“Rebecca, I’m not hiding things.”
“I know.”
That somehow made it worse.
She closed the notebook.
“I need sleep.”
Cole nodded.
“Okay.”
He began gathering the box.
Rebecca held onto the notebook.
Cole noticed.
“You can keep it.”
“Really?”
“It's yours.”
Rebecca looked at him.
“Why?”
“Because he was your father.”
For some reason, that sentence hurt more than everything else.
Rebecca looked away.
Cole picked up the box.
Then noticed the cot through the open rear door.
He stopped.
Rebecca immediately stepped into the doorway.
“What?”
“You sleeping here?”
“No.”
Cole stared.
She stared back.
He looked toward the employee room.
“Rebecca.”
“Don't.”
“Where do you live?”
“With my aunt.”
“Address?”
“No.”
“Does she know you're sleeping in a diner?”
“I said don't.”
Cole set the box down.
“I'm not trying to control you.”
“Good.”
“I'm asking.”
“And I'm not answering.”
Cole looked at her for several seconds.
Then nodded.
“Okay.”
He picked up the box again.
Rebecca expected relief.
Instead she felt strangely disappointed.
Cole walked toward the parking lot.
Then stopped.
“You know where the clubhouse is.”
Rebecca looked at him.
“If you ever need somewhere safe to sit for a while, door's open.”
“I don't need charity.”
“Didn't say charity.”
“What is it?”
Cole looked at the notebook in her hands.
“Debt.”
Rebecca frowned.
“To who?”
“Your dad.”
He left before she could answer.
Rebecca did not visit the clubhouse that week.
She told herself she did not care.
She went to school.
Worked nights.
Slept wherever Sam allowed.
Avoided Aunt Lisa’s increasingly irritated messages.
Then Friday came.
The health inspector arrived.
Sam looked apologetic.
“You can't stay tonight.”
“I know.”
“Got somewhere?”
“Yes.”
He stared.
Rebecca sighed.
“Terrible liar.”
“Correct.”
She left the diner carrying her backpack.
Rain threatened again.
She checked her phone.
$41.62 in her account.
Motels near Bakersfield cost more than that.
The bus station would close its lobby at midnight.
She considered Lisa’s house.
Then remembered Lisa’s boyfriend telling her two weeks earlier:
“This isn't a halfway house.”
Rebecca had left before saying something that would make things worse.
She walked three blocks.
Then five.
At 11:20 p.m., she found herself standing across from the Iron Valley clubhouse.
A converted repair shop with a fenced yard.
Motorcycles outside.
Warm light through windows.
Music.
Laughter.
Rebecca almost turned around.
Then Cole stepped outside carrying trash.
He saw her.
Stopped.
Rebecca immediately said:
“I’m not staying.”
Cole nodded.
“Okay.”
“I only need somewhere until morning.”
“Okay.”
“I have money for food.”