Damage

Copyright © 2013 Robin Stevenson

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system now known or to be invented, without permission in writing from the publisher.

Library and Archives Canada Cataloguing in Publication

Stevenson, Robin, 1968-
Damage [electronic resource] / Robin Stevenson.

(Orca soundings)

Electronic monograph.
Issued also in print format.
ISBN
978-1-4598-0361-9 (
PDF
).--
ISBN
978-1-4598-0362-6 (
EPUB
)

I. Title. II. Series: Orca soundings (Online)
PS
8637.
T
487
D
36 2013        
jC
813'.6        
C
2012-907481-0

First published in the United States, 2013
Library of Congress Control Number:
2012952957

Summary:
What starts out as a harmless road trip becomes a desperate search for the truth.

Orca Book Publishers gratefully acknowledges the support for its publishing programs provided by the following agencies: the Government of Canada through the Canada Book Fund and the Canada Council for the Arts, and the Province of British Columbia through the BC Arts Council and the Book Publishing Tax Credit.

Cover photography by Getty Images

www.orcabook.com

16 15 14 13 • 4 3 2 1

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Acknowledgments

About the Author

Chapter One

From where I sat, the view was pretty sweet. Above me was a wide-open sky without even a trace of a cloud. In front of me, the pool shimmered cool, clear and blue. To my left, a line of palm trees bordered the motel courtyard. All very California—but none of it compared with the view to my right. From behind the mirrored lenses of my sunglasses, I sneaked yet another peek at the most beautiful girl I had ever seen.

I kid you not. This girl was dazzling in a way that no one is dazzling in real life. She looked Photoshopped. Her wet hair was slicked back from her face, a white towel was draped across her tanned shoulders, and her long bare legs were stretched out in front of her. There was something oddly familiar about her. Maybe she was a famous actress or a model or something... though you wouldn't expect to find a famous person at a cheap highway motel. Whoever she was, she was breathtaking. And there she was, in a red bikini, sitting three plastic lounge chairs away from me.

Too bad the two chairs between us were occupied by the reclining, swimsuit-clad bodies of my mother and father.

I heard a splash behind me and turned around. A dark-haired toddler was holding an upside-down red bucket and staring at me solemnly. I smiled at him, and his eyes opened a little wider, but he didn't say anything.

I looked around for a parental figure but didn't see one. “Nice red bucket,” I said. Lame, I knew, but I didn't have much experience with kids.

“Mmm,” he agreed and then delivered a long speech that I couldn't understand. He might have said something about unicorns, or possibly raisins, but I wasn't sure.

“Where's your mom?” I was no expert on these things, but I was pretty sure he was too little to be at the pool by himself.

“Sorry. Is he bothering you?” The girl from three chairs over sat up and beckoned to him. “Come here, Zach.”

“No. I mean, it's fine. He's fine,” I stammered. “I mean, he's not bothering me. He was just telling me about his bucket. I think. Though he might have been saying something about raisins.” I sounded like an idiot.
Shut up, Theo, shut up.

“Ah. Raisins, huh?” She smiled, her lips parting to reveal white teeth.

She had a slight overbite, which only the son of a dentist would notice. Even on vacation, Dad was compelled to point out every dental defect he observed. Not that
her
overbite was a defect. It suited her perfectly. As did her dark hair. And her full lips. And the dimple in her left cheek.

“Mmm,” I said. If I kept my mouth shut, I couldn't say anything stupid, right?

“Zachy, did you want raisins?” She reached for a bag under her chair. “Are you hungry, Zach? Time for a snack?”

“Raisins,” he said.

“He's
yours
?” I couldn't believe she had a kid. So much for my fantasy that we might hook up—not that there'd been any real hope of that anyway.

“I was watching him.” There was an edge to her voice. “I watch him all the time when we're at the pool.”

“I didn't think you weren't,” I said quickly. “Um, you just don't look like a mom, that's all.”

She was still glaring at me. God, she looked familiar. I just couldn't place where I'd seen her before.
TV
, maybe. She had to be someone famous.

“And what exactly does a mom look like?” she asked.

“I don't...I didn't mean...it's not like I think there's anything wrong with being a mom,” I said. “Just, you know, I thought you were my age. And I think of moms as, you know, older. Arrgh. Sorry.” I groaned, stood up and took off my sunglasses. “Can I start over? Please?”

She raised one dark eyebrow.

“I'm Theo. And that's my mom and dad right there.” I pointed at them. They were both out cold, and Dad was snoring softly. “See? Way older.”

She laughed. “Ronnie,” she said. “And I'm twenty-two.”

“Yeah? Nice to meet you.” Should I add a couple of years and say I was nineteen? Maybe she wouldn't ask. “So, um, Ronnie...” Gears turned in some rusty part of my brain and something clicked, slid into place. “Oh my god.
Ronnie?
Ronnie
Gleeson
?”

She stared at me, eyes wide.

“Theo Dimitropolous,” I said. “You're from Portland, right? You used to...” I trailed off.

“Babysit you!” She crowed. “Theo! Holy crap. I can't believe this. Look at you.”

“Yeah, well...” I grabbed my damp towel from the lounger behind me and wrapped it around my waist.

“You were, like, ten years old the last time I saw you.”

My face was on fire. “Yeah. Eleven, actually.” I'd been a nerdy kid obsessed with
Star Wars
, making stop-motion animation movies with my LEGO Millennium Falcon. My earliest fantasies had all been about Ronnie. Back then, I would've traded my whole
Star Wars
action-figure set for one glimpse of Ronnie in the bikini she was wearing right now.

“I can't believe this.” She shook her head slowly, staring at me.

I hoped she wasn't picturing me in my R2-D2 pajamas. “You moved away, right?”

“Yeah, after grade eleven.” She made a face. “I finished high school in Seattle.”

“I remember that. I was so bummed out when you left.”

“Well, you didn't really need a babysitter anymore.” She looked over at my parents, snoring on their loungers. “I didn't even recognize your folks. Are you guys on vacation?”

“Yeah, sort of. We're going to visit my brother. He lives near Santa Rosa.”

“I don't think I ever met him,” she says.

“He'd already moved out. He's ten years older than me,” I said.

“Raisins,” Zach said.

“Right.” Ronnie scooped him up with one arm. “Come on, little guy. We better get you dressed before you get cold.”

I picked up her bag. “Do you need a hand or anything?”

She took the bag from me. “I'm fine. But thanks, Theo. I'll see you around.”

“Yeah,” I said. “Great. I mean, I hope so.”

And then I watched Ronnie carry her squirming toddler out of the pool area and around the corner, out of sight.

Chapter Two

We ate dinner that evening in the motel restaurant. I was still daydreaming about Ronnie. Mom and Dad were grumpy from their pre-dinner nap. Not that they hadn't been grumpy before. The three of us had been arguing since we left Portland. In fact, we'd been pretty much locked into one long argument for the last couple of months, ever since my buddy Koli got busted selling pot at school. My parents refused to believe that I wasn't involved, and I refused to stop hanging out with him. Koli and I had been best buds since sixth grade. Sure, he'd screwed up, but I wasn't about to drop him.

“Everything on this menu is deepfried,” Dad complained. “Fish and chips, fried chicken, onion rings...”

“Mmm. Onion rings.” My favorite.

“Look at this,” he grumbled. “Even the salad has tortilla chips on it.”

“So ask for it without the chips,” I said.

He just grunted.

Mom peered into the mirror on the wall beside our table. “I'm sunburned! Look at this.” She tapped her nose and then her forehead before turning to frown at my father. “You might have woken me up instead of letting me lie there getting skin cancer.”

“Don't exaggerate,” Dad said. “You're barely even pink.”

“Dad was asleep too,” I said. “Out cold. Maybe you guys should skip the happy-hour drinks, huh?”

Dad snorted. “I wasn't sleeping. I just closed my eyes for a few minutes.”

“You were snoring like a freight train.” I kept glancing over to the restaurant entrance, hoping that Ronnie and Zach would make an appearance. I hated the thought that I might not see her again. “So, I guess we have to hit the road bright and early, huh?”

“Your brother's expecting us for lunch,” Mom said. “We should be on the road by nine at the latest. Breakfast, pack up, head out.”

My brother. Darrell Junior, following in Dad's footsteps like a good son. At twenty-seven, Darrell had graduated from dentistry and was already middle-aged. He lived with his wife in a four-bedroom house in the suburbs of Santa Rosa and had just joined a family dental practice where he fixed rich kids' cavities while they watched cartoons on
TV
screens set into the ceiling.

“You won't believe who I just ran into,” I said.

“Who?” Mom took a sip of her water, eyeing me over the rim of her glass.

“Ronnie Gleeson. Remember? She used to babysit me.”

Dad raised his eyebrows. “The Gleesons. I remember them. I used to golf with Patrick. They moved to Port Townsend, didn't they?”

“Seattle.”

“She was a lovely girl,” Mom said. “You had such a crush on her, Theo.” She sighed sadly, like she missed the good old days when I was eleven years old and she didn't have to worry that I was turning into a drug addict.

“Yeah, yeah.” I lifted my water glass and set it down again, making overlapping water rings on the table.

“So how is she? What's she doing here?”

“Fine. She's on vacation, I guess. She looks good. Got a kid now.”

“Really? She's a bit young, isn't she?”

“No,” I said sharply, even though I'd thought the same thing. “She's twenty-two. And her kid's really little, just a toddler.”