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I shrugged. “I mean, I don't know. Dad’s well… not a good guy. And neither one of us have heard from him since the other night. Since the paramedics took him to the hospital. Cecilia hasn’t been to visit him. No one’s called us to update his condition. I think he’s on a warpath now. And it’s a matter of riding it out.”
“How do you ride something like this out, though?”
“I don’t know. But I guess we’ll figure it out.”
“Do you have a plan for if he does sell the house?”
I sighed. “You mean ‘when’? Because I’m betting money on the fact that he’ll go through with it.”
She rolled her eyes. “Whatever word you want to use, Clint. Just answer my question.”
“Sorry. Uh, I’m trying to come up with some plans. Poking around at my trust fund. Trying to get money deposited into my account. Things like that.”
“What about selling some of the stuff in the house?”
“I don't know what the legal ramifications would be from something like that. But it’s crossed my mind.”
“Well, you might not be able to sell stuff he’s purchased and can prove he purchased. But you and Cecilia can sell things he’s given to you or gifted to you. Because in the eyes of the law, those things are technically your possessions.”
I paused. “How do you know that?”
She shrugged. “You’re not the only one who’s contemplated running away more than once.”
“Rae, I’m so sor—”
She held up her hand. “Selling things like silverware and paintings might not be a good idea. But the furniture in your room? Your clothes? Jewelry or wallets or watches? Or any of Cecilia’s clothes? You can sell those things and be just fine. Just in case you need that information.”
I nodded slowly. “I appreciate it.”
“Also, your father’s a fucking jerk-off.”
Like father like son, I guess. “Yep. He really is.”
“Are you coming back to school?”
“I honestly don’t know. Right now, I can’t leave Cecilia. Not alone with my father, anyway. And something tells me he’s waiting for that moment.”
“Waiting for you to leave your stepmother here alone.”
“Yeah. I mean, I don’t know. It sounds paranoid. But it just doesn’t feel right.”
She drew in a deep breath. “Then you do what’s best for your family and I’ll talk to your teachers.”
“Rae, you don’t have t—”
She held up her hand again. “Will you shut up and just let people help? You don’t have to be fucking me in order for me to want to help.”
Her statement tore my heart out. “Thank you, Rae.”
“No problem.”
But the more we talked, the icier her voice became. Her face etched itself into stone and her statements grew colder. Which told me we had many, many problems.
Despite her choice of words.
12
Raelynn
