the best she could do. She’d phone him later and try to explain. Right now she didn’t need to hear him say they could work this out or that he loved her. She just needed some time to herself. She paused as she saw her new laptop lying on the desk—the laptop Dean had bought her to start college. Swallowing back a sob, she ran for the door.
She had no idea where she was going until she got on the North MoPac Expressway and saw US 290. Claire and Dean had bought a small house on Lake Travis, just northwest of Austin, when Sarah was about twelve. They had a friend who’d been getting a divorce, and all they had to do was come up with five thousand dollars cash and take up the payments for the next ten years. It was a very good deal and Claire had known that if they took it, their budget would not extend for her return to college. But that was okay. Her family came first. They’d spent a lot of time on the lake ever since, especially with the girls and their friends. Their summers were always fun.
Without a second thought she took the exit and headed for the lake house now, hoping to recapture a part of her youth and maybe a part of herself.
DEAN RENNELS STROLLED through the back door, whistling. He’d finally gotten his mom moved. She’d been living in the same house he’d grown up in. As a single mother, she’d worked extra hard to make sure he was raised in a good environment. Back then the neighborhood was nice and the park a place to play ball.
In the last few years, though, the area had gone downhill, the park was used for drug deals and the neighborhood kids were no longer safe. Neither was his mom, who’d refused to move until a teenage girl was murdered in the park.
Her new town house had just been built, and updated with a security system—everything he wanted for his mother, the only person who’d been there for him and Claire in the early days.
He threw his keys on the desk in the kitchen, hoping Claire was feeling better. He was sure it was only nerves. There were only ten days until she started college, a dream she’d had since she was eighteen. The reality was hard for her to believe, but he was going to make sure nothing stood in the way of her dream this time.
Nothing.
“Honey,” he called, walking toward the bedroom. He picked up the comforter from the hardwood floor and laid it on the rumpled bed. In the bathroom, a stench sent him reeling. She was definitely sick. Where was she? A sliver of alarm slid up his spine. Could she have driven herself to the hospital? No. She would have called him.
Hurrying back to the kitchen, he spotted the note attached to the refrigerator. He read it, frowning. “What…?” He read it again, but it still didn’t tell him a lot. She needed to get away. Why? His gut tightened with a premonition. Something was wrong.
He dragged in a breath. Claire had said she’d call, so he had to wait. To keep busy, he went into the utility room for cleaning supplies to scrub the bathroom. That done, he sprayed air freshener, something the girls had bought at a specialty shop. He sniffed. Lime and verbena. Not bad. But not something he wanted to smell on a regular basis.
After straightening the bed, he flipped on the TV. An Austin high school team was supposed to be playing on one of the cable channels. He found it. Pivoting, he started for the den and noticed Claire’s underwear drawer. She’d left it open, and the contents were spilling out. A spot was vacant in the back corner—where Claire stored the love letters. He teased her about keeping them, but she’d said one day their daughters might like to read about their parents’ lives as teenagers.
Why had Claire taken the letters? They’d been there for years. He closed the drawer with a sinking feeling. Had she left him? No. There were no signs. They were in love, always had been since grade school.
He’d sat behind her in class and had a bird’s-eye view of her blond ponytail and the colorful ribbons tied around it. Every day brought a different ribbon, to match her clothes. As a boy, he didn’t quite get that.
But he got Claire, even though she tended to ignore him. So one day he yanked her ribbon and drew her full attention. She’d quickly retied the bow and glared at him. He just grinned at her.
Later he’d yanked it again on the playground and run away. She’d yelled after him, “I’ll get you, Dean Rennels.”
And she did. Over the next few years she got him in more ways than he could remember. Claire was a voracious reader and won the reading award every term, writing the most book reports of anyone in their class. In ninth grade the teacher wanted them to read with a buddy, and the top readers had the honor of choosing their partners. Claire picked him, the boy’d who pulled her ribbons. The guys teased him, but he didn’t care. Usually he couldn’t wait to get out of class to go play ball, but for the first time, something, or someone, held him back.
After that Claire helped him with his book reports and made suggestions of what he might want to read. She introduced him to Tom Sawyer and Huckleberry Finn. He’d loved those stories, but couldn’t quite get into The Grapes of Wrath or Moby Dick or Wuthering Heights and many other books she couldn’t put down.
It wasn’t just the books; it was Claire with her soft lilting voice, her serene expression and the light in her brown eyes. He never noticed those things in other girls, but Claire held him spellbound, which was a feat because sports usually had his undivided attention.
The School Dance, 1980
DEAN’S LOCKER WAS ACROSS from Claire’s. The school dance was a week away and he wasn’t sure about going. Since he played football, the coach said he had to go. Dean wasn’t sure why. The dance had nothing to do with football.
As Claire arranged books neatly in her locker, he walked over to her. “Are you going to the dance?”
“No. My parents don’t allow me to date.”
“My mom won’t let me date, either, but I’m thinking about going.”
She closed her locker, but before she could walk away, he blurted out, “Maybe we could meet at the dance. It wouldn’t exactly be a date.”
A smile turned up the corners of her mouth and he knew he was in love, or something. He felt happy and ill at the same time.
“Okay.” Her smile broadened. “I’ll meet you at the dance.”
He was nervous getting ready that evening. He was very careful not to go outside or even pick up a ball. No way was he getting mud on his clothes tonight.
His mom, Margaret Ann Rennels, better known as Bunny, drove him to the dance. She stopped her Ford Fairmont at the school. “Behave yourself,” she said, crushing out a cigarette in the ashtray.
“Do you have to smoke? I don’t want to smell like that. It’s gross.”
“I have the window down and I don’t smoke in the house. Isn’t that enough?”
“I guess.” Dean twisted the rearview mirror so he could peer at himself. “Do I look okay?”
Bunny frowned at him. “What’s wrong with you? You never care how you look.”
“This is a dance. I’m supposed to look nice.”
She touched his cheek. “You’re handsome just like that no-good father of yours.”
He groaned, not wanting to talk about his dad, who’d left them before Dean was born. The man couldn’t
