Page 33 of After We Fall

While moving a load of clothes to the luggage, Finley drops a pink T-shirt. She snags it off the floor and jabs it at her friend. “What do you know, Bianca?”

Bianca snarls in disgust and leans against the wall, arms crossed.

Finley makes fast work of clearing out her sparse closet, hurling shoes and wadding up her few hanging items.

The fearsome reality of what she’s about to do hangs heavy. “Finley, has it ever occurred to you that if you let go of Marcus, you might discover something better on the other side?”

She mashes the top of her luggage down, items spilling out. Furiously, she shoves the contents back, zipping behind each effort to close her life inside the bag.

I lean forward, straining to gentle my pleading voice. “What if what’s next is beautiful?”

“I don’t know anything about you, Penelope.” She slings the strap of the duffel over her shoulder and glares at me. “I don’t know who didn’t choose you. But you don’t need to project your life on me. Find your own beautiful. Marcus wants me.”

I press a fist into my belly. It takes five full seconds to regain my breath after her devastating blow.

She moves past me, her bag shoving me aside.

“Finley—”

“Why are you here, Penelope?” She angles her body back toward me, spewing her acerbic words. “In the middle of nowhere ranchland, hanging out with us? You have no friends. No family. At least I have Marcus. Which is more than I can say for you.”

The sting from her first blow numbed me from the full uppercut of the second one.

She huffs and storms to the front of the house.

The girls part for me to squeeze through and follow. Luke stands against the hallway wall, arms crossed, his eyes boring into mine as I pass. He keeps his distance, but he also keeps a careful watch on the chaos. Again, I hear everyone’s footsteps traipsing after me.

Finley pulls the front door open and stomps across the white wooden porch planks.

“He cheated on you.” Tanya’s shaking voice emerges from behind me. “He abused you. Do you get that? He hit you.”

As Finley’s foot hits the first step off the porch, I grab her hand. “Please don’t leave. We’ve been working through your aptitude tests. You are incredibly talented. You have support here. Tanya, Bianca, me, Meredith, and Harlan. We’re all here for you.” I reach my unsteady hand to rub the scar at my eyebrow. “I’m worried you’re making a mistake.”

“Good news, Penny Lady.” Her seething words drip with defiance. “I’m one less thing you need to worry about.”

The motion lights on the driveway illuminate as she half drags, half carries her duffel to the end of the gravel road. Her overpowering shadow follows in her wake, dwindling smaller and smaller as she reaches the street, where a car awaits her.

My breathing becomes labored as she swings open the back door and hurls her bag inside. She climbs in, pushing it further, plops herself on the seat, and slams the door.

Never looking back.

I release a quiet gasp as the car peels away, tires announcing the abrupt getaway.

“She was safe,” I say to no one as I amble down the stairs. “She was safe here.”

Murmurs sound from the porch behind me, but I don’t look back. I can’t look back. My eyes are glued to the road. I shake my head in small movements, a desperate attempt to make sense of the drama.

“Penelope?” Luke’s deep voice sounds from behind me. “I sent the girls inside. You should come too. It’s getting cold out here.”

Clutching my chest, I pace. Five steps to the right. Five return steps to my original spot. “How could she . . . how could she leave?” Five steps to the right. Five steps to return. “I . . . would never have left here if I had been given the opportunity to have the Holcombes. Friends.” Five steps again. Five back. “Almost a . . . family. A chance to . . . to feel safe. To maybe even feel loved.” Unable to claw out of my confusion, I cease moving and catch Luke’s concerned gaze. “I would have stayed and never left.”

With one stride, he’s in my space. He places a hand on my arm and with a gentle voice asks, “When was the last time you felt safe?”

I cock my head and stare in Luke’s direction. It’s not a difficult question. The answer is immediate. “Twelve. Before my mom’s aneurysm. Before she died.”

“Twelve.” His thick, gruff voice should mean something to me in this moment, but it won’t penetrate my anguish. He runs his hand down my forearm and grasps my hand. “You said earlier you were in foster care. Where was the rest of your family?”

Shifting my stance, I face the driveway. Maybe Finley will come back.