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I try to imagine what he would say to me. What he would do. Dad loved me. That I know without a doubt, but would he have loved me enough to walk away from the club because his club hurt me? Or would he have stubbornly held on to the club’s ways and rules?
“I brought it for you,” Mom says. “I know you wear this jacket when you’re feeling down.”
“Did Dad ever talk to you about the club?” I ask. “About what he did for them?”
“Your dad was the accountant for the security company.” She leaves out he was also the accountant for the club.
“Yeah, but he traveled, too. Why would an accountant need to travel? What was he doing?” I’m hunting, wondering if what Justin said was true. If my father really was the peace negotiator between the clubs.
M
om fidgets with the sleeve of her sweater, then picks lint off and drops it to the floor. “Your father didn’t talk about specifics. Just that he had to go.”
“And you didn’t ask what he was doing? Where he was going?”
“Wasn’t my place.”
Of course it wasn’t. That’s not how Mom thinks.
Even though it’s a warm day, I slip on the jacket, and when my hands run down the sides, I pause. Something’s in the pocket and I’m not the type of girl who puts things there.
“Cyrus wants you, me and Brandon to stay here,” Mom continues. “At least until they have this mess with the Riot straightened out.”
Straightened out. Like the two clubs haven’t been at war for over eighteen years. I reach into my pocket and pull out a piece of paper. It has frayed edges, like it was torn out of a notebook. My forehead furrows. My English notebook sits on the desk along with my other schoolbooks. I flip the paper in my hand and the doodle of the flower is mine. It’s what I do in my notebooks when I’m bored in class.
“I think we should listen,” Mom continues. “Cyrus made a compelling argument. He doesn’t mind us staying for a long time. I think he’s lonely with Olivia being gone. It’s like we’re doing him a favor if we stay. We can take care of him and he’ll take care of us.”
A lot like the relationship Mom had with Dad, minus the love they shared and the way he kissed her after he walked in the house. Security. Dad offered security and now Cyrus is, too.
Tuning Mom out, I unfold the piece of paper. The handwriting, I don’t recognize. The lines from the poem, I do. It was the assignment I missed in English class. I picked it up after class, thinking I’d be able to have it completed by Monday. Best laid plans...
Two roads diverged in a yellow wood, And sorry I could not travel both.
I like this poem. You probably have a lot of makeup work to do. Sorry about that. Forgot how high school sucks. Also sorry about your knee. Never what we wanted. We just want peace. Remember which path you need to travel. We’ll be in touch soon.
My heart beats so loudly Mom has to hear it, but if she does, she doesn’t acknowledge it. “They feel terrible about what’s happened and they want to keep you safe.”
My hands shake and I ball the paper in my fist, then shove it back into my pocket. “When did you bring my stuff over? My notebook? My jacket?”
“The day you were found. Why?”
We’re not safe here. We’re not safe anywhere. The Riot—they’re everywhere.
CHEVY
ELI’S TRUCK WHEEZES as I ease into the Shamrock’s parking lot and I half expect it to let out a backfire shot when I cut the engine, but instead it heaves into silence. Two motorcycles rumble in behind me and park in open spots. It’s Pigpen and Dust. They’re part of the volunteers tailing me and Violet until the board feels we’re safe.
Safe.
Not sure what that means anymore.
Shamrock’s neon street sign is so bright that the stars can’t be seen in the dark night. It’s only seven, but feels like midnight.
“I could have driven myself.” Mom glances over at her side mirror, no doubt checking out Pigpen watching us.
“You’re the one who said it was time to go back to normal. Me driving you on Friday and Saturday nights is the norm.”
Mom opens her purse and shifts the contents from one side to the other. “If it was a normal Friday night, you would have been at school all week. You’d be at the football game and wouldn’t have been able to drive me in. If it was a normal Friday night, you’d be sleeping in your bed at home and not at Cyrus’s and two members of the Terror wouldn’t be here. If it was a normal Friday night, I wouldn’t spend most of my shift tonight wondering if you’re going to show to pick me up or if I’ll walk out of here to find out someone took you again.”
