Wyatt Best had been having a long year.
After his father died, he'd moved to a town filled with ghosts, been shot by his dead brother, and helped three sisters summon a magical forest.
Wyatt, of course, had not been expecting any of these things, but none of it had dumbfounded him so completely as this current situation had.
Wyatt couldn't remember the last time he'd ridden a train. On a school field trip, perhaps.
And even then, he'd certainly never ridden a train like this.
His present circumstance was a stifling box of aluminum and combustibles that were fitted around a group of people who would much rather be anywhere but here, throttling across the country.
Men and women wore their best traveling clothes--feathered hats and gloves, shirtwaists and vests, petticoats and scarves--and looked like they were beginning to regret it.
The morning had been crisp but had quickly turned into a scorching afternoon as they entered Louisiana.
Wyatt checked his watch.
It had been ten hours since he'd left Nowhere, forty-eight since he'd received a letter containing the matter of his mother's illness, and seventy-two until he would be going back to Nowhere once again.
There was a sappy sort of sweetness that latched onto Wyatt's otherwise indifferent heart whenever he thought of Nowhere.
Even though it had only been six months since he'd stepped into a world of ghosts and sisters and eclipses and ancient forests, Wyatt Best had a place to miss for the first time.
He had never missed his former place of residence: Sacramento, California.
After his father died, Wyatt and his mother, Evelyn, were both left with nothing. Wyatt was sent to Nowhere while Evelyn went to live with her sister.
He thought things would go smoothly with this arrangement.
For as long as Wyatt could remember, Evelyn was always laid up with a headache or cold or some other ailment that non-explicitly told Wyatt that she didn't want to be bothered.
According to the recent letter sent by his aunt, this particular illness was different.
Evelyn was "losing her mind" and his aunt "couldn't do a thing with her anymore" because "she has children to think of".
Wyatt didn't exactly know how a seventeen-year-old boy was supposed to take custody of his own mother, but he didn't have much of a choice.
He'd been living in his brother Hal's farmhouse for the past two months after Hal died (the second time), so he certainly had a place for her to stay. He'd also been making decent money between his work at the Penny household and selling the tomatoes Hal had been growing in the greenhouse.
It wasn't that Wyatt didn't want to take care of his mother, it was that he didn't know her all that much in the first place. She'd be a stranger living in a stranger's house and Wyatt wasn't sure if she'd want to get to know him. She hadn't wanted to before.
Evelyn had always been somewhat aloof ever since their experiences in Holland during the war. Although that was over ten years ago now, she'd never recovered.
Rose Penny, the Penny family's mother, had offered to take Evelyn in altogether, but Wyatt concluded that it was his responsibility to see that his mother was cared for.
The train bound for California rattled through Texas for what seemed like forever, then New Mexico. Desert stretched out on either side of the windows, displaying buttes and mesas in the distance that still stood tall despite their tops being shaved off.
It had felt so long ago that Wyatt traveled this very route on his own, riding through the orange sand in his snazzy Cadillac, bewildered and angry at his father's death.
The hours dragged on and Wyatt could only listen to the maddening chug of the engine and a baby crying from a few rows behind him.
He reached beneath his seat and pulled out a bag, where less than a quarter of it was filled with things he'd packed for the trip--clothes, a razor, socks, etc.--where the rest of the bag consisted of things the Penny family had given him.
They'd each brought a small parcel for his journey--Marigold had presented him with the watch he was currently wearing. She'd found it broken on the sidewalk and had been restoring it back to life over the past month. Ophelia baked chocolate chip cookies that were neatly wrapped in a gingham napkin. Birdie had presented him with an old poetry book. Oscar, their father, gave him his paycheck a week in advance, and Rose somehow managed to nestle an entire roast into his suitcase "for the road," she'd said.
Rose was always trying to get Wyatt to eat. Wyatt assumed that's just what mothers in the South did (he was right).
Wyatt would go so far as to say that the Penny's were close enough to being family, though never out loud just in case he was dreaming.
Somewhere between Las Vegas and San Diego, Wyatt must have fallen asleep because he woke up when the train jolted to a stop.
He was flung forward with the squealing of brakes and tried to cover up his blunder by standing up quickly, which caused him to bash his head against the compartment above.
A woman in a long coat scowled at him as he got his bag and slung it over his shoulder.
As soon as he disembarked, he could smell that the air was different. It had the faint scent of smoke and sweat and busyness that wafted through the train station and followed him all the way to the bus stop, where a Greyhound took him down the desert roads once again.
It was a short ride this time, through Las Vegas, then Beverly Hills.
Wyatt kept waiting for his mind to make some sort of connection to this place, his childhood home. How many times had he attended galas or business meetings in buildings like The Ritz or the Wilshire Hotel? This was where he'd lived, amongst the glamor and wealth of California.
But he'd been another person then. And know, try as he might, the Wyatt Best of today couldn't identify with the Wyatt Best of yesterday.
The bus rattled past his old street, where the mansions still stood with their palm trees and statues and lonely people inside. Wyatt had heard a rumor that Humphrey Bogart had bought his former home after they'd lost it, but he doubted it was true. There was a difference between the million-dollar mansions that business people bought and the million-dollar mansions that movie stars bought.
As the bus rode on, the scenery became increasingly less familiar. The homes lost their grandeur, the landscape was less immaculate, and soon it was as if a switch had been flipped altogether.
There were apartment buildings shoved together, some missing shingles off their roof, and the sidewalks were uprooted from years of neglect.
People, young and old, sat out on precarious balconies, glaring at the traffic below.
The bus came to a stop.
Wyatt re-checked the address.
This was the place.
He entered one of the particularly shabby apartments, guilt already gnawing at his stomach. Why had his mother chosen to live here instead of going with him to Nowhere?
There was no elevator to the fourth floor, so Wyatt hiked up a narrow wooden staircase, having to press himself against a wall several times to let someone pass by.
His aunt's apartment was the last one down a long hallway to the right. Her door was wide open and Wyatt could hear a baby crying.
He hesitantly knocked on the doorframe.
A little girl of about seven peeked around a corner and watched him. Wyatt lifted a hand to wave and she ducked out of sight again.
A short, thin woman with dirt smudged across her face and hair that stuck out at every angle came out of the kitchen with the crying baby on her hip. "Wyatt?" she asked bluntly.
"Uh, yes, that's me."
The woman, his aunt, nodded her head to the left. "She's in there. Good riddance. I have enough on my plate as it is."
And she disappeared once again without another word.
Wyatt followed her direction down a short hallway and found a bedroom. Its walls were bare and there was nothing in the room except for a bed tucked away in the corner.
A woman in a white nightgown stood by the window. Though her shoulders were stooped now, Wyatt could tell that they had been proud and square in days gone by.
The woman turned and Wyatt stumbled back a step.
The woman, once so perfect and lovely, was now gaunt. Her glittering blue eyes were now sunken in. Ghostly. Her hair was wiry and gray and there was barely a trace of recognition in her gaze as she looked at her son.
Wyatt stared at her. "Mother?"
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Heyyyy everyone! And happy Good Friday! It's definitely a good Friday for TWO reasons! I'm SO excited--like, so, so excited--to share book 2 with you guys! We're in for a lot of new adventures with the old gang and I couldn't be more thrilled.
~What did you think of the new chapter?
~How's Wyatt going to handle his mom?
~What are you most hoping to see in this sequel?
Please comment, share, and vote! <3
Thanks so much for reading!