BARRET
Barret barely had fifteen minutes to get from campus to work, but that didn’t stop him from allowing a flash of hope when he checked his phone for texts. No one had sent one—certainly not Libby. He ran through the rain toward Centre Street, wondering if anyone had found the mural he’d painted, wondering if it had even survived the weather. He remembered painting another mural on the side of his high school. It had been hot and dry, not a chance of being washed away, and the mural had shown a line of people, at attention, shoulders squared, facing in the same direction toward an unseen beacon, while another person danced behind them, leaving the crowd behind. Below, he’d painted “See What You Want” in block letters, and he’d waited for the message to cause a stir. But in the morning, the cleaning crew had already arrived to begin removing the mural, and by the afternoon, it was gone. Not a single teacher or student talked about the mural that day, but when Barret got home, his mother called him into the barn where she was tending to a pregnant sow.
“Anything you want to talk about?” she asked.
For a long time, Barret’s mother had called him her best friend. But lately, they barely spoke.
When he didn’t answer, she said, “Come find me if you do.”
And he knew she knew. What other secrets did she know?
He’d decided right then; it was time to leave.
* * *
Someone grabbed Barret from behind. He swung around, shrugging off the hand. But it was Libby who faced him.
“Were you in my room last night?” she asked.
Barret kicked at the wet ground. He’d tried to get into her room, but the window had been locked. Now, he didn’t want to admit to even being there.
“Someone was,” Libby said. “And there were fingerprints on the outside of the glass.”
“Everything seemed fine,” Barret said. “I liked being with you. What went wrong?”
Libby looked down the street. “I can’t give you the answer you’re looking for, and it doesn’t matter how you ask. I’m sorry.”
“You can tell me something.”
“It’s not what you think, that’s all I can say.”
She turned to leave but stopped herself. “You might hear some things about me. Some things I didn’t want anyone to know. If you do, well, I hope you’ll understand.”
“I’ll always understand.”
“Maybe you will. Maybe you won’t. Also, a woman came by my office today. She had a list and was asking nosy questions I didn’t want to answer. She asked about Brittany.”
“Why would anyone care about her?” he asked.
“No idea. But this woman is coming your way.”
Libby left, leaving Barret standing in the rain. He wondered if they’d ever speak again. But the last person in the world he wanted to think about right now was Brittany Hardenne.
* * *
“Better,” Dreamessa said, looking Barret up and down as he arrived for the shift with seconds to spare. She handed him an envelope. “Payday,” she added.
Barret tucked the envelope into his bag. The money couldn’t have come soon enough. He got to work and spent the next half hour restocking grab-and-go items and trying to push Brittany and Libby from his mind. But when he finished the task, he caught Dreamessa watching him.
“Your face doesn’t say Can I help you?” she said. “It’s more like Get away from me. What’s going on with you?”
“I’m nineteen,” he said. “Drama.”
Dreamessa wiped down the counter and brewed a carafe of dark roast.
“Where are you from, anyway?” she asked.
“You saw my ID when you hired me.”
Dreamessa raised an eyebrow. “I did,” she said. “DeKalb. What’s it like there?”
“I’m from the outskirts of DeKalb. There were lots of farms. We raised pigs and grew corn.”
“How’d you wind up here?”
“You know, luck.”
Dreamessa tossed a rag beneath the counter. “Look,” she said, “you’re pissing me off. It doesn’t have to be this hard. The world’s a big place, with all sorts of people. But you have to be open to it. Stop being scared. Or be scared. Do whatever you need to, but you’re here now, not there. You can find your place in this world.”
Barret knew she wanted to help, but it didn’t keep him from shutting down. He wished he was bolder, one of those people who took on the world, who declared who they were without regard to anyone but themselves, but that wasn’t him. Except with Libby. And Alice, before.
“Here, I’ll tell you something about myself. My name’s not Dreamessa.”
“I’d never have guessed.”
“Want to know my real name?”
“Not if you want something in exchange.”
“It’s Lisa Simpson. Try going through life with that name. It’ll scar you.”
Barret fought back a smile. “You are the sensitive and thoughtful one,” he said.
“Zip it.”
A pack of teenagers stormed into the shop right then, lining up and cutting off the conversation. They were the type of high school students Barret used to dread seeing on the street, the type he imagined might single him out, but now he barely noticed them. That, he supposed was a kind of progress. Still, as he moved through their orders, Dreamessa’s question stuck with him. How had he gotten here, to Boston of all places? He hadn’t said goodbye when he’d left the farm, only a note, one that told his mother she didn’t understand him. He suspected that she was glad he was gone. When he thought about why he’d run away, he realized now that it was easier in the end than facing his truth or allowing anyone he loved to face it with him.
* * *
“What can I get you?” Barret asked.
Dreamessa had gone into the kitchen, and a tiny woman with a black ponytail stepped up to the counter. She took in his name tag and his face in a way he’d gotten used to. And he remembered her, from the gala, and from seeing her through the Matsons’ window the other night. “Looking for your kids again?”
“Barret?” she asked. “Do you go to Prescott University?”
He nodded.
“Could I ask you a few questions? I have a list. Would you take a look at it?”
This was the woman Libby mentioned, the one looking for Brittany. Thankfully, his phone beeped, and a text popped onto the screen. “I’ll have to catch you later,” he said.
He took off his apron. He had an hour to go before the end of his shift, but he left the café without telling Dreamessa where he was going. The text was from Libby. She wanted to see him. And nothing else mattered.