After nodding, advising he understands me, he switches on the light in his bedroom. Although there’s a generous stretch of unused land between us, I’m certain he’s signing that he loves me.
Smiling for the first time in days, I mimic his gesture, but I finalize my reply by blowing him a kiss. His smile beams brighter than the moon before his room suddenly plunges into blackness. I discover the reason for his quick departure when the waft of my bedroom door shooting open fans the fine hairs on my nape, and the clomp of my dad’s boots vibrate beneath my bare feet.
He doesn’t say anything about me being out of bed, or the fact I’ve eaten, but I don’t need confirmation of his surprise to know about it. I felt his balk.
“Have you finished?” he asks, stopping at my side. He appears even larger than I remember since I’m sitting on the reading nook he built into my window, cuddling my knees with my arms.
I keep my arms wrapped around my legs, continuing the childish game he thrust us into with his unreasonableness.
My silence maims his heart more than usual. I feel it in my bones when he gathers my plate and exits my room. It adds cracks to my already fragile heart and has words of forgiveness sitting on the tip of my fingers, ready for release, but before I can, he turns around, locks his eyes with mine, then murmurs, “One day you’ll understand why I did this, Melody.”
His belief that he knows what’s right for me refortifies the wall I commenced building between us two years ago, except now, it’s stronger than it’s ever been. This is no longer about a teenage girl wanting to spend her weekends like every other teen on the planet. This is about him having no clue who I really am, and how he could lose me forever if he doesn’t learn that quickly.
14
BRANDON
“W hat’s the go? I haven’t seen you home this often since…” Madden runs a hand over his military-style haircut before grunting, “ Ever .”
His new ‘do’ is part restitution for his mishap last week. He’s no longer attending college to earn a degree in fraternity partying. He’s joining the military. My father accredits it with getting his life on track, so he’s hoping it will do the same for Madden. I don’t like his chances, but when you’re grasping for straws, you take any option available.
I stop peering at Melody’s house to lock my eyes with Madden. He’s finally washing his Pontiac, albeit a little hesitantly. He’s more watering it than giving it the scrub it needs. “Mr. Gregg has suspended our training until he gets back from deployment.”
“He’s going out again?” The hesitance in his tone is highly anticipated. I’ve never been a good liar.
“Not yet. He’s just… busy until he does.” Madden knows I’m lying, but since he cares about no one but himself, he returns to hosing his sleek ride. “Have you seen any movement over there today?” I haven’t seen Melody since I convinced her to eat last night. I knew she’d rebel against her father’s wish to keep us apart, but I had no clue she’d undertake a hunger strike. I was as panicked as her mother when she informed me Melody hadn’t eaten in days.
Madden shakes his head. “Not since they left at ass-crack o’clock this morning.”
“They? Melody went with them?”
I glance back over at Melody’s house, suddenly aware as to why I haven’t seen any movement from her room this afternoon. She wasn’t at school, either, but that isn’t surprising. The Greggs keep her home during finals, so she has plenty of time to study. I’ve been watching her room like a hawk the past three hours, only changing position because the lowering of the sun added a touch of coolness to the watch post in my room.
Before Madden can answer me, our mom comes barreling out of the house. She’s wearing a frilly apron, which only covers her from the waist down, meaning she has a heap of flour on her shirt. She’s been baking up a storm all day in preparation for the morning tea fundraiser my high school is having to help fund Joey’s medical expenses. Since no one has the heart to tell them money isn’t an issue for my family right now, my mom took it upon herself to supply all the baked goodies for them to sell. She’ll then donate the money to a heart trust in Joey’s name.
People assume we’re still living a humble existence because my dad’s salary has to stretch across four almost-adult children. They have no clue we still live here because it’s our home. All the McGee children were born here. Our ranch is as important to our family as the matriarch of it—our mother.
“Mom?” Panic lodges in my throat when I spot the amount of gloss in her eyes. She’s on the brink of sobbing.
Even Madden clicks on to her worry. “Ma? Are you okay? Is Joey okay?”
Her trance ends when Madden mentions Joey. “The hospital just called. They have a new heart for him.”
“Huh?” I’m shocked, truly stumped. “Dr. Giorgio said it could take weeks if not months. How has it occurred so soon?”
My mom shrugs. “I don’t know.” She squeals before grabbing my cheeks and pressing a kiss to my forehead. “But this is exciting! Joey is going to be okay.” After embracing Madden in the same manner, she hot-foots it inside. “Bring the car around while I call your father. Joey is being prepped for surgery as we speak.”
WE TEAR out of the family driveway not even two minutes later. Mom is so excited, she dusted the flour off her shirt instead of replacing it with a clean one. A buzzing sensation is in the air. It has Phoenix, Madden, and our mother’s smiles stretching from ear to ear, but I can’t seem to produce half a smirk. I don’t know why. There’s just a twisted feeling in my stomach that has me more nauseated than excited.
I discover the reason for my unease a quarter of a mile away from my home. There’s been an accident on the T-intersection at the end of our street. My mom has called it a hazardous crossing many times, but since it isn’t a thoroughfare in a main town, nothing was done about it.
“Stop, stop, stop,” I demand on repeat when the mangled wreckage surrounded by first responders and a fire truck registers as familiar. It’s the Greggs’ family station wagon. “Oh no, please,” I beg to no one as I throw open the rear passenger door of my mom’s sedan.
Ignoring my mom’s plea for me to wait, I race toward the wreckage. It appears as if the station wagon was rammed by a large cattle truck. The driver’s side is completely crumbled in, and the passenger side has been peeled open by the jaws of life.
“Were there any casualties?” I ask the first officer I stumble upon. He’s wearing plain clothes, and an air of arrogance surrounds him. He must be higher up than his fellow officers.
It feels like the world crumbles beneath my feet when an officer manning the radio of a patrol vehicle shouts for the site to be placed into lockdown since two of the commuters were announced dead on arrival. “Forensics is being brought in.”
