My dad saved my life that day. I don’t pretend to know how he figured out what I needed. Maybe it was just a guess, or he was sick of my moping. But I think he knew that the only way to find something that was lost was to search for it. It was obvious that I was lost, so he decided I needed to get off my ass and go searching for myself.

With no other plans that day or for my future, I thought fuck it and agreed to go car shopping. Thus, my first large purchase post-Rarotonga was a new car. Sturdy. Reliable. Unremarkable.

My dad didn’t bat an eye when I paid for it with a thick envelope of cash. Nor did my mom comment when, on the morning I set out, I handed her a small duffel full of money. After hugging them both, I drove away on my pilgrimage to nowhere, hoping to find what had been lost.

I’ve been on the road for the last eight weeks with no one but myself for company. I won’t lie—it was a rough start.

But then a funny thing happened.

The hum of tires, the drifting sky, the rest stops, national parks, mountains and lakes, every roadside motel and diner… every lonely meal, every song belted out over the radio, every photo taken on my phone, the tourist traps and monuments… like pieces of a puzzle I didn’t know was forming, all came together.

And about a week ago, as I was driving into Tucson to visit Elizabeth, I looked through a dirty windshield at the dusky evening sky, and I saw the finished puzzle of me.

Not the innocent dove. Not the little monster or the fierce siren. Not the doctor, daughter, sister, friend, or lover. Not my fear or anger. Not my love or hope.

Just… me. Every mismatched, inexplicable, contradictory part of me. Every good memory. Every traumatic one. Everything. All of it.

Liam was right, the bastard. I was never broken—I was breaking free.

* * *

I still hate Los Angeles, but when Karina invited me to the opening night of her newest gallery show, I couldn’t think of an honest excuse to miss it. I was already in Tucson, a mere seven-hour car trip away.

Early this morning, I said goodbye to Elizabeth, leaving her grinning in the driveway of her modest, recently-purchased home on the outskirts of the city.

As I drove west, nostalgia crept over me. For what, I wasn’t exactly sure. But I knew what it meant.

My pilgrimage was nearing its end.

Now, as I wander through a glamorous crowd at a downtown gallery, I feel remarkably serene. I’m no longer affected by the glances of strangers. I no longer care that in my slinky, burgundy silk gown, I’m the definition of overdressed.

When I called my parents today, I told my dad what I was feeling. The stillness in my mind, the fading of my generalized anxiety, the sense of being a part of the world rather than on the outside looking in.

He was quiet for long moments, then told me that he was glad my insides finally matched my outsides. Oddly, I knew exactly what he meant.

“Dang, girl, look at that dress! Your ass looks positively delish.”

At the familiar, flamboyant voice, I turn away from a painting to find Raul grinning at me. He’s wearing a black suit with tiny rhinestones sewn onto the lapels, a top hat, and glittery white sneakers. Miraculously, with his dramatic makeup and whip-thin frame, he pulls it off.

Raul gives me a spine-cracking hug and kisses my cheek, then leans back to study my face. His eyes, I notice, are clear. According to Karina, they’ve been clear since I went missing. Only when he’d been clean for a month had she given him his portion of the money. He’d bought a car, quit selling drugs, and started taking classes at a local school for fashion design.

“You look better,” he says gravely. “You find a new dick to suck?”

Nearby, there are murmurs of shock. I just roll my eyes. “No, thanks for asking. And thanks, I feel better.”

Raul glances over his shoulder, then steps closer to me and lowers his voice. “I’ve got intel that’s been eating at me, and I have to tell you. You know I can’t keep secrets.”

I laugh. “True. What’s going on?”

“A month or so ago, your dude came into Al’s. He didn’t order food, just sat at the counter for three hours. I finally came out of the kitchen to tell him to piss off, but man, he had some sad fuckin’ eyes.”

My heart is now somewhere in the vicinity of my stomach. I open my mouth, but no sound comes out.

Raul clucks his tongue. “Just like your eyes right now. All sad and lovesick and shit. He finally manned up and asked how you were. I wasn’t gonna tell him shit, but,” he shrugs, “I’m a sucker for blue eyes. Told him you were good. Staying with your parents as you figured stuff out.”

“Okay,” I finally wheeze.

He squeezes my arm in sympathy. “He told me not to tell you he came in, but you’re my girl and he’s just a dick with a pretty package. And I can’t keep secrets.”

In spite of myself, I laugh. “Thanks, Raul.”

He winks. “Did you see Karina yet?”

“Nope. Just got here a little bit ago.”

Linking his arm through mine, he throws me a saucy grin. “She’s probably hiding somewhere crying into her champagne. Let’s go slap some sense into her.”

I nod sagely. “That’s what friends are for, right?”

“Amen.”

* * *

Around eleven, I run out of steam. Whether it’s the long drive catching up, or the high heels on my aching feet, I just want pajamas and a bed. The opening was a success—Karina sold six of her eight paintings. She, Raul, and a crew of friends decide to continue the celebration at a nearby club, and I take advantage of the transition to tell Karina I’m toast.

Armed with her spare house key and permission to eat the fudge ice-cream in her freezer, I retreat to my car and immediately take off my shoes. Sweet relief. Wiggling my toes in pleasure, I start the car and head toward Echo Park.

Before I know it, I’m in the driveway of the cozy, three-bedroom house Karina and Raul share. My headlights illuminate a modest front yard and windows with drawn curtains. Despite my body’s demand for sleep, I can’t seem to make myself turn off the car.

Nostalgia returns tenfold, this time for a city I’ve loved and loathed in turns. Used to traveling on a whim, I don’t think much about it as I back down the driveway and head for Santa Monica.

When I get there, I don’t park, but I do stare overlong at the lights of Pacific Park. And when thoughts of Liam inevitably come, they’re free of resentment. I know everything he did, every lie and misdirection, was for the purpose of keeping me safe.

Now all I feel is sadness for what we’ve endured and longing for a future we might have had.

You’ll always come home to me.

His words and the conviction they’d carried float through my mind. And I realize it’s the final question—one half of the reason I’ve been wandering, lost and searching, for months. Years, even. Since a broken heart and a plane ticket home.

I fulfilled my part, finding all my pieces and fitting them together. But for better or worse, I still don’t know if the reason I’m wandering to begin with is because home isn’t a place, but a person.

My mind and body in perfect agreement, I drive toward the Hollywood Hills.

Straight into the sun.

When I arrive at the familiar house, there’s no car in the driveway and no lights on inside. But the lawn is manicured, the hedges trimmed. Possessed by instinct—or insanity—I park and jog to the front door.

The handle turns easily, the door opening without sound. My heart hammering, I step inside, tiptoeing only far enough to peer into the shadowed kitchen.

A coffee mug sits on the island about six inches from the sink. Beside it rests a folded paper towel, a spoon lying perfectly in the center. Liam. There’s no freaking way a new owner or renter would leave their empty mug in the exact same spot in the exact same way.

My heart calms. I retrace my steps, closing the front door behind me and getting back in my car. For a few minutes, I stare sightlessly ahead. Excitement mingles with apprehension as I consider going back into the house to wait for him. Then I remember the message he gave Agent Hernandez.

If you want to find me, I’ll be waiting.

And I suddenly know that I can’t go inside. Can’t wait for him to find me. It’s not what he’s asking, and it’s not what I’m willing to do.

“You want me to find you, Liam?” I ask as I put the car in reverse. “Game on.”