Page 59 of Dotted Lines (Runaway 5)

Clara checked the time on her phone. “No, sorry, bud. I think we’d better get going.”

“Not yet,” he pleaded.

“Did you want to swim before bed?”

He thought it over, his mind visibly weighing the options. Then with a nod, he said, “Swimming.”

I raised my hand for the waitress and the check. Then I left some cash on the table to pay our tab and escorted Clara and August to the Cadillac.

“Are you sure you want to go swimming?” I asked August. “Because I know this ice cream spot on the beach and—”

“Ice cream!” He jumped. “I want ice cream.”

“Probably should have asked you first,” I told Clara.

She waved it off. “I never say no to ice cream.”

“Neither do I.” I grinned as we all climbed into the car and set off down the road.

Even for a Sunday evening, the beach was full of people walking. The line at the ice cream hut was twenty deep. We debated the best flavor as we waited our turn to get waffle cones and set out for an evening stroll across the sand.

August ate his kid’s cone faster than I’d ever seen a human consume ice cream before. Then he looked to his mother for permission to chase the seagulls.

“Not too far, okay?”

“Okay.” He handed her a wadded-up, sticky napkin, then took off running.

“Maybe he’ll burn off some sugar before bed.” She frowned at the napkin, then shoved it into a pocket of her shorts.

August chased a bird, then spun around and raced toward us, only to turn around and find another distraction. But he stayed within shouting distance.

“It’s your turn,” I said as we settled into an easy pace. “How was Vegas?”

“Vegas was exciting. For a time. Aria hated it. She only lasted a month.”

My footsteps stuttered. “You were there alone?”

I should have gone with her. Son of a bitch. I should have gone to Vegas. But never, in my wildest dreams, had I imagined Aria would leave her sister. And vice versa. Those two did everything together.

“Sort of.” She shrugged. “But I was busy. I got my GED. A driver’s license. We found an apartment in a not-so-great neighborhood, but the rent was cheap enough for me to afford on my own. I worked hard and things fell into place. Aria did the same, just in Oregon. We talked on the phone a few times a day. So not really alone, but on my own—if the difference makes sense.”

“Yeah,” I muttered. It made sense. But I still didn’t like it.

She shouldn’t have been alone. Clearly, she’d survived and thrived but that was not what I’d wanted for her. Clara was tough, but she’d had it hard enough.

“How’d you come to work for Brody?” I asked.

“Aria went into hospitality. There were so many hotels with tons of jobs to choose from and the pay was better than anything we’d had before. I didn’t want to clean rooms, so I waited tables to start with until I got my GED. Not long after, Brody’s company, Carmichael Communications, hired me as a receptionist.”

I could see her doing that, being the smile that greeted people when they walked through a door. A damn fine greeting.

“I didn’t start working for Brody right away,” she said. “I sat at the front desk for a while and as new positions opened up, I’d apply. Then when Brody’s personal assistant quit, I put my name in for that too. I’ve been working for him ever since. When he decided to move from Vegas to Arizona, he asked me to come along. It was time for a change, so that’s where we’ve been since.”

“Ah.” I nodded. “And that’s how Aria met him?”

“Yes, but they hated each other.” She laughed. “Last year, I was supposed to go to a wedding as Brody’s plus-one, but I got this nasty cold, so Aria went in my place. It wasn’t until then that they’d managed a civil conversation. Even afterward, things were dicey for a while. But the baby brought them together. Trace. They just named him the other day.”

“Trace. Cool name.”