Oh. Well, this was Kansas, after all. What did I expect?
In fact, I’d looked it up after my meeting with Mr. Koumaras and expected exactly what the Chamber of Commerce Web site told me: the ninth-largest city in Kansas, top twenty for wheat production, farming the principal occupation. Bering is the home of Lennox University and a vibrant downtown scene.
Petra snorted when I said it. “Vibrant, my ass. Though it beats Ridgevale.”
I was about to ask why she stayed if she didn’t like it, when the nose of the plane dipped, the start of our descent. Petra gasped and clutched the armrests. We passed through the clouds—cotton candy dreamscapes—and on the other side, I got my first look at Kansas: a patchwork of fields—gold, amber, brown, and green—broken by strips of road with tiny cars and trucks inching along. It looked quiet and peaceful, unfamiliar, yet welcoming.
Once the wheels touched down, Petra relaxed and bent forward, rummaging in her bag. She thrust something at me.
“Here, this is my card.” Black, of course, with clean white lettering: Petra Gordon, PhD, Psychiatry. Never would have guessed. Plus, she must be older than she looked. “I’d be happy to show you around, if you want. Check out the vibrant downtown scene and all.”
“Thanks.” I tucked it in the outer pocket of my worn backpack, knowing I wouldn’t call. “So you’re a psychiatrist?”
“Yeah. Surprising, isn’t it?”
“Well …”
“Most people would believe I’m seeing a shrink before they’d believe I am one.”
“It’s not that. You just seem too young to be done with all that schooling and stuff.”
She nodded. “Well, I’m actually not. Done, that is. I’m doing my residency in Ridgevale, so I am a psychiatrist, but not licensed to practice on my own yet.”
“Uh-huh.” That explained why Petra was here. And made her fear of flying even funnier.
“I don’t really use those cards,” she added. “Not professionally. A friend got them printed up for shits and giggles. They sometimes come in handy, though.”
“Like when you meet clueless strangers on airplanes.”
“Right,” she said. “Something like that.”
We had taxied to the terminal and I felt the slight jolt of plane meeting Jetway.
“Anyway,” Petra said, collecting her bags. “Be sure to pick up the City Paper; they’ve got the best list of what’s going on. You know, concerts, shows, street fairs, that sort of thing. Plus, it’ll give you a good lay of the land. There’s usually something happening at the U and even if there isn’t, it’s a pretty cool place to hang out.”
“Great,” I said as she scooted for the door. “Thanks for the tips.”
She waved over her shoulder and was gone.
Chapter 8
I picked Andrea Soto out of the crowd immediately. Partly because the crowd was only six people, three of them men, but mostly because she was yelling into her phone so loudly that it was impossible not to notice.
I sized her up while she was distracted. Andrea Soto was lean and muscled as if she did Pilates or yoga, with a big orange satchel slung over one shoulder, as advertised. She might have been pretty, except for the frown lines creasing her forehead, and she looked closer to forty than fifty, which, by my mental math, would have made her a younger sister to my father. Maybe a lot younger. He’d have been fifty-two now.
Andrea Soto glanced up, noticing for the first time the passengers trickling out the doorway from my flight.
“I gotta go,” she told the person loudly. “No. No, you call me later.” Her eyes scanned the crowd, still angry from the call, and any glimmer of excitement I’d felt seeing my new home from the air faded. I was within twenty feet of her when her gaze finally found me. Her expression didn’t change.
“Hi.” I smiled, my lips like Silly Putty across my face. “Andrea Soto?”
“Yeah.” She glanced back at her phone, punching a button or two before dropping it into her bag and stepping forward. “You must be Cassandra.”
“Cassie.”
“Right. Okay, Cassie.” She stuck out her hand, which I shook, feeling strangely like I was on a job interview though I’d never been on one and this woman was supposed to be my family. “Everyone calls me Drea.” She pronounced it dray-uh, her voice husky like a smoker’s. “You might as well too, I’m sure you don’t think of me as your aunt any more than I do.”
She looked at my bag, a small rolling suitcase I’d bought before the trip. “You have more stuff?”
“Uh-huh.”
I trailed Drea to baggage claim, not unlike the four-year-old who struggled to keep up with Nan on our way to Miss Loretta’s, though at least I knew Nan would’ve waited for me. This lady, I wasn’t so sure. At the carousel, we stood mostly in silence watching luggage tumble onto the conveyor. I looked around, trying to keep my mind off the fact that I’d be spending the next three months with this sharp-faced woman who, at best, didn’t seem to have time for me.
A lot of the people wore glazed expressions, on autopilot until they’d completed the motions to get from here to wherever they really wanted to be. For most, that would probably take a few hours. For me, much longer. Fleetingly I thought about calling Mr. Koumaras and telling him to forget it, I’d forfeit the money, but that was ridiculous, of course. Temporary, I kept telling myself. Three months. Ninety days. Less time than it takes to grow out a bad haircut, right?
It got better when we were in the car. A little bit.
“This your first time here?” Drea asked, her eyes flicking to the rearview mirror as she changed lanes.
“Umm …” I wasn’t sure how to answer. Of course it wasn’t my first time. Didn’t she know I’d been born here? “My first that I remember,” I finally said. I thought maybe she’d run with it, tell me about my family or, at least, about the town. When she didn’t, I asked, “You grew up here?”
“Yeah. Couldn’t wait to get out. Can’t believe I’m back.”
“How long have you been back?”
“Almost seven years.” She shook her head, muttering, “Fucking incredible.”
“Where were you before?”
“Atlanta. Went there for grad school and stayed.”
So she hadn’t been here when I was born. Or when my parents died two years later. I wanted to ask Drea more, but I worried that personal questions would sound like I was trying to get the scoop on what she could offer me this summer, rather than just being grateful she was taking me in. I assumed that’s how she viewed it, though I didn’t want to be here any more than she appeared to want me.