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Emma turned another page. Her breath caught in her throat. Printed across two facing pages, in enormous block letters, was Emma.
On the next page it was repeated in long lines across the paper—Emma, Emma, Emma, Emma—in different sizes and scripts, ornate calligraphy and cartoon block letters and colorful sketches sprinkled with stars. She flipped through the pages, faster and faster. The rest of the book was filled with nothing but that one word, EMMA, scrawled wilder and wilder, in Sharpie, in pencil, sometimes written so hard the letters tore through the paper.
The book fell out of her trembling hands and hit the floor in a cloud of dust. The attic spun around her like a strange, shadowy carousel. She knew Becky was sick, but this … this was obsession.
I was afraid, too. What was going through our mother’s mind? Had she written this before or after we were born?
The garage door rattled open, and Emma jumped. She quickly slid the journal into her pocket and stood up. As quietly as she could, she went down the ladder, closing the hatch door after her.
The house was silent again when she reached the hall. She frowned and padded down the stairs to the entryway. “Hello?” she called. No one answered. She opened the front door and looked out on the lawn.
She had to blink her eyes several times to clear her vision. For a moment it looked as if an enormous agave plant was wobbling around the Mercers’ yard on uncertain human legs. After the quiet, dim attic, her eyes had to be playing tricks on her.
A moment later the walking plant was replaced by a tall, broad-shouldered boy carrying a giant succulent. She peeked around the plant’s prickly leaves. Thayer.
I swooned. What’s hotter than watching a gorgeous boy carry heavy things? At that moment I would have given anything for hands, just so I could run them over his shoulders and up into his damp, tousled hair.
“What’re you doing here?” Emma asked.
Thayer stopped and grinned at her, balancing on his good leg. “Laurel said your dad’s bummed out that he got hurt in the middle of landscaping the yard,” he explained. “I figured that since it’s partly my fault he got hurt, I should come and help him finish. Besides, I know all about knee injuries,” he said, nodding down at his own bad leg.
A flush of pleasure swept over Emma’s cheeks. She understood what Sutton saw in Thayer. He had so much more depth, and warmth, than she’d realized at first. “Here, let me help you,” she said, grabbing one side of the heavy plant. Together they wrestled it out of the plastic and into the hole Mr. Mercer had dug.
“Careful with the spines, they can hurt pretty bad,” Thayer warned.
“I’m used to cactus spines,” Emma answered. She laughed when they stood up in a shower of dirt. Their arms, even their faces, were covered with it. “It’s really nice of you to help my dad out,” she added, walking toward the willow tree to get out of the hot sun.
Thayer shrugged. “I’m just trying to put things right. As much as I can, anyway.” He glanced at Emma, then blinked, as if he was seeing her for the first time. “Is everything okay? You look kind of pale.”
Emma looked down, thinking about what she’d just found in the attic. “I saw my mom again two nights ago,” she admitted.
Thayer’s long-lashed hazel eyes opened wide with concern. “Where?”
Suddenly the whole story was pouring out of her—the hospital visit, the discovery that her mother had a history of mental illness. The fact that she’d pulled a knife on someone. Emma left out the part about Becky calling her by her real name, but as she told him the rest, she felt the compression around her heart relax ever so slightly. She breathed deeply.
Thayer let out a low whistle. “Damn.”
“I know,” she said. Talking to Thayer was so easy—she already felt calmer, more focused. “The worst thing is that I can’t really tell anyone. Mom—I mean, my adopted mom—doesn’t know, and my dad won’t let me tell her. He says it’d destroy her. I can’t tell Laurel either, and I can’t tell any of the other girls because they’d tell Laurel. The whole thing is awkward and stupid.”
“Keeping secrets for your parents sucks,” Thayer agreed, his expression darkening. He leaned back against the tree, and frowned. Emma watched him from the corner of her eye. Thayer knew all about family secrets. He rarely talked about it, but part of the reason he’d run away from home was to escape his father’s violent temper.
When he spoke, his voice was low. “I never told you this, but I caught my dad having an affair last year.”
Emma’s jaw dropped. “Seriously?” She imagined hotheaded, strict Mr. Vega. His brow was always furrowed, his spine stiff and straight, and he seemed to disapprove of everything. Who would even want to have an affair with him?
Thayer nodded. “Yeah. I caught his girlfriend or whatever leaving our house when my mom was away visiting my aunt. I tried to talk to him about it, but he just blasted me for messing with his business. Acted like he could do no wrong.” Thayer gritted his teeth. “My mom didn’t factor into the equation at all.”
“That sucks,” Emma said softly. She reached over and squeezed his hand. When their skin touched, an electric hum started at the point of contact. Realizing what she’d done, she pulled her hand away, blushing. Thayer looked away, too.
They sat together in silence for a moment. Emma’s hand still tingled from touching his. She felt a little guilty confiding so much in Thayer, as if she were sneaking around behind Ethan’s back. But it wasn’t like that at all. She and Thayer were just friends, and friends were allowed to confide in each other when something was on their minds. Besides, the only reason Thayer was even interested in her was that he thought she was Sutton—his ex-girlfriend.
