Golden (23 page)

“Wow.” He looks at me in the rearview again. “I think she just wrote your speech for you, Frost.”

“Yes. My God, yes. Concise, eloquent,
and
inspired.” I say it with a smile, but the reminder about my speech sends another wave of nausea through my stomach. I wonder if my mom has read it yet, the one I left for her, that I didn't write at all.

Kat shrugs. “Some things need to be said. And sometimes they require strong words.” For Kat, this is true. The real measure of how passionate she is about something is whether she invokes an f-bomb. “Anyway, what I was trying to say is that it's now or never.”

And at that moment it is. In the flurry of Kat's inspirational speech I'd barely registered the few galleries we'd driven past that made up the whole of Harmony. We pull over at the curb in front of the last one on the street— a tiny, weather-worn building with a hand-painted sign swaying gently in the breeze. It's a deep blue that matches the trim, and there are no words on it. Just the triple spiral symbol that makes my breath catch when I see it

“Pretty sure this is it,” Trevor says, switching off the ignition. In the quiet that follows, the bigness of the moment fans out and seeps into all three of us. We don't say anything, but peer out the car windows at the building in front of us. It's not a fancy art gallery, by any means. It looks more like an old beach cottage than anything else, almost out of place against the hills dotted with cows and wildflowers. There's
one big window in the front, but the sun reflects off it at just the right angle to make it near-impossible to see through to the inside.

“I can't even tell if it's open,” I say in a renewed effort to stall. “It doesn't look like anybody's here.”

“Only one way to find out,” Kat says. She swings her door open dramatically and hops onto the sidewalk, taking a moment to stretch in a way that makes her look like an ad for just how sexy rumpled clothes and long, unruly road-trip hair can be.

I gulp and grab the journal like it's a life preserver. Or maybe something more—like it's proof that I have a reason to be here at this place, about to bring up a past that has been long buried.

Trevor gets out at the same time as me, and when our eyes meet he gives me a nod and quick smile of encouragement. “Carpe diem, right?”

“Right.”

“You know what you're going to say yet?”

I shake my head. “No idea.”

“Doesn't matter,” Trevor answers. “If you see her you will. You'll say the truest thing you know and that'll be exactly right.”

I look at him with his wrinkled shorts and morning messy hair, and I swear I fall in love right there. I am in love with what he just said. In that moment, no one could have said anything more right or perfect to me. I could . . . I could kiss him right there—

“There's a girl in there,” Kat calls over her shoulder and
across the hood of the Jeep. “And she's blond.” She crouches down, like we're busted if the girl sees us.

Trevor and I steal a glance at each other again, and the now familiar zing runs the entire length of my body. I'm not sure whether it's my newfound, unabashed desire to kiss him or the fact that Julianna Farnetti could be standing just feet away from us, but I step forward confidently and Trevor falls in right beside me. When we meet Kat on the sidewalk, she does too, and the three of us stride up to the front door of the gallery as one, hopeful, united front.

There's a soft tinkling of wind chimes that hang from the door when I open it. The air inside is soft with the scent of something delicate and floral. It's exactly what I would imagine her choosing. Whoever Kat saw from outside must've stepped through the door I can see at the rear of the room, because the space is empty but for the paintings on the walls and the lazy tendril of smoke rising from a candle on the counter.

“Hi! Come on in!” A bright voice calls from beyond the doorway. “I'll be right there!”

The three of us look at each other. Ask the silent question we're all thinking:
Is it her?
Kat yells back, “Thank you! We'll just take a look around!” in a voice far more chipper and cheery than she'd ever use in real life. I give her a look. She gives me one back and walks over to a stormy seascape on the wall, hands behind her back like a practiced art peruser. Trevor takes a cue from her and does the same with another painting—this one of a solitary oak against a sapphire sky. I stand in the middle of the gallery, hugging the journal to my
chest and waiting. Waiting for a ghost to walk through the door in front of me.

But what comes through the door a few seconds later is not a ghost at all. She's more like . . . a Barbie. “Hiiiii-eeee!” She says it like it's two words, and with a startling amount of enthusiasm after that much tension and anticipation. “Welcome you guys! How
are
you today?” All of this comes out in quick succession from her perfectly glossed lips and twinkly white smile. She's tiny, blond, like Kat had said, and is wearing a long dress that manages to look hippyish and expensive at the same time. She's Boho Barbie.

“Hiii-eee,” Kat imitates. “We're
great
, thank you.
Love
these paintings. Are you the artist?” She glances at me for a quick second, and we wait for an answer.

The girl blinks then laughs. Even her laugh is sparkly. “Me?” She lays a perfectly manicured hand on her chest. “Oh God, no, I
wish
! I don't actually
do
art. I just like to be around it.” I breathe a sigh of relief at this. There's still a chance. I'm about to ask who the artist is, but the girl goes on. “And I'm actually pretty good at selling it, which is why Hope hired me. She doesn't like to deal with that part of it. Kind of a free spirit, artistic thing or whatever, so I work the gallery and she travels and paints and chases her music.”

“You mean muse?” I can't help myself.

“Yeah, muse. Anyway, my name's Ashley and I can help you with anything you need.”

While Trevor seems amused and content with observing, I can tell Kat's about to have a field day with this girl, so I jump in. “Is there any chance she'll be in today? Hope?
We've come a long way and I really need to talk to her about something important.”

“Maybe?” Ashley shrugs. “She's leaving tomorrow for some island I've never heard of and won't be back for a month. But she said she was going to try and bring a few more paintings in before she leaves. Like I said, she has that whole free spirit thing going on—which my parents would think is totally ridiculous, but I totally admire. You don't see that very much where I'm from, you know?”

“And where are you from?” Kat asks. I can hear the subtle sarcasm in the question, but it doesn't seem Ashley can.

“Orange County,” she says simply. “Newport Beach.”

Kat laughs. “Really? I never would have guessed. You seem so down to earth.”

I shoot Kat a look that I'm hoping says,
Get over yourself and be nice. We need her help.

“Really?” Ashley squeals. “Thank you! I've really been trying to tone down the whole OC thing. You know, live a simpler life. It's why I came up here. Well, that and we have a vacation house I've been staying at over in Cayucos.”

“That's really great,” I say, making sure to sound nicer than Kat did. I need to get us back on track, especially with “Hope” skipping town tomorrow. “So, Ashley, is there any way you could
call
Hope? I'm only in town for today, and since she's leaving tomorrow, it would be my only chance to talk to her and it's
really
important. Like, life-changing important.” I look her in the eye and plead as best I can with my own.

“Life-changing? Are you sure?” Ashley asks. She sighs.
Looks concerned. “I don't know. She's super busy getting ready to leave, and . . . she doesn't really like surprises. She mostly keeps to herself.” She pauses and bites her lip. “But if it matters that much, maybe I could let her know what it is that's so important. And then she can decide.”

I get the feeling that Ashley genuinely likes to help people, and that she's right on the edge of going out on a limb for me.

“Okay, um . . . can you just tell her it's about Orion?” I say. And I surprise myself when I do. It's a risky move, to leave her the name that's bound to bring up exactly what she's been hiding from for so long, if it really is Julianna. But I'm almost positive that if it's her, his name will be the one thing that might get us a phone call back. Ashley looks confused. “She'll know what it means,” I say.

“Okaaay . . . that's weird, but I'll tell her if she comes in or calls. Did you want to leave a number?”

“Yes. Please.” I open the journal and start to tear a blank page from the back, and for a second I regret it. If “Hope” really is Julianna, and I do get a chance to give her the journal back, maybe she'll want to fill the remaining pages with the rest of the story.

Ashley goes behind the small counter and grabs a pen for me and I write down my name and cell phone number with a shaky hand, then slide it across the glass to her. “Thank you. I can't really say any more. But you seem like someone who cares about her and this is really important. So please, please have her call me if you can. Or even just give me a call if she comes in and I'll come right back.”

Ashley looks at me with serious eyes that soften when she smiles. “No problem,” she says. “It's what I do.”

“Thank you. Thank you so much.”

She tucks my number in her pocket. “You're welcome! Anything else you guys need? Restaurant recommendations, hotels, things to do while you're in town?”

“Yes, all of that, actually,” Kat says. “Somewhere to eat lunch would be good.”

We leave twenty minutes later after a detailed discussion of hotels and restaurants, all in the next town over, but as soon as we walk out the door I turn to Kat and Trevor. “You guys, I know it's her. It has to be her. Did you hear what she said about Hope keeping to herself? Of course she does. She's been hiding all these years.” I pause a moment, struck by the sad similarities of Julianna's and Orion's lives. It makes me more sure than ever that their paths are supposed to cross again, and they're not supposed to continue on by themselves, regretting what might have been.

“I'm not going anywhere,” I say, planting my feet. “I'm staying here all day. She has to come by her own gallery if she's planning on leaving town tomorrow.”

Kat looks up and down the empty road. There are three buildings on each side, and a barn-looking type thing at the end. “P, there's nothing here. And the beach is
right
over those hills, you said yourself. And little miss friendly in there said she'd call if she comes in. Let's just go to the beach for a little while and we'll come back, I promise. I didn't come all this way to sit in a town—which, by the way, makes ours look like a city—waiting for a girl who may or may not be Julianna Farnetti.”

Anger flares up in me fast, and I surprise myself by stepping right up to Kat, close. “And I didn't come all this way to miss Julianna Farnetti by one day, Kat.
Seriously
. How can you even
think
of leaving when we're this close?”

“How can
you
think of sitting here wasting a day waiting around for someone who might not be the right person to maybe stop by?” Kat folds her arms over her chest and glances over the hills separating us from the beach she so desperately wants to see, and like that, she looks selfish to me. I don't understand what's going on with her. Why she's so hot and cold and all over the place with me and this whole thing.

Frustration puts a sharp edge in my voice. “All the more reason to stay here in case she
does
come.”

Trevor cuts in, his tone obviously meant to keep the peace. “Hey, I have an idea. Kat, if you want, you can take my car over to the beach for a little while and Parker and I will stay here and watch the gallery in case the mystery girl stops by.” He pauses and looks at each of us encouragingly. “Is that good with everyone?”

Kat looks from him to me and back again. “Perfect,” she says.

Trevor hands over his keys without hesitating. “Just go easy on her, okay?”

She smiles. “Of course.” And just like that our roads diverge.

“Something there is that doesn't love a wall,

That wants it down.”

—“MENDING WALL”

My road doesn't go very far. Trevor and I find a bench two doors down from the gallery, and plant ourselves on its peeling white paint. I shiver a little when the backs of my legs touch the cool of the bench, and wish I would've thought to grab my sweatshirt out of the car before Kat drove off with it on her solo adventure. But it all happened so fast, I wasn't really thinking. I was more just in shock that she left. I still can't believe she ditched us in the middle of our trip, in what I'm not even sure qualifies as a town. I look down the road past the last building on the street, which isn't very far, but she's long gone. The only things there are the fluffy white
clouds gathering on the horizon for what looks like an afternoon thunderstorm. Perfect. I let out a heavy sigh, and sit back against the crackly paint curls.