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I couldn’t get a good breath to figure out where to start. I was pissed with Adam for getting angry when I’d needed him to be tender. I hated the burden of my parents’ sudden interest in me, and I was scared to death of my crush on Daniel and what it meant. I was terrified of my so-called friends from Kingsley. Andnowmy dog was dead, and my dad had buried him in the backyard, and—
“It’s okay to cry, Peter. I’ll cry too, if you want,” Adam said quietly.
“I miss you.” The words ached around the lump in my throat, and, in that moment, they were true.
“I miss you too. I’m sorry I yelled at you earlier. Kind of. I mean, I love you. I want you healthy and in one piece when I come home to you.”
“Home? To me?”
“Yeah. You’re my home. Don’t you know that? I need you, Peter. I need you so much.”
So many “buts” filled my mind:but Leslie, but Oglethorpe, but how can I trust you?I kept them to myself. My heart hurt so much I couldn’t even thrill at his sweet words. Most of all, I couldn’t believe them.
I whispered, “I want you to come home.”
“I want that too. We’re going to be all right. I promise. Tell me you believe me.”
The words wouldn’t come.
“Don’t you believe me, Peter?”
“I want to.” All the silencedbutspushed up in my throat, and I shut my mouth, holding them in until my chest ached.
“This fall everything will be different. I promise you, this fall, we’ll both be happy.”
“I love you, Adam.”
I didn’t believe he had any idea what happiness looked like. And maybe I didn’t either. All I could do was hold on and hope, until I couldn’t anymore.
Chapter Eight
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My camera strapdug into my neck as my parents and I headed up the short walk to Robert’s front porch on a sunny morning in mid-June. I wore one of my new loose button-up shirts, tucked in, with a pair of jean shorts Minty had declared fashionably cut. The sun was blazing, and I plucked at my shirt, trying to cool off.
Mom’s layered hippie skirt swished around her feet, and she twisted her dark hair up into a ponytail as we approached the house. She gestured at the flowerbeds Barry kept well-tended, a nervous edge to her voice. “Those are beautiful impatiens. I wish our front yard had better light for them.”
“You’d never water them.” Dad put his arm around her shoulder. “They’d die within days of you starting a new novel.”
“True,” Mom murmured, gazing sadly at the flowers.
“Come in!” Robert called, swinging the front door wide. He wore black jeans and a vibrant orange short-sleeved shirt. Not exactly his most conservative outfit, but a far cry from the sequins and boas he wore as Renée.
Dad was already dressed to head to his office afterward. They all looked like they’d put in some effort, so I lifted my camera and took a quick snap of them in the glaring sun.
Shaking Dad’s hand and smiling widely, Robert’s eyes gleamed. “I’m absolutely thrilled to meet Sweetie’s parents.” He gave Dad a sly look. “And I understand you, sir, work at the university with my father?”
Dad’s reply was neutral. “Dr. Michaels and I share a department, yes.”
Robert shuddered. “I’m so sorry for your proximity. Lucky for me, I see himneverthese days.”
Mom stepped up onto the porch with her hand extended. “Hi, I’m Jessica.”
“It’s lovely to meet you,” Robert cooed, putting his hand daintily in Mom’s firm grasp. “I see where Peter gets his good looks.”
“And a good portion of his brains,” Mom said.
“Of course! I always say women are the smarter sex! Lord knowsI’msmarter in heels and a skirt!”
