That's Not My Name: Chapters 10–14

Waybrooke looks like every other coastal town we’ve driven through. Wood shingled buildings, a cute little diner with black and red buoys hanging off the eaves, a few houses that someone turned into real estate or doctors’ offices, a hardware store, a beachy hotel, another beachy hotel, a crystal store, a used bookstore, and finally a pharmacy.

My stomach grumbles. I suddenly wish I ate something more substantial than cinnamon toast for breakfast.

“...I lost you for a bit, to people who led you down a wayward path. No respect for adults. For the rules. Partying all the time...."

He slaps a couple twenties on the bill and shoves me, itching and hacking, out the door and toward the van.

The fact that he’d buy me what I need to continue this mission of mine, when neither one of us thinks it’s doing any good, is the kind of unwavering support that I don’t deserve.

She scrolls through her voicemail and presses play with the flourish of someone who’s about to ruin my day.

When he sat me down and said missing teens rarely come home alive after this much time has passed, I couldn’t justify keeping it to myself anymore.

“Yeah, okay. I’m sure his teenage daughter’s sudden change of heart will be just enough to make a seasoned police official completely change the direction of his investigation.”

“We should bypass Roane and listen to them ourselves.”

I always thought that was cliché, the whole fake-person-under-the-blankets thing.

“...I’ll get him out of his office and complain until he goes blue in the face, giving Drew a chance to get past him.”

I can’t tell if she’s making this up as she goes, or if this is genuine bottled-up angst she’s unleashing tonight for our benefit.

Even convincing him to let me come out here while he chopped wood was an endeavor.

There’s movement in my peripheral vision, and I jump.

Details from the last four days tangle in my mind, a mix of comforting, supportive fatherly gestures…and mistakes. Wayne cleaning out the pharmacy of first aid stuff and tampons to make sure I had everything I needed. Wayne buying the wrong-sized clothing. Wayne showing up at the precinct in a full panic, looking for me. Wayne telling me I’m allergic to eggs. Wayne supplying a birth certificate, with a smile on his face. Admonishing me for wearing a V-neck—You can’t remember.