Where the Stars Still Shine Read Online Free Page A

happy. And Mom hadn’t met Frank yet.
    “Why did she take me?” I ask.
    “She was scared,” Greg says. “Our relationship was falling apart, and my parents were pushing me to get full custody so they could take care of you while I went to college. Your mom—she was convinced I wasn’t going to let her see you, so she left.”
    He sounds so sincere that it seems impossible that he’s not telling the truth, but in Mom’s version of the story, he is the villain.
    “Do you think she’ll go to prison?”
    “Maybe.” He pushes his hand through his hair. “Probably.” He sighs. “This is not what I wanted for her. Not ever.”
    The conversation is interrupted by the flight attendant pushing the drink cart. Greg orders Cokes, but I feel guilty that I’m sitting on a plane drinking soda while Mom is in jail. Is she scared? Does she miss me? Does she wonder why I haven’t come to see her?
    The captain announces that the weather in Tampa is sunny and warm, and that we’re scheduled to land on time.
    Greg breaks the silence. “Twelve years is a long time. And if you want to know the truth, I’m still pretty pissed off. There’s a big part of me that wants to treat your mom the same way she treated me, but I can’t do that. It wouldn’t be fair to you. So here’s the thing … I want you to stay. You’re my daughter, too, and I want to know you. But if your mom gets out of jail before you turn eighteen and you want to go back, I won’t keep you from her.”
    “Really?” My birthday is in May, only six months away. Half a year. Temporary. And I’ve got temporary down to an art.
    His eyes tell me this is an offer he doesn’t want to make, but he nods anyway. “I promise.”

Chapter 3
     
    Another airport, an hour drive, and we finally come to a stop in the driveway of a small yellow cottage in a town called Tarpon Springs. A porch swing propped with floral cushions sways slowly in the afternoon breeze. I wonder if I should recognize this place. Have I lived here? Was this our house before Mom took me?
    “Phoebe and I bought this place a couple of years ago.” Greg answers the question before I can ask it, as he cuts the ignition of the dark-blue compact SUV that was waiting for us in the Tampa airport parking lot. “It was a complete wreck, but we gave it new life. I’m an architect, so that’s … kind of what I do.”
    As we walk through the gate of a low white picket fence, the front screen door creaks open and two little boys spill out, launching themselves at their dad. Hesquats down to their level and lets them bowl him over with hugs. They’re laughing and rolling around on the lawn like puppies when Phoebe comes out. She reminds me of one of those perfect moms from the Tennessee park, with her rolled-up denim capris and sparkly flip-flops. She’s even prettier than her picture.
    “You must be Callie.” She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear before she reaches out to shake my hand. Hers isn’t rough the way Mom’s is; it’s smooth and she wears a braided silver ring. “I’m Phoebe. It’s so nice to finally meet you.”
    “I, um—you, too.”
    Greg untangles himself and stands, brushing bits of grass off his clothes.
    “I’m Tucker,” the taller of the two boys says. He’s the one who resembles Phoebe. “Are you my sister? Because Daddy says you’re my sister. Do you want to see my finger? I have a boo-boo.”
    He extends his hand, and his index finger is wrapped in a bandage with wide-mouthed cartoon monkeys all over it. I’m not used to little kids and unsure of what to say, so I go with, “Cool.” He beams at me, then peeks under the bandage to inspect his wound. It’s barely a scratch, but to Tucker it’s serious business.
    Greg ruffles a hand over his son’s dark-blond head. “He’s three,” he says, as if that’s all the explanation I need.
    “That’s Joe.” Tucker points to his brother. Joe’s fingers are jammed in his mouth and his brown eyes are wary.