Wanderlove Part 3

"And you came straight here?" she eventually asked.

I nodded. "Until the storm hit."

"So how do you know your father is in jail?"

"Zetta saw it coming," I answered. "That's the really c.r.a.ppy part about all of this. I knew what would happen, but I let it happen anyway."

I watched her face as everything fully sunk in. She frowned at me. "Lola, you can't blame yourself for your father's mistakes."

"What? Of course I can." I took a deep breath and then let the air out slowly. "I know I have to accept it. But ultimately, I let this happen, Grams. He followed me because I left, and for that reason alone, he got caught. This is my doing."

She shook her head as if refusing to believe me. "Good grief. You better believe this is all your father's doings, little girl. And it's his doings because he is an eternal blockhead. Are you even listening to yourself, Lo? He tried to sell his own daughter into prost.i.tution!"

"He doesn't think of it that way," I pointed out.

"Regardless," Miriam said, waving her hand in the air. "I don't care how fancy Madam Wilda tries to make her business out to be. She's in the business of prost.i.tution, no matter what angle you spin on it."

I shifted uncomfortably. I hated talking about Madam Wilda and my almost-future with her. "No matter how justified you think I am, Christo will never agree. The whole troupe, with the exception of Lina and Zetta, will hate me for this. Even after he gets out."

"They'll get over it. But- did you just say he's going to get out?"

"Yes, but Zetta said it would take a while. I guess Dad's lackeys will find a way to break him out."

"And you're still torn up about it?" She made a wooshing noise and slapped her thigh. "Sounds to me like justice was served, after all. Soon enough your papa will be out free and clear. Zetta's visions are never wrong. And in the meantime, he can sit in his cell and think about what an imbecile he is. Might even do him some good."

"Grams, the future isn't always clear. Just because Zetta saw him getting out of prison doesn't mean it will happen. Things can change, you know."

"So then how do you know he was ever locked up in the first place?"

I shrugged. "I just know. About fifteen minutes after I had ran away he called my cell phone. . .but I didn't pick up. Me, plus the car I was driving, equaled a whole lot of money that would be out of Christo's pockets."

My grandmother considered this. "So do you think they'll come after you?"

I knew right away she was referring to my father's men. I shrugged. In all honesty, I didn't know the answer to her question. "The way I see it," I began theorizing. "They're either angry enough to come after me. . .or they resent me enough that they won't bother. I think and I hope it's the latter, even though that probably means that they'll never forgive me for what I've done."

She nodded. There was a slight flicker of worry in her eyes, which I hated seeing. It made me question my decision to come here. I forced the thought aside. Miriam's house would be safe. No one would try to come for me here. I had to believe that.

"What about after they break him out?" she asked.

I swallowed. "I don't know."

She nodded once more, lost in thought. "Grams, don't worry," I a.s.sured her. "I would never come here if I thought I would be putting you in harm's way. Christo has a deep respect for you.

Miriam only chuckled. "Little girl, I am certainly not worried for myself. It's you who I'm concerned for."

"Why?"

She sighed. "Because I don't think your father will ever let you go."

FOUR.

Dakota and I lounged around in my new bedroom; me on the window seat and her on the thickly padded rug next to the bed. Since she was leaving tomorrow to go back to school, she'd invited herself into my room earlier this evening for a slumber party of sorts. I suspected she was attempting to do the whole female bonding thing, which was perfectly fine with me. I was happy to be hanging out with my newly found cousin. Or anyone, for that matter.

Mostly, Dakota regaled me with her college stories. After she finished telling me about her present life, she moved on to recounting her past lives, which always entranced me, no matter who was doing the storytelling.

"My favorite life was my only non-gypsy life. It was...beautiful, really."

I was instantly curious. There weren't many gypsies who had the chance to experience a life outside of the gypsy tribes. It was considered a novelty. Those lives were as rare as one of the gaje having a gypsy life, which I've never witnessed, though I knew it was possible.

My mother had been a gaji, but she'd married into the gypsy folds. Sometimes, I suspected I inherited her genes. Maybe I was just an ordinary gaji. Maybe I was one of the few exceptions within our world. Maybe I was a rarity. It would definitely explain why I couldn't remember my past lives. The gaje never remembered. Their memories were wiped clean with each birth. And inexplicably, only gypsies ever remembered.

"What was it like?" I eventually asked Dakota, wondrous.

She grinned, moving closer to me on the rug. "Well, I grew up in New England, in the late eighteen hundreds. I married a man who was in the shipping business. His name was David." Dakota's eyes grew hazy as she remembered this 'David'.

"I suppose it was my natural instinct to marry a man who owned ships. And he was a good man. He indulged me by letting me travel with him. I. . .I loved him."

I smiled. From what I understood, love was not always found in a lifetime. Not true love, anyway.

"We bore two children," Dakota continued. "Two boys. Together, we had so many adventures on the high seas. Once, we even escaped a band of pirates!" Dakota chuckled now and then she sighed. "It was so dangerous. . .but so much fun. I loved my little family."

Her green eyes seemed to clear and her attention was brought back to the present. She looked up at me now. "So what was your favorite lifetime?"

There it was, the question I hated, though I'd heard it many times before. I used to tell the members of my father's troupe such outrageous lies about my past lives, just for the sole purpose of fitting in. The only person who'd ever caught me was Auntie Zetta. Then again, she could see inside people's heads in a way that other gypsies couldn't. While I told countless stories about the people I'd been in my past lives, she had probably looked inside my head to find there was nothing actually there.

I was seven years old the first time she'd caught me. I'd been in the middle of telling the other children one of my riveting stories when she overheard. She'd taken me by surprise by yanking me by my arm and pulling me into one of the nearby RVs.

"Lola, why do you tell such lies?" She held a bar of soap in her hands, which my worried eyes remained locked upon.

"I'm not making up any lies, Auntie, I swear!"

She crossed her hands over her chest, eyeing me dubiously.

"Do you even know where Cleopatra is from?" she asked.

"Course I do," I tilted my head back, trying to appear very regal. "Back then I was a like a queen, but they called me a 'phar-aoh'. And I lived in Egypt, next to the pyramids."

"Uh-huh." My aunt continued to eye me and I grew nervous. "And did you have any lovers in that lifetime?"

"Y-es."

"And who were they, eh? What were their names?"

I grinned c.o.c.kily before replying. "Caesar and Mark Antony."

I knew she wasn't expecting my effortless answer.

But then she pulled another one on me.

"And how many children did you bear?"

I twitched, nervous again. "Um, two."

"Really? And what were their names?"

The tears formed quickly now. "Please don't use the soap!" I cried. "I don't have memories like the other children. Please don't use the soap, Auntie!"

I buried my wet face in her bosom as I clung tightly to her. My aunt set the bar of soap down on the counter, then kneeled down to my eye level.

"Why do you lie, Lola? You know it's wrong."

I sniffled a little, still afraid she might retrieve the soap. "I don't know," I told her honestly. "I just wanted to be someone, too."

She clicked her tongue. "You couldn't choose someone without such a high profile?"

I shrugged. "I like Cleopatra. I could have been her in a past life, you never know."

"Well maybe if you're a good little girl in this life, and you stop telling so many lies, you may get your memories back in the next one, eh?"

Sadly, I nodded. "I'll be good," I promised.

Ironically, I didn't keep that promise. I only gave up lying for stealing, which was probably worse in any case. If my aunt's words rang true, I probably wouldn't be getting my memories back anytime soon.

"So are you ever going to tell me?"

I was brought back to the present. I observed Dakota waiting patiently for me to tell her about my favorite past life. I provided her with my usual answer.

"There was nothing very special. I really don't like talking about my past lives."

She nodded, accepting my answer. "I understand." And then she quickly moved on from that subject to another gypsy pastime: tarot cards. As I noticed her pulling out a deck from a dresser drawer, I grinned. "You can't be serious."

"Come on, you have to let me practice on you! If my career in fashion doesn't work out, I'll need something else to fall back on."

I chuckled. "Okay, fine, Madam Dakota," I agreed. "But no touching. That's cheating. And if you get the death card, you had better lie to me. Tell me it means love or money."

"Deal." She laughed. "Now split the deck into three piles. . ."

The next morning, everyone said goodbye to Dakota over breakfast. Then, we all helped her pack her car before seeing her off. It was a little disheartening. My friend count just went from one to zero. Apparently Clearwater wasn't growing on me.

Almost immediately after she drove away, Miriam instructed me to get dressed, announcing we had plans today. I was extremely curious, but I didn't question her.

After showering, I threw on some of Dakota's clothes, then waited for Miriam outside by her Lincoln Town Car. I eyed the car, thinking it was the epitome of an old person's car. It didn't help that it was the exact shade of burgundy only elderly people choose.

Miriam took longer than me to get ready, but I knew it was because she never went anywhere without wearing a skirt and heels. Sure enough, fifteen minutes later, Miriam came strolling out of the house in a navy skirt with a cotton white blouse, paired with matching pumps. She often dressed the way she felt. I'm pretty sure navy means she felt determined today.

She started up the car, and then informed me that we were headed for the nearest private school- in order to enroll me for the fall semester. I stared at Miriam as if she'd lost her mind.

"Don't give me that look," she told me. "Who knows how long you'll be here for? And if you're going to live with me, you're going to attend school. That's my only rule. And it's certainly not a difficult one to follow."

"Okay, I don't have a problem with that," I allowed. "But I don't understand why it has to be a private school. Who knows what could happen? I just don't want you to waste your money on something I may not be here to use."

I hated to talk about leaving, but I had to look at my situation logically. Whenever my father did finally get out of jail, he might be angry enough to come after me. I wish I didn't have to consider that possibility, but it was better to be prepared for anything.

And who knew if I could even bear staying here? I'd never stayed in any one place for very long, but then again, I've never been given the opportunity to try. Annika and Dakota certainly managed it well enough. They lived like normal people. I wondered if I was capable of doing the same.

My grandmother merely snorted in response to my earlier comments. Under her breath, she muttered, "A good education is not a waste of money."

She eventually glanced over at me to meet my faraway gaze. She tapped on the wheel and fidgeted as she drove.

"Are you okay?" I asked, noting her odd behavior.

After a few moments, she sighed wearily. "Christo called last night from a county jail in Tennessee."

My lips parted as her news sunk in. "And you're just now telling me!" I complained. "What happened? What did he say?"

"Nothing," she a.s.sured me. "Don't get so worked up. He just wanted to know where you were. I told him you were staying with me. He had a.s.sumed as much, anyway. And then he said 'okay' and hung up before I had a chance to say anything else."

Confused, I asked, "That's all he said? Just 'okay' and then 'bye?'"

"That's all he said."

"That is so weird of him."

She nodded in agreement. "I thought so, too. But you know what, Lo? As much of an imbecile as your father is, I wonder if he was only calling to make sure you got here and to know you're safe."

I shook my head, refusing to believe that. "You don't know him like I do. He has an ulterior motive for everything he does. I'm sure he only wanted to confirm my whereabouts. Whether or not he decides to do anything is his decision."

"I suppose we'll cross that bridge when we get to it," she said. "But in the meantime, you're attending Frightwell and Black's Academy for the Superior Student."

I raised an inquisitive brow. "Frightwell and what? That's kind of long winded for a high school name."

My doubts about the school only increased when we arrived and started the enrollment process. The building was small. I found out only a handful of students attended; there were approximately one hundred students in the entire junior cla.s.s. But my worst fear was realized when the dean handed my grandmother the tuition bill. I nearly choked, I was so appalled.

"Are you kidding me?" I shouted, causing the dean to flinch. "Grams, this is ridiculous. You can buy a brand new car for this amount of money!"

After my outburst, the dean politely excused himself. "I'll let you two talk it over," he said, quickly heading for the door.

Miriam frowned, and stiffly crossed her arms. "It's my money, little girl. Stop embarra.s.sing me and let me pay the man."

"But-- did you see the bill?"