I suppose there’s a chance that this is a different Romani family, and we’ll still have to go hunting for Kaula Young’s caravan, but I know better. Destiny, the universe, a stroke of good luck—whatever it is, Elizabeth and I are dropping into the laps of the only people who might give us the answers we need.
This is good news.
So why do I feel like someone’s walked over my grave?
I return to the car, and Elizabeth immediately senses that something isn’t right. “Jeffrey? Are you okay? You look sick to your stomach.”
I relay the details of our relocation and watch her pale face drain of all remaining color.
By the time she says, “Oh. Well…good,” she’s as white as the snow still clinging to the mountaintops in the distance. She draws a deep breath and lets it out with a determined nod. “Let’s go. The sooner we get answers, the sooner we can enjoy getting rained on while we set up camp.”
“It’s not going to rain.” I motion to the patches of blue sky beginning to peek through the gray overhead. “I bet we’ll have clear skies by sunset.”
A smile trembles across her lips. “I hope you’re right. It’s been too long since I just sat and watched a sunset.”
“Me, too.” I take her hand in mine, holding it tight as I pull out of the parking lot and down the narrow, tree-shaded lane leading to whatever comes next.
25
Elizabeth
When we reach our corner of the campground, I tumble out of the car on shaking legs, bracing myself on the hood as I study the colorful cluster of tents surrounding a fire pit big enough for a grown man to lie down in the center.
There are big tents, small tents, and even one large covered wagon, the kind that once served as rolling homes for most of the Romani population. Now, the majority of Roma live in one place, but we still see a traditional caravan passing through town every now and then.
Every time I’ve crossed paths with one in the past, I’ve looked away, not wanting to think about that day at the playground or my curse or all the ways my ancestors rained down pain and suffering onto innocent people.
Now, I force myself to keep my gaze fixed on the wagon and the dark-haired people gathered in front of it, laughing as they play horseshoes. There are several members of the older generation in foldout chairs on the sidelines, watching the fun, but we’re too far away for me to see their faces or to know if one of them might be Kaula.
No doubt, she looks different than she did nearly twenty years ago, but my gut tells me I’ll recognize her the instant I see her.
Across the campsite, a man plays guitar while a gorgeous Roma woman with hair hanging to her waist dances with a baby in her arms and two toddlers by her feet. The little ones are doing the jerky, flailing dance of toddlers everywhere, but the woman’s movements are mesmerizing. She spins and sways, expertly swiveling her hips even as she helps the baby in her arms clap in time to the beat.
“I couldn’t dance half that well with both arms free,” I say when Jeffrey circles around the car to stand beside me.
“I’m a terrible dancer.” He puts an arm around my waist. “Every time I step foot on a dance floor Nick and Andrew laugh their asses off.”
I lean into his chest but keep my gaze on the dancers. “Bastards.”
“It’s all right. Never stopped me. After a couple of beers, I don’t care what I look like. It just feels good to move.”
“It does.” I shift to smile up at him, bemused as I try to imagine him dancing.
“What?”
“Nothing, I just…” I shrug. “I would have pegged you for the strong, silent, stand on the sidelines type.”
“Sometimes I am. But I don’t see any reason to stop doing something I enjoy simply because I’m bad at it. I’m not hurting anyone. It’s not the same as being bad at team sports or first aid. Or sex.”
Just the word on his lips is enough to make my blood pump faster. “You’re definitely not bad at the last one.”
“Yeah?” He smirks.
“Oh, yeah. But we’ll put you to the test later. Just to make sure your skills aren’t starting to slip.”
“Clever girl,” he says, arm tightening around me. “But fair warning, sound carries from a tent. Unless we want the entire campground to know what we’re up to, we’ll have to celebrate in silence.”
At the reminder of how close we are to solving the mystery that’s haunted me most of my life, I turn my attention back to the Roma camp. “Hopefully we’ll have something to celebrate,” I murmur.
“We will.” But he doesn’t sound nearly as confident as usual. The General is gone, replaced by a human man who’s no longer sure what’s real and what’s fantasy.