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“I’m glad you’re okay. ”
She withdraws. “I talked to your brother again this morning. He asked how you were doing. ”
Mark knows how I’m doing. We’ve talked on the phone every day since I was released from the hospital. Mark must still be feeling awkward talking to Mom and looking for the easiest conversation to have. I busy myself with buttoning my cuffs. “What did you tell him?”
“That you’re stubborn like your father and wouldn’t tell me if you were in pain. ”
“I’m fine, Mom. ”
Mom fiddles with her pearls. “If we had listened to you that morning…If we had listened to you weeks before…If I had stood up to your father when Mark told us…none of this would have happened. ”
“It’s okay. ” I wish they had listened to me the morning Beth ran away. I wish they had listened to me weeks before when I told them I cared for her. I wish Mom had stood up to Dad and kept Mark in our family, but none of that happened. Even if it did, there’s no telling if it would have stopped the nightmare in motion.
Beth ran away because living in Groveton terrified her. She would have run regardless of what happened between us and because I love her, I would have followed.
Mom sighs and falls into social mode.
“Mark’s coming home for dinner on Sunday. I thought we could keep it simple. Just me, you, Mark…hopefully your father. ”
“Sounds great. ” Even though we both know Dad will go into town while Mark is home.
Dad still refuses to acknowledge Mark exists.
Nothing much has changed in my parents’ marriage. Mom’s choosing me and Mark, and Dad dropped the idea of running for mayor.
But he’s still home and they’re still going to counseling. As I said, who knows what the future might bring.
“Don’t forget the corsage. ” Mom slips out of the room.
I grab my car keys, the red rose wrist corsage, and head out to the garage. From the corner of my eye, I see Dad sitting behind his desk in his office. We haven’t talked since that day in my bedroom and I guess today won’t be the day either of us breaks our silence.
As I open the door to my Jeep, I hear the squeak of his chair and footsteps against the cement floor. Dad walks to his tool bench and sifts through the boxes of bolts and nuts. “Your mom told me you signed a National Letter of Intent to play for the University of Louisville. ”
My muscles tense in preparation for a fight.
The letter required a parent to sign with me and I asked Mom for help. “Yes, sir. ”
“She said that you’re planning on playing with the team for a year, then reassessing whether or not you’re ready to go pro. ”
Feeling naked without my cap, I rub the back of my head. I could go the easy route and give him a simple yes, but I’m done saying or doing whatever it takes to appease him. “At the end of my freshman year, I’ll decide if I’m good enough to go pro. I’m also going to major in creative writing. I love writing and baseball and I want to give them both a shot. ”
Dad slides a drawer full of nails closed and nods his head. “Did you get her a corsage? Girls like flowers. ”
I hold the clear box in my hand. “Yeah,” I say, and lift it up so he can see. “You taught me that. ”
Beth
SCOTT AND ALLISON’S BEDROOM is too gaudy for my taste. The curtains are blue silk and frilly things like flowers and paintings of flowers decorate every available space. The bed is beyond massive. Scott and Allison don’t have to go to separate rooms if they fight; they can roll over a couple times and be in different zip codes.
I sit on the overly cushioned chair in front of Allison’s vanity and watch as she pins the hair onto my head. I hate the updo, but I can’t complain. An hour ago, she dyed six stripes of temporary black color in my hair. Now my hair is an inch and a half of golden-blond at the roots, black flows over my shoulders, and black stripes even it out. “Scott is going to be pissed. ”
“Yes,” she says. “He is, but I’ll deal with that. ”
My lips curve and when Allison catches it in the mirror she smiles too. We’ve had an uneasy truce since I came home from the hospital and sometimes I’m scared I’m going to say the wrong thing and send her over the edge. “Why are you being nice to me?”
Allison lifts the curling iron again and shoots me a glare when I fidget. She twists a few strands that refuse to be a part of her plan.
“Because Scott loves you. ”
