Page 137 of Always: A Legacy Novel

It took a few minutes before she finally got a response.

Why?

That was it.

That was all he replied.

You haven’t been to school the last couple of days, so I thought maybe something was up. Friends can worry or ask things like that, right?

God, she felt stupid even saying that.

And damn, it hurt.

Friends can. Later, Catty.

The bell rang up above Catherine’s head, signaling classes were over for the day. She didn’t really hear it because she was too busy staring at Cross’s reply.

He didn’t answer, she realized. He didn’t say he was okay, or fine, or anything at all.

The drip of wetness that fell on the back of her hand made Catherine blink. More drops fell. Her tears. Great. She quickly wiped the tears away, but they just kept forming. The stupid things kept falling.

Catherine had already cleared out her locker. Her mother was probably waiting in the parking lot, and she just wanted to go home. She kept her face hidden by tilting her head down, although the hallways were mostly empty, anyway.

Sure enough, Catrina waited in her white Porsche, a car she only drove in the summer months. Catherine slipped inside the vehicle, dropped her bag to the floor, and buckled up. She kept her gaze stuck out the passenger window, determined to not cry again, and to not let her mother know she was upset.

Catrina Marcello had never done very well with tears. She didn’t have time for them. Catherine remembered time and time again as a child when her mother would repeat to her that tears helped nothing and no one.

Girls like her, Catrina would always say, do not cry.

Catherine didn’t want that spiel again.

“How was the last day?” her mother asked, pulling out of the school parking lot.

“Long.”

“I bet.” Catrina reached over and patted her daughter’s knee. “Next year is a new year. It can be a better year, Catherine.”

She kept her shoulder turned. “Yeah, Ma, I know.”

Catrina wasn’t the type of woman who filled silence with useless chatter, so the long drive home to Freeport was mostly quiet. It was only once Catherine was safely inside the Marcello home that she finally felt as though she could breathe again.

Dropping her messenger bag and kicking her shoes off, Catherine didn’t even bother to put them away.

Catrina’s number one pet peeve.

“Don’t you leave those things there, Catty. I am not your slave in this house.”

Catherine flinched at the nickname, and while her mother using it should have been a sign that she wasn’t angry, her instinct to fix, fix, fix kicked in hard. It wouldn’t leave her alone lately. “Yeah, okay. I’m sorry, Ma.”

She quickly grabbed her things and headed for the hallway closet.

“Catherine, wait,” her mother said.

“It’s my fault, Ma. Sorry, I’ll put it away.”

“Catherine, look at me.” Her mother grabbed her arm, and pulled hard, spinning Catherine around to face her. Catrina’s gaze skipped over Catherine quickly, her eyes softening, and her hold loosening. “Why are you crying, reginella? I was only kidding, I—”

Catherine shook her head, and pushed the hair that had fallen in her eye out of the way. “It’s okay, Ma. It’s just been a long day, and I’m really tired.”