Chapter 4 Happy Tails to You

POV: Millie

Chasity shoots me a nasty look from the doorway. "You're going to miss your own going away party," she says, crossing her arms, "and you're the one leaving."

She's right. Time to go. She dragged herself out of bed before sunrise to see me off, and it's almost nine in the morning. I still haven't made it to the front door. It's not like me, but I'm stalling. My life here isn't great - the cramped apartment, the dead-end job, the endless California sunshine that somehow never quite reaches me - but I don't want to leave it behind. It feels like I'm never going to see Chasity or this city again. Like this whole part of my life is ending, and there's nothing ahead of me but blank pages. Pages I'll have to fill myself, without anyone to help me write the story.

I push the bad feeling away before it gets worse, before it roots itself deep enough to paralyze me completely. I'm moving to Indiana, not sailing to China. Chasity's just a phone call away. I'm not disappearing into some void. I could be on a plane and back on a sunny California beach in under six hours if I needed to be. The inheritance, the move - all of it is supposed to be good. I'm getting the chance to start over and reinvent myself. I'm just not sure I want to know where I came from, or that I need any kind of mental makeover. The person I am now took years to build, even if she's not perfect.

Change is good. I repeat that to myself over and over, like a mantra that might become true if I say it enough times. But if that's true, why does my chest feel tight? Why do my hands keep shaking? Doesn't matter now. It's too late to change my mind. Everything I could sell is already sold - furniture gone, lease terminated, bridges burned. Chasity's got plans to turn my old bedroom into a home gym before the week's out. Mr. Galloway is expecting me bright and early the day after tomorrow. My future isn't here in California like I always thought. It's east, somewhere flat and remote, and if Mr. Galloway's right, it runs through my veins along with the earth and sky. Whatever that means.

Rod offers to carry the last box out to my car. Normally I wouldn't let a guy do that for me - I've hauled heavier things on my own plenty of times. But I can tell by the way he stomps toward the front door, all forced casualness and averted eyes, that Chasity put him up to it. She wants a few minutes alone with me. I get ready for what's about to be a tearful, dramatic goodbye and nod at Rod to go ahead.

"You sure you don't need help with anything else?" he asks, the box balanced on one hip, looking anywhere but at my face.

"I'm sure. I'm packed. I'm ready," I say, glancing toward Chasity, whose eyes are already glistening. "I'm leaving."

The second the door shuts behind him, Chasity sniffles, lets out a high-pitched squeak, and pulls me into a crushing hug. Her perfume - something floral and too sweet - fills my nose, and I realize I'm going to miss even that.

"Call me the second you land. The actual second," she says into my hair, her voice muffled and thick. "Not whenever you get around to it."

"I will. I promise," I say, patting her back and doing my best to calm her down, even though my own throat is starting to tighten. "We'll stay in touch. I'll call as soon as I get there, and I won't leave anything out."

"You'd better not," she says, pulling back just far enough to point a finger at me, mascara already smudging beneath her eyes. "Every detail. Even the boring ones. Especially the boring ones, actually, because knowing you, that's where all the real stuff will be hiding."

She knows how much I love wolves - has known since we were kids drawing animals in the margins of our notebooks - and as a parting gift, she hands me a travel mug with a cartoon wolf grinning across the side. Happy Tails to You, the caption reads underneath. It's corny as hell, but I love it. The wolf's expression is dopey and cheerful, exactly the kind of thing Chasity would pick. As a bonus, it comes with free coffee refills at any participating Shell station nationwide, which she's circled three times on the included card.

"Open the lid. There's a little card taped inside," Chasity says, practically bouncing, her sadness momentarily forgotten in her excitement.

I smile at the thought she put into it, at the way she always remembers the small things about me that matter, and that's the thing that finally breaks her. She bursts into tears. I have no idea how she does it - turning my goodbye, which should be about me, into an event about her. But that's Chasity, always feeling everything at maximum volume. I let the irritation go and just hold the mug tighter, feeling its warmth seep into my palms.

Outside, I hear the hood of my car slam shut as Rod gives the engine one last check. It's a guy thing, I guess, even though I'd bet money Rod doesn't know anything about cars beyond where to put the gas. It's also his version of saying goodbye - practical, wordless, safe.

I give Chasity's hand one final squeeze, sling my purse over my left shoulder, and head for the door before she can start crying again. Before I can start crying too.

"It's all over but the crying," I murmur to myself, stepping out into the morning heat, "and that's Rod's problem now, not mine. Thank God."

There's nothing ahead of me now but the open road and a destination that doesn't show up on any map made in the last century. Just me, my car, and whatever's waiting in Indiana. Whatever's been waiting my whole life.