I was no stranger to poverty. To living hand-to-mouth and doing whatever it took to survive. But even with my mum telling me the stories of the hard-scrabble life she’d left behind to come to England, I’d somehow deluded myself that Simon and my dad—my real dad, not the parade of men that blew in and out of my mum’s life—weren’t struggling that much. Sure, times were tough. Wasn’t that true for most people who weren’t born with a silver spoon?
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sp; But this. This was something else.
I’d scrawled down the number of the right house on a piece of motel stationery. I snorted at that. If a motel’s pad by the phone counted as such. But I hadn’t only looked up where Simon and my father had lived. I’d also searched out the address of Nick Crandall’s old house, and Deacon McCoy’s. They’d lived near each other growing up. Kind of like The Temptations and Aretha Franklin and Smokey Robinson and a lot of the great Motown acts had all been neighbors in their early years.
Not that Oblivion was in their league. Time would prove if they had the chops to be spoken of with reverence as the years passed.
But even now, Oblivion had made a mark. A significant one. And that mark had begun in this neighborhood.
Another spoke of their circle had grown up here as well. Chloe Shawcross, married to one Michael Shawcross, who was the brother of Nick’s sister’s fiancé. More interestingly, Chloe had been engaged to and impregnated by Snake, the man who’d tried to kill Nick and had killed another person they were close to last fall.
So much drama. So many connections. I felt like I needed a scorecard to keep up.
I might also need another run at the maps app on my phone, because the addresses weren’t right. I rechecked my paper. Had I written them down wrong? Or—
Cocking my head, I swallowed hard as I took in the empty, weedy lot between two painfully similar houses. The space for the home in between had been so small, I had taken it for a surprisingly large side yard at first instead of a vacant lot. The child’s bicycle lying on its side atop a mound of dirt had helped me along with that assumption.
But nope. It might be a side yard now, or a community gathering spot for the children. Once upon a time, however, the lot had held the home where my father, mum, and brother had lived.
Where I’d been conceived.
Where my father had died.
Simon had bought this house. I’d thought it odd he would want those memories if it had been as bad as he’d said. Now it all made sense. He’d purchased the property to destroy it.
I shut my eyes against the glare of the sun. Another link in my life I’d never get to fill in. Another part of my past I’d never get to see, never mind begin to understand.
Without opening my eyes, I started walking again. Blindly, stumbling up the walk like a shambling drunk. Maybe I hoped I’d fall. Instead, I opened my eyes as I stopped in front of the former Crandall residence. That one was still very much intact, and a little blond girl was sitting on the broken top step, sucking on a lollipop.
“Are you a model?” she asked curiously.
I scraped a hand over my hair. I’d tied it back, but it was coming loose again and I hadn’t noticed. “Why would you say that?”
“Oh. Oh. Oh. You’re not from here.”
It made me smile. “No, I’m from quite far away, actually.” Never had it felt more so than this very moment.
“Are you from Malibu?” The awe-struck way she said Malibu made me chuckle.
I shook my head. “Much farther than that. And no, I’m not a model.”
“You’re very pretty. I like your hair.”
Touching it self-consciously, I returned her smile. “Thank you. So are you. Is your lollipop grape?”
“Yes. It’s my favorite.” She ducked her head. “I have another, if you’d like one.”
My stomach roared. I hadn’t yet eaten today so I was tempted to take her up on it. “Offering me candy, are you? Isn’t that supposed to be the other way around?” Realizing what I’d said, I glanced around to see if I was about to be labeled a creeper and hauled away by law enforcement. But other than an older man smoking a few houses down and a couple of kids laughing and circling their bikes in the street, there was no one in sight.
“Look, do you want it or not?” The cute little blond was now on her feet, hand on her hip. Like all women, she didn’t appreciate being kept waiting for an answer.
“No, thank you. Where’s your mum? Mother,” I corrected when she stared. “Or your father?”
“Inside. Asleep.”
“Still?” It was late afternoon. I didn’t know exactly what time, but the angle of the sun gave a few clues. “You’re out here unsupervised?”