CHAPTER

26

I land in the soft and sandy grass and freeze, waiting for an alarm to sound. For Kate’s sixth Sunny sense to alert her to my daring escape.

But there’s nothing.

My bike is stuck in the detached garage. Lifting that squeaky, rusty door would wake the dead, I’m sure of it. But when I creep around to the front of the house, I see that Kate’s beach bike is leaning against the front porch, which will work just fine. Soft light fills the living room window, but I barely even glance at it as I grab the bike’s handlebars. Now is the time for action, for doing awesome and amazing things I’ve never done before, and I’m not going to wait around for Kate to spot my shadow out on the front lawn.

I barely get my butt settled on the bike’s seat and dump my bag in the little metal basket in the front before my legs are pumping, pedaling away from my house.

At the end of the driveway, I slow down long enough to dig the poems out of my bag and hold them over my head. The papers, at least ten different pages, flap in the salty breeze for a few seconds before I let them all go.

I look back just long enough to see the wind pushing my words against the sky.

Port Hope is a pretty big town, spreading inland for miles and miles, but the Methodist church is right off the bridge that connects to Juniper Island.

Which means, so is Lena. I remember her telling Kate she’d found a meeting at the church, which was near where she was staying. It shouldn’t be that hard to find her. It’s hard to miss that ancient mint-green truck.

I pedal over the Port Hope Bridge, which, if I’m being honest, is a terrifying journey. It’s quiet and dark, not a car in sight, and the bike lane runs right along the edge so I can see the black water a billion miles below me.

I’m totally out of breath, my mouth dry and my heart pounding, but I keep going. I wheel off the bridge and bump up onto the sidewalk that runs along the main street. There are a few cars here and there as I ride toward the big steeple arching above the palm trees a few blocks ahead, but no one seems to notice me. No one slows down to ask what I’m doing or if I’m okay or if Kate knows where I am.

No one knows me here in Port Hope.

No one except Lena.

I ride faster and soon I spot the church. It’s old, made of cream-colored stone and stained-glass windows that look like nothing more than spilled ink in the dark. Skidding to a stop in front of a sign inviting me to join the congregation for a barbecue this Sunday, I look around. Little streets veer off from here, all of them dotted with sleeping houses with wide front porches.

There’s nothing else to do but pick one and go for it. I pedal down one street and then another, searching for Lena’s truck. Then, on the third street, a wakeful dog spots me and starts barking, chasing me to the edge of its yard. I pump my legs so hard, they ache and my chest feels tight, but eventually the dog goes quiet again. My heart calms down.

Well, no, no, it doesn’t. My heart is a wild beast, just like the dog. It’s barking and gnashing its teeth, chasing the rest of my body, which feels like it’s trying to leave my heart behind.

I’m just about to give up and collapse in a stranger’s yard when I see it.

A mint-green truck in the driveway of a tiny bungalow with a stone porch in front of a bright yellow front door. In the dark, I can’t tell if the house is green or blue, but that door is super-clear.

Sunshine yellow.

I pedal toward the truck and hop off my bike. It clatters to the ground and I run up the porch steps. Inside, it’s all dark, but I don’t even wait to get my breath back before I press the doorbell and listen to it echo through the house.

I wait, my breathing heavy, but I don’t hear anything inside. No footsteps, nothing. I turn around and look back at the driveway. There’s another car in front of Lena’s. A gray four-door something or other. I stare at it, wondering if it belongs to whoever owns the house. Maybe Lena’s just renting a room and the family is still here. Maybe Lena met some friends in Port Hope and it belongs to one of them. Maybe…

I swallow my last maybe as I squint through the dark to read the state on the car’s license plate. It doesn’t look like it says South Carolina. It looks like—

New York.

My stomach goes all tight. I step off the porch to get a better look, passing Lena’s truck to peer through the windows of the gray car. It’s a mess inside. Cheerios dot the floorboards in the back and there are a bunch of kid books on the seat. Board books. Like the kind they make for babies so they won’t tear them up or get paper cuts or whatever. There’s also a couple of diapers, a cloth that has little green stars all over it, and a baby’s car seat.

There’s a baby’s car seat. As in, where a baby rides in a car.

I blink at it, at the sky-blue and gray fabric, at the pacifier that someone left in the seat. I blink and blink and blink, but all that baby stuff is still there.

My imagination gets going, thinking of all the reasons why Lena would be at a house where a baby lives.

Maybe a friend is visiting from New York.

Maybe whoever owns the car babysits a lot.

Maybe—

“Sunny? Is that you?”

I whirl around at the deep voice, almost choking on a scream.

“Whoa, it’s okay,” the voice says again. It belongs to a tall, skinny guy I’ve never seen before. He has brown skin and his dark hair goes in every direction all at once. He’s just standing there in the yard, barefoot in a pair of plaid pajama pants and a purple T-shirt with NYU written across the chest in big white letters.

“Who… who are you?” I ask.

He looks at me for another second and then drags his hands through his hair. “It is you. Are you okay? How did you get here?”

“Um, how do you know who I am?”

He just stares at me and rubs his chin.

“Hello?” I ask. I think I’m being rude, but I don’t know what else to say.

“Sorry. I’m Janesh,” he finally says. “I’m… I’m a friend of Lena’s.”

“Oh.” I breathe out a world of relief. That explains the car, I guess. “Is she here?”

“Yeah, yeah, she’s inside. I heard the doorbell, but she sleeps really hard and was up late last night with…” He frowns and shakes his head, hanging his hand on the back of his neck. This dude is weird.

“So can I see her?” I ask when he just stands there.

“I’m sorry,” he says. “This isn’t how I wanted to meet you.”

I just blink at him, because huh? But then, as he keeps on standing there, not moving, it all clicks. Lena’s journal, the way this guy seems to know all about me and how hard Lena sleeps.

“Your name,” I say, “it starts with a J.”

He nods, his eyes still wide on mine.

I stare back, not sure what else to say. This guy is more than Lena’s friend. I know he is. He’s the J in her journal. The one she’s so glad she gets to love, the one who took her out to dinner after she called Kate for the first time in eight years.

“Let me go wake up Lena, all right?” he says, heading toward the house. Clueless about what else to do, I follow him up the front steps. “Can you wait on the porch for me?”

“Why?” I ask.

“I just… I’d rather get Lena, okay?”

I huff a breath. “Fine.”

He disappears through the yellow door and swings it closed, but it doesn’t shut all the way. I press the toe of my boot against the bottom of the door and push it a little.

Then a little more.

It’s about halfway open when I hear it.

A baby.

Crying.