The Lost Daughter

CHAPTER THREE.

Home. The word tastes strange on my tongue, unfamiliar.

I've never considered anywhere "home" before. There's been trailers, and motels, and the occasional apartment or house belonging to a guy my mom moved us in with but I always knew they were short term. A few months at the longest or a few days at the shortest.

My heart stutters and soars at the idea, though. Every part of me straining towards it like a flower starved for sunlight. Home. Someplace permanent.

Packing doesn't take long, I've unpacked and repacked my old fraying suitcase so many times I could probably do it with my eyes closed. I pull the few clothes I have out of the small closet and fold them neatly before adding them with the rest.

I take the time to change out of my coffee shop uniform in the bathroom and exchange it for a too-big white T-shirt tucked into a pair of old cut off jean shorts, gathering my toiletries while I'm there.

Just as I'm wondering what to do with the few things my mom did leave, my father speaks again. "I can have anything you don't pack now moved into storage."

That makes me pause. For some reason I sort of assumed wherever we were going, it wasn't very far. "Where do you live?" I ask, looking up from where I'm kneeling next to my suitcase, setting the last items in.

"We live in Virginia." He tells me, a tentative smile softening his face.

Virginia? I've lived in dozens of towns all over Washington, but I've never left the state. Well. Not since I was a toddler, I guess. The thought fills me with rage again and I have to take a deep breath and hold it, trying to calm down. Now isn't the time to fixate.

I glance at a pair of boots my mother left behind, a few dresses that didn't fit her. I don't want any of it and there's nothing else of her life here. She took her bag, her clothes, her select pieces of jewellery, all her make up from the bathroom.

"Can I donate the rest?" I ask, zipping up my suitcase and standing after placing my hair and toothbrush inside.

My father moves to take the suitcase from me with one hand and squeezing mine with the other in an assuring gesture. "Of course."

With one last measuring look at the room, I shoulder my small bag and walk out of the door for the last time and into a new life.

I'm not sure what I expected walking back out into the parking lot of Paradise Cove but an older man in a black suit and tie standing next to a sleek black car ready to greet me wasn't it.

He walks forward and takes my suitcase from my father with a nod of his head. "Mr. King," he greets, then turns and smiles warmly at me. "Ms. King."

The name is so unexpected to me that I don't register the words or what they mean right away. When they do, my heart stutters again.

King. Willa King, not Johnson. There is no Willa Johnson and there never has been.

"How many times have I told you to use my first name, Thomas." My father tells the man, Thomas, faux-sternly.

"Not enough, sir." With a short bow of his head and another smile at me, he turns and walks around to the back of the car to load my suitcase in the trunk.

My father is chuckling under his breath as he opens the car door for me. I hesitate for a few beats of silence, already out of my comfort zone, but I slide in. Immediately, I am taken aback by the luxury.

I sink into the black leather seat and sit stiffly, afraid to touch anything just in case I break it. I've never been anywhere near a car this nice, let alone sitting inside one.