Always Dakota. Debbie Macomber

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      “You get those floors mopped?” Jason Jefferies asked.

      Jason was only a year older than she was, but he was the manager of the BurgerHaven where Calla worked part-time. “Didn’t you notice? I finished half an hour ago,” she said, unable to contain her sarcasm.

      “Don’t give me attitude,” Jason snapped. “I got three friends who’d jump at the chance to work here. You give me a reason to fire you, Calla, and you’re outta here.”

      “Yes, sir,” she said with a falsely sweet smile. Much as she hated to admit it, she needed this job. Her father’s income was erratic, its source questionable. And he sure didn’t share it with her. The reverse, in fact. Not waiting for a response, she turned and walked away.

      Willie wasn’t the only disappointment Calla had to face. The high school back in Buffalo Valley had twenty-five students. Twenty-five. The one she attended in Minneapolis had over three thousand—more people than lived in her hometown and the surrounding county. Finding her way from classroom to classroom before the bell rang was a major challenge. She’d already gotten nine tardy slips. One more and she’d be ordered to afternoon detention.

      One teacher, Mr. Simon, had been totally unreasonable. She had swimming in fifth period, and her sixth-period algebra class was on the third floor in the east wing. A sprinter couldn’t have covered that distance in five minutes! Mr. Simon docked her grade one full point every time she was late, and that was totally unfair. Her jaw tightened whenever she thought about it. The only classes in which she got decent grades were art and drama, because she’d volunteered to sew costumes for the senior production. They were doing The Importance of Being Earnest, and that meant lots of intricate Victorian dresses. Calla could lose herself in working with the patterns and fabric, in getting the details perfect.

      Jason dimmed the lights and was ready to close the BurgerHaven.

      Swallowing her pride, Calla approached him. “Any chance you could give me a ride home?”

      He didn’t like doing it, she knew, but waiting for the bus by herself unnerved her. A couple of men had harassed her one night, and she’d had nightmares about it ever since. She hated to ask Jason for a ride, but she didn’t have any other means of getting home, besides the bus.

      “You’ll have to pay.”

      Calla nodded. What a jerk. He collected an hour’s wages for driving her one block out of his way. If he charged her any more, she might as well take a taxi.

      Jason wasn’t the talkative sort and they rode in silence. Calla had hoped to make friends before now, but it hadn’t happened. School had been in session nearly three months, and she didn’t have one friend. Not even one. Trying to get to class on time was difficult enough.

      Her father was sprawled in front of the television when she let herself into the apartment. She brought the mail and the free neighborhood newspaper in with her.

      “You bring me anything?” he asked, not moving his gaze from the television screen.

      “Not tonight.”

      That got his attention. “They throw away all the stuff that doesn’t get sold, so why the hell not bring me a taco burger?”

      Calla wondered if it ever occurred to him that they might not have leftovers. “There weren’t any,” she said, tired and out of sorts. It’s after ten, she wanted to scream. Leave me alone!

      “Damn! I was all set for a taco burger, too. I don’t suppose you could get me dinner?” He looked beseechingly toward her.

      Like she was a magician and could pull a decent meal out of a top hat. “Get you dinner?” she repeated. “With what?”

      He leaned back and dug into his pants pocket and tossed her his car keys. “With these.”

      Calla left the keys on the floor where they’d fallen. She set down her books and sorted through the mail, although it was mostly dunning letters from bill collectors and a few advertising circulars. She paused when she saw the envelope with her mother’s familiar writing. This wasn’t the first letter she’d received, and her reaction was always the same—hope and excitement. Even though she didn’t want to feel anything for her mother.

      Sarah Stern had lied to her, and Calla refused to forgive her—for that and a truckload of other faults. The biggest of which was marrying Dennis Urlacher.

      “You going or not?” her father demanded.

      Calla barely heard him. A wave of homesickness threatened to drown her. She missed Buffalo Valley, missed her friends and her old job at The Pizza Parlor and even her old school. Her mother had ruined everything by marrying Dennis. Calla’s entire life had been stolen from her and it was their fault.

      “What’s that?” Willie asked.

      “A letter from Mom.”

      “She send me any money?”

      Calla rolled her eyes. Willie insisted that if Sarah wasn’t paying him the child support he thought he was entitled to, then Calla had to pay rent. Therefore, Calla paid rent.

      “Well, aren’t you going to open it?”

      “Yes,” she said, and headed toward her bedroom. When she did read the letter, she had no intention of doing it in front of him.

      Sitting on the side of her bed, Calla stared at the envelope. It was thick, as if it included something extra. Her curiosity got the better of her and she tore it open. Inside were an airline ticket and a letter. She unfolded the letter.

      Dear Calla,

      I haven’t been able to reach you by phone to ask about your plans for Thanksgiving. I’m hoping you can arrange to make it home for a few days. It would mean a great deal to me. I miss you, Calla. I realize I haven’t been the world’s best mother, and I’ve made plenty of mistakes, but I do love you.

      On the chance you can get away, I’ve enclosed an airline ticket. The flight leaves Minneapolis Wednesday afternoon and returns on Sunday morning. Dennis and I would pick you up at the airport in Grand Forks. If you’re uncomfortable staying with Dennis and me, then your grandfather wanted you to know you could have your old room at his house.

      Everything’s going well here in Buffalo Valley. Dennis and I bought the old Habberstad house. The two of us rattle around in it, but we both enjoy decorating it. With five bedrooms you could have your pick if you decided you wanted to move back home.

      You haven’t answered my letters or taken any of my calls. I know you’re angry with me, Calla, and I’m sorry. It’s time we settled all this. Don’t you think so, too?

      Love,

       Mom

      “What did she have to say?” Willie asked, standing in her bedroom doorway.

      “Nothing,” Calla muttered, stuffing the letter inside her backpack.

      “What’s that?” he asked, pointing to the airline ticket she’d set beside her on the bed.

      “A ticket.”

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