nudged me so I’d stay behind him. “No, we couldn’t do this at Moonshine.”
“Okay, well, we’re all here.” The first voice again. Maybe Bowie? “You gonna tell us what this is about?”
He took a deep breath. “I do have a woman staying at my place, but she’s not my girlfriend.”
“You mean Maya who works for the fancy record company ain’t your girlfriend?” Scarlett asked.
“No, she’s not. And her name isn’t Maya. Well, it is now, but it didn’t used to be.”
It was as if the entire forest had gone silent. I didn’t even hear a bird chirp.
“Gibs,” Scarlett said, her voice tentative. “What are you talking about?”
Squeezing my hand again, he glanced over his shoulder and nodded. I met his eyes and nodded back. Here went nothing.
Gibson drew me out from behind him. I clutched his hand, suddenly afraid to let go.
Steam rose from the water of the nearby hot springs, shrouding the area with mist. A group of people stood, mostly in pairs, around the clearing. Most I recognized. A few were new faces, but it was easy to tell who everyone was. Gibson’s brothers, Jameson and Bowie, with Leah Mae and Cassidy. June stood in front of George Thompson. A man who had to be Jonah Bodine was on the end, holding hands with a woman I took to be Shelby. Scarlett was with her boyfriend Devlin. And giving me a reassuring smile was Jonah’s mom, Jenny.
All eyes were on me. I searched their faces for signs of recognition. Did they know me on sight? Would all of Bootleg know if I showed my face?
“Y’all, this is Callie,” Gibson said. “The real Callie.”
No one said a word. They stared at me, glanced at each other, and eyed Gibson with confusion.
“Bullshit,” Scarlett said, finally breaking the silence. “Since when did you get a sense of humor, Gibs?”
“I’m serious,” Gibson said, his tone thick with impatience. “Maya Davis is Callie Kendall.”
Jenny stepped forward, her smile warm. “It’s true. This is Callie. We met last year, just like I told you.”
I struggled to find my voice, the vestiges of my old self warring with my identity as Maya. I wanted to sound calm and collected. At peace with who I was. But I was anything but.
“It really is me. I know I look a little different.” I touched the scar on my face. “But I’m Callie Kendall. Or I was. I haven’t been Callie for a long time.”
“Oh my god. Jenny, you’re sure this is her?” Scarlett asked, then turned back to me. “No offense intended, but we’ve been fooled by a lookalike once. And then there’s all the misinformation, what with you supposedly being dead, and Jenny saying you’re not.”
“Pose a question only the real Callie would answer correctly,” June said.
Bowie turned to her. “Juney, I think this is really her.”
“We need proof,” June said, her tone completely matter-of-fact. “I also intend no offense. But we need to be certain.”
“None taken.” I took a deep breath. It meant reaching into the box, but I could handle digging through memories of my summers with all the kids in Bootleg. “Go ahead. Ask me something.”
“I have one,” Bowie said. “The last summer you were here, who fell off the roof of the Rusty Tool?”
It took me a second, but the memory came to me. I smiled. “Nash Larabee.”
Bowie nodded. “And how many bones did he break?”
“Zero,” I said. “People said it was a miracle. But two days later, he tripped on the flat sidewalk and broke three. That night you drove him down to the lake in a recliner tied up in the back of someone’s pickup.”
“She’s right,” Jameson said. “I remember that.”
“Yeah,” Bowie said, his voice awed.
“There’s still something I gotta see.” Cassidy stepped closer and lowered her voice. “Would you mind pushing your sleeve up a bit?”
Gibson shifted closer. Was he growling?
“Easy, Gibs,” Cassidy said. “Like Juney said, we need to be certain.”
I pried my hand from Gibson’s and held out my arm, palm up. I knew exactly what she was looking for, although I had no idea how she would know this. With a deep breath, I pushed the sleeve almost to my elbow, revealing my tattooed forearm.
Tattooed, and scarred.
Cassidy gently held my wrist and looked closely at my arm. Touched it gently, feeling the ridges of my scars. She nodded and spoke quietly. “Your tattoos are real pretty.”
“How’d you know what was under them?” I whispered.