She shrugged. “The ratings were good.”

“It’s very nice.” The place was a four-star hotel that cared more about quality than quantity. She’d have access to the beach and a pool.

“Mom, can I—” He tugged on her arm.

“Go ahead. Only go into the water as far as your ankles.” She laughed as he raced away, stumbling a bit on that first footstep into the sand. But he righted himself quickly and threw his arms in the air as he ran.

“I did the exact same thing when I came here.” I chuckled and led Clara to the beach. Our pace slowed as we joined August at the water’s edge. He dipped a toe in, then dropped to put his hands in the foam.

“I hope you don’t feel like we invaded today,” she said.

“Not at all. It’s a Sunday. I don’t do much on Sundays except come to the beach. Surf if I’m feeling it. Today, I didn’t have to come alone.”