Fifteen years. Erin figured her parents had owned at least eleven in that time, plus her own Fiat, which was just a year old.
The Wakefields must be broke.
The host-family dossier had noted Hamish’s occupation as “construction” and Felicity’s “secretary.” Suspecting a blue-collar family was a bad fit for Erin, Claire had spent two weeks lobbying unsuccessfully for a Scottish experience. Foreign Study Network insisted it was too late to swap; Erin could have New Zealand or nothing.
“You all right, Erin?” Hamish asked.
Ear-in.
She nodded, staring down the long, flat road, which ran between squat buildings and construction projects. Road signs—in two languages, again—sat propped in brown grass. Only speed limit signs stood on posts: 80 kilometers per hour. Fifty miles per hour. On the highway. Hamish motored among sedans and tiny vehicles—not an SUV in sight—all of which obeyed the speed limit.
Short and slow and small.
Christchurch was less the promised Garden City and more like … Parma, a nearby suburb where Erin and her ex-boyfriend, Ben, had enjoyed drive-in movies. That vintage venue stood among lots cluttered with road garbage, overgrown wildflowers, and vacant industrial buildings.
Hamish pointed to a shopping center featuring stores called The Warehouse and PAK’nSAVE. “At’s the Hub, closest shopping center and grocery.”
Pippa said, “On special occasions, we get ice cream sundaes at Wendys.”
Erin twisted to make eye contact. “American Wendy’s doesn’t have sundaes. Just burgers, fries, Frosties, and boring salads.”
“That stinks,” Pippa said.
After three uninspiring strip malls, Hamish said, “This is us.”
He turned onto a quiet residential street where, without exception, houses were small ranches reminiscent of Wheaton’s old rental-house neighborhoods. Stickers on each mailbox read NO JUNK MAIL.
Unusual plants bordered meticulously manicured lawns. Fences and walls of all sorts—tall and short, wood, brick, and stone—separated properties from one another and the road. Huge bulbs of leaves sat atop skinny, bare tree trunks, as if conjured by Dr. Seuss. Not a mature tree in sight.
Erin spun Grandma Tea’s ring around her finger and wondered whether she was being punked.
I hope I’m being punked.
Hamish pulled into a narrow driveway sandwiched between two peeling wooden fences. At the driveway’s end sat a tiny gray ranch boasting a single front window. Hamish parked facing the baby-poop green front door. An attached garage to the left created an L-shaped house.
L for Loser.
She needn’t turn back the clock to happiness; a mere twenty-four hours would suffice.
Erin’s flight from Chicago to Los Angeles was a piece of cake, but she had only ninety minutes to locate her connecting flight.
And she was famished.
After grabbing a Chipotle burrito, she caught the world’s slowest shuttle to the international terminal, where the world’s longest security line awaited her. She spun her ring around her finger, counting the minutes until her flight was due to depart. She’d flown plenty, but never alone and never halfway around the world.
“Passenger E. Cerise for Air New Zealand flight 2 to Christchurch. Please proceed to your gate immediately. Doors close in five minutes.”
Shit.
Though she would rather stay in America, missing her flight would only postpone the inevitable. And Erin’s mother would berate her via phone until she boarded the following day’s flight. Shouting and waving her arms wildly, she appeared enough of a security threat to entice three TSA employees to her side.
“They just paged me. E. Cerise.” She thrust her passport at them. “They said my gate is closing in five minutes.”
A squat, blonde TSA woman crossed her arms. “Were you delayed getting here?”
“Yes.”
“Flight delayed?”
“I—I’m on my own here. I didn’t know about the shuttle, and I had to eat dinner, and I’m traveling alone, and I’m freaking out. If I miss that flight, my mother will kill me.”
A male agent took her passport. “Erin?”
“Yes.”
He unfastened the stanchion and pulled Erin out of line. To the blonde woman, he said, “She’s seventeen, Shannon. Cut her some slack.”
Gate agents paged Erin again as she removed her shoes and tossed her computer into a gray bin. When her luggage emerged from the other end of the X-ray machine, Erin slung her carry-on over her shoulder, tucked her laptop under her arm, grabbed her shoes, and ran to her gate barefoot.
The door was closed.
Panting, she yelled, “I’m here!”
Two women in purple paisley dresses, black jackets, and snug hats assessed her.
Erin’s dad, Mitchell, would wield his power, money, and witticism in this situation, but Erin could only plead. “Please help me.”
“Ms. Cerise?” one agent said.
Wiping tears from her eyes, Erin tried to catch her breath. “Yes. It’s me. I heard you call. I’m sorry I’m late.”
The agent lifted the phone next to the door. “We’re so pleased you’re traveling with us today.”
Traveling. Today.
In that cute kiwi accent, the phrase was magical.
More terrified than thrilled, Erin boarded the plane and departed her country alone.
FIVE
“I’ll get your things from the boot. You go ahead in.” Hamish unlocked the trunk with his key.
Pippa opened the garage door to reveal towers of boxes, boats and metal shelving suspended from the ceiling, and wall hooks supporting a hodgepodge of junk. Near the door, a single cleat hung from the wall.
Between the garage and the fence, cinder blocks supported a huge, dented RV in the grass.
The Wakefields were hoarders. Or slobs. Or Erin didn’t know what.
Hamish hoisted Erin’s bag from the trunk. “Got it.”
Erin said, “It has wheels.”
“Driveway’ll kill ’em.”
Felicity unlocked the front door. “Welcome home, Erin.”
Sapphire carpet welcomed her entry. Everything slowed as Erin realized she wasn’t in Kansas anymore. She was nowhere near Kansas.
“Erin?”
Ear-in.
“Erin? Welcome home? Shoes there, dear.” Felicity pointed to a neat row of shoes next to the front door outside the house.
Erin studied her shoes. “They’re ECCOs.”
Felicity cocked her head sideways. “No worries, the overhead keeps them safe from rain.”
Felicity might be insulted if she admitted being more concerned about theft, so Erin kicked off her ECCOs and followed Felicity, hoping the house’s exterior belied a spacious, beautifully decorated
