Seven States West

“Leila, come grab the side of this television! It’s heavy as a rock.”

I let out a sigh. Another day, another move. Mom and I have been jumping cities since I was nine years old. It all started with my parent’s divorce which was messy and complicated, as most divorces are. But absolutely nothing about their divorce was ordinary by any means.

Back in my hometown, my dad is rather… well-known. Let’s just say he ran in circles that included con artists, ex-gang members, and people that could ruin your entire life with the click of a button. None of this was exactly secret; Mom knew what she was marrying into. But you could say that back in her younger days, she was a bit of a rebel. Nothing about my dad’s rough and tough lifestyle scared her. In fact, I think it’s what made her so damn attracted to him in the first place.

Things were good when we were a family. Not only did we have nothing to worry about when it came to dad’s questionable friends, but we were safer because of it. I can’t even begin to tell you how many money issues or small mishaps here and there would get magically smoothed over within weeks or even days thanks to some mysterious external source. Got a problem at the bank? Solved. Want your dentist appointment bumped to top priority? Done. Need your child enrolled in private school by the fall, even though the waiting list is a mile long? You got it.

But little did mom know just how drastically things would change as soon as we weren’t a family anymore. Nothing too crazy. After all, mom was still my mom. Dad at least had the decency of shielding me from the trauma of losing my mother entirely. But that didn’t mean he was okay with losing me.

With all the information I've provided so far, you’re probably wondering why dad couldn’t win custody over me with the snap of his finger. I mean, you’d think the legal system would be a breeze for someone who knows how to manipulate banks, private schools, and the neighborhood dentist. That’s where mom comes in.

Mom may not know how to safeguard every aspect of her life as impressively as dad can, but when it comes to me, it’s a whole other story. I am the one and only thing that brings out the ferocious beast in her. Before dad even had the chance to file for custody, we had already driven seven states west with a brand-new used vehicle mom bought off some guy selling out of his own front yard. Paid full in cash. That way, the guy who sold us the car could never be traced. No texts or online messages exchanged. Just a good old-fashioned, drive-by sale.

So now, here we are. Another day, another new town. Not because we had any legitimate reason to up and leave the last place, but because it has practically become protocol for us to move every summer. Just in case traces of where we’ve been start floating around the internet. Which sucks, because I was really starting to like my old school. But that’s the thing with moving every year, you can never allow yourself to get too close to anyone. It hurts way too much, leaving people you’ve grown to love year after year.

I help mom move the rest of our things into our new duplex apartment. Once we’re done, we install the three cameras, two alarm systems, and six extra locks that we take with us everywhere we go. You can never be too safe.

I think this is the quaintest place we have ever lived. While mom runs out for groceries, I stay back and observe the neighborhood from our front window. The lady across the street is watering her plants with a pink, floral watering can. A little girl rides by on one of those old-fashioned, banana seat bicycles. And is that an actual ice cream truck?

I feel like I’ve been transported back in time. No other place we've lived had this much life happening in the streets. People were always holed up in their homes as if the mere thought of just seeing their neighbors was repulsive.

As I’m staring out the window, I hear a knock at the door. Another highly unusual happenstance. Instinctively, I jump. That’s what happens when you grow up installing security cameras and deadbolts – paranoia becomes your natural state.

I walk over to the front door and peek out the peephole. It’s a boy around my age, holding what appears to be an awfully heavy casserole dish. I roll my eyes and laugh. People actually do this in real life?

“Hi, I’m Dillon!” The boy says when I open the door. “I live in the duplex right next to you. My mom saw you guys move in last night and spent practically all morning baking this casserole. She told me to tell you Welcome to the neighborhood.”

“And you?” Yeah, I’m probably being a little harsh on the kid. But that just comes with my suspicious nature, I guess.

Dillon looks confused. “Me what?”

“Do you welcome us to the neighborhood? Or were you forced against your will to bring the new neighbors a casserole dish?”

I see a spark of intrigue in his eye. Unlike most people, my interrogative side seems to amuse him rather than scare him away.

Dillon clears his throat. “For your information, I just begged my mom to make you this casserole dish because of how desperate I was to welcome you to the neighborhood.”

I roll my eyes again. “OK, I get it. Thanks for the casserole.”

“Where are you guys from, anyway?” Dillon casually asks as he hands me the dish.

“Wyoming.” It’s not the truth. I’ve never even been to Wyoming. But it’s the answer we like to give when people ask us that question, mostly because of the neutral, disinterested responses it tends to garner. I told people we were from California once, big mistake. The amount of times I had to search California tourist attractions and Hollywood celebrities within the first few weeks of moving nearly made my fingers bleed.

“Oh, cool! I have a cousin there.”

Great.

Thankfully, Dillon doesn’t elaborate. Instead, the large lion painting we have hanging over our fireplace catches his eye.

“Whoa, that is sick! Can I see?”

I nervously look around, trying to squash the impulse to ask for his photo ID or some other proof that he is not lying about who he says he is. But I’ve developed pretty good lie detector skills over the years, and he seems harmless enough.

“Sure, it’s an old relic.” I leave the front door wide open behind us. I may trust the guy, but not yet enough to be in an enclosed space with him.

Dillon shakes his head in awe. “I love lions. Did you know they’re at the top of the jungle’s food chain? Meaning if humans didn’t have the type of advanced consciousness that we do, lions would be serving us for dinner every night?”

“Yeah, I know. That’s why my mom and I love them so much. But who says lions don’t have an advanced consciousness?”

As Dillon contemplates this, the left side of the painting falls and smashes against the fireplace mantel with a loud thud.

“Whoa! This thing must be heavy.” As Dillon goes to adjust the painting, the right side starts falling, too.

“Nah, my mom just didn’t use the right size screws. Help me take it down?”

We gently lay the painting down on the floor. Just as we’re about to stand back up, I notice a tear in the paper backing on Dillon’s side. I grab a nearby roll of tape and hand it to him.

“Hey, do you mind taping up that tear? Wouldn’t want bugs getting into that.”

“Sure – ” Dillon stops just as he’s about to grab the tape. “Hey, I don’t think you want to tape this up just yet…”

“Why?”

“Because there’s something in here.”

“What?”

I run over to the other side of the painting and lift the tear. Inside is a brown paper box that’s never been opened, taped to the base of the canvas. Although small, the box is significantly larger than the tear. It must have been planted here years ago before my parents even bought the painting.

Dillon gives me a mischievous look. “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”

Knowing mom would probably want to be here for the revealing of whatever is inside this box, I hesitate. But then again, it was bought from a retiring artist at a farmer’s market back in 2003. It’s not exactly going to be filled with diamonds and gold.

“OK sure, why not? We can always just tape it back up again, anyway.”

Dillon makes a larger tear, just wide enough for the box to fit through. He gazes at it admiringly like a little boy on Christmas morning. “You really have no idea what’s inside?”

“My mom bought it before I was even born, so that would be a no.”

“Then here. It’s your painting, you should be the one to open it.” He hands the box over to me.

Slowly, I unwrap the brown paper. I don’t know what I’m expecting to be inside, but the more it opens, the more my breath gets caught in my throat.

Underneath the paper wrapping is another box. This one’s made of cardboard and has a removable lid. I nervously close my eyes and draw open the lid.

“What is that?” Dillon asks.

I open my eyes to find myself staring at a silver medallion. It looks like a necklace pendant that’s been ripped off a chain and tossed inside this box.

“I have no idea,” I shrug. “Interesting thing to stow away in a painting, I guess. But unless it’s worth thousands of dollars…”

I hold it up into the light to get a better look at it. It’s encrusted with flowers and has the year 1992 written on the side. It’s a nice piece of jewelry, but that’s about it.

After the uneventful pendant reveal, Dillon went back home. Mom arrived with her groceries promptly twenty minutes after.

“Hey mom, do you know what this is?”

Mom approaches the counter and lays down her bags of groceries. “Huh?”

She can barely see what’s in my hands.

“This!” I hold the medallion up high, directly pointing it at her face.

“Oh, my God…,” Mom’s car keys fall out of her hand and onto the floor. “Wh – where did you find that?”

“Mom? What’s wrong? I found it behind our lion painting.”

Mom looks like she’s seen a ghost that has risen from the dead.

“Lei –,” Mom takes the pendant out of my hand and drops it into a nearby glass of water. “Ruby.” She says my real name with a definiteness of purpose I’ve never heard her speak before. “Your father gave me that pendant when we first started dating. I wore it around my neck every day for twenty-two years. Less than a month before I took off with you, I stopped wearing it.”

“So, what? Dad planted this in your painting because he was heartbroken you wouldn’t wear it? And knew the painting was something you’d take with you everywhere you go?”

Mom nods her head up and down. “That’s it, Ruby. He knew I would always take it with me, everywhere I go."

I make the connection in my head. Mom just dunked the pendant into a cup of water, a pendant my dad knew would follow her everywhere she went… No, it can’t be.

This thing isn't an innocent, floral necklace pendant. It's a tracker.