Nothing Less

Chapter Thirty-two

Landon

THE FLIGHT FEELS SO MUCH longer than three hours. I was lucky to even get on the flight on such short notice, but nothing felt charmed this morning. The sun wasn’t up when I woke up with a text from Dakota and an empty bed. Nora left in the middle of the night, sending me reeling again.

I feel so much older than twenty, and Dakota seems so much darker than the ballerina I once loved. Her eyes are heavy when we land, still swollen from last night’s tears.

I don’t look at her long enough to feel guilty. Those tears weren’t for me. They were for herself.

While Nora was in my bed, Dakota was sobbing in hers.

When we get to the baggage claim, Dakota stares blankly at the circling luggage belt, so I tell her to go grab a seat, and she nods. I point to the empty row of chairs next to her and she sits down.

Next to me a woman holds her baby, and I think of Nora holding her sister’s baby. When I see another woman with long, dark hair, I think of Nora; even a Game of Thrones ad on my flight’s TV screen made me think of her. Everything reminds me of her, and a small part of me hopes that she can’t look at anything around her without thinking of me.

The luggage comes quickly, and I gather it and walk to Dakota, who looks as if she’s going to fall asleep any moment.

“You okay?”

She looks up at me with hollow brown eyes and nods. “I’ll be fine.”

Working toward breaking the habit of pushing for more, I nod instead of telling her that I don’t think she’s okay after all.

The Kia I rented is nice, but it smells like cigarette smoke despite the NO SMOKING warnings plastered all over the interior. Dakota remains silent most of the drive, and I’m so focused on her state that it takes a few minutes for me to start recognizing my old town when it appears on the other side of my windshield. I drive in silence, my hands clutching the steering wheel, as we pass the old building that housed the Blockbuster my mom used to take me to on Friday nights. Every single Friday we would order from Pizza Hut and rent a movie. Now the building looks as abandoned as the dusty old VCR on my mom’s mantel in Washington. I glance over at Dakota, wondering if she remembers the time she stole a Baby Bottle Pop from in front of the counter at Blockbuster. We ran with wild abandon down the street while Carl, the short manager with blond hair, chased us. The rumor around the town was that Carl had just gotten out of prison, and maybe he had, but he never caught us. From then on, I told my mom I was more into watching TV than renting movies, and fortunately she bought it.

The farther I drive into Saginaw, the more the roots of the town take hold of me. I feel like a stranger here, an intruder. At twenty, I’ve seen more of the country than most of the people in this town.

When we stop at a red light at the intersection between Woodman and Airway, I look at Dakota again. “They tore down the McDonald’s.” We used to have one of those classic McDonald’s right there on the corner, but now there’s nothing but a plot of concrete.

Dakota doesn’t look at me, but she glances out the window. “There’s a new one.” She points to a box-shaped building with yellow arches down the road, then drops her hand back down to her lap.

I nod toward another patch of concrete where a locally famous bar used to be. “What happened to Dizzy’s?” Memories of dragging Dakota’s dad through the doors flood me, but I stay passive, neither a smile nor a frown on my face.

Dakota shrugs. “I heard it burned to the ground. I’m not surprised.”

A distant memory pushes through my brain, splaying itself in front of me.