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By the time we rolled into our driveway, the sun was peeking up over the trees behind out house, and our five a.m. sprinklers were up and at ’em. Dad pulled his car as close to the garage as he could and cut the engine. Some country song was playing on the radio, and just as the guy was about to belt out the line about his cheating wife, the song was gone.
Kind of ironic, if you ask me.
And there it was. The big silence that I’d been dreading since we left the hospital. This silence was different from the one that had followed us back from Baton Rouge. This silence was full of heavy, dark things that would hurt, and as angry as I was with him, I just couldn’t do it. At least not right now.
Maybe it was because I needed to believe that my father wasn’t about to rip our family apart, at least for a little while longer. Or maybe it was because I was just too tired.
He cleared his throat, so I knew that I had maybe two seconds.
“I’m not doing this with you right now,” I said, opening the door and practically throwing myself out of the car. Like literally. If not for my dress catching on the edge of the door panel, I would have fallen on my butt. As it was, the seam split, but I didn’t care. I just wanted to get away from him.
“Get some sleep, Everly, and we’ll talk after I get back from service.”
The tears were already starting, so I didn’t look back. I ran across the wet grass and up the steps of the porch and didn’t stop until I fell into bed. Until I grabbed my pillow close and let everything out. And there was a lot to get out.
I cried for Trevor, because I knew he was freaking out. I cried for the fear and pain I’d seen in his parents’ eyes. I cried for my mom and for Isaac, because they had no idea what was coming their way. I even cried for my dad, because no matter how much I thought I hated him, I didn’t. If I hated him, I wouldn’t hurt so much.
But most of all, I cried for myself, because…well, just because. I had a year of stuff inside me, and it seemed like the only way to let it out was to soak my pillow with tears. That was hours ago, and my eyes were still puffy. Not even slices of cucumber had been able to make them look better.
I was in my bedroom, fresh out of the shower, and had just dragged on some clothes. My cell buzzed for, like, the twentieth time in the last half an hour. Hales had sent a ton of text messages and left me three voice mails. She was threatening to come over unless I told her what the hell was going on. She knew about Trevor, of course. They’d had to take a cab from the cottage in Springfield all the way to Baton Rouge to grab Link’s truck. But she also knew that something big was up, and I loved her for caring enough to threaten me. Even if there was no way she could take me down.
Hales: I will beat the crap out of you unless you spill.
Me: I’d like to see you try. Also I’m fine.
Hales: Okay I won’t beat you up, but call me asap. I’m worried.
I heard a car door slam, and my cell slipped from my fingers. I scooped it up and typed a quick reply.
Me: will do. ttyl
Me: have you heard from Trevor?
Hales: Link’s here and no. Call me when you can.
I heard our front door close and then my dad’s voice calling for me. This is it, I thought. My stomach was a mess, and I felt like crap and looked even worse. I pulled my hair up into a tangled ponytail, wiped my palms along the top of my legs, and headed for the stairs.
By the time I got to the bottom, all the anger that I’d bottled up this last year, well, that anger was in me. It was like a living thing, pulsing hard and fast, and I was out of breath by the time I found him.
He was waiting for me in the kitchen, standing just in front of the sink where the sun came in. Figures. He was about to tear my world apart, and yet here he was, bathed in sunlight, like a god or something.
“Do you want a cup of tea?”
“Really? We’re going to act like everything is okay? You’re going to be that guy?”
He looked shocked, and I guess I shouldn’t have been surprised. I’d hardly conversed with him this last year, and when I did, I’d always been polite. Detached but polite. I’m sure he put it all down to teenage female hormones or some other kind of crap, but he wasn’t used to this side of me.
God, it was cold. So, so cold. I shivered and shoved my hands into the front pockets of my jeans, wishing I’d grabbed a sweater instead of the thin T-shirt I had on.
Dad stirred his cup but didn?
?t drink, and I thought that maybe he just needed something to keep his hands busy. I had my pockets; he had his cup.
He sighed, this sort of, I don’t know, denial kind of sigh, if you can picture what that would sound like, and then he actually looked at me.
“Does your mother know you went to Baton Rouge with Trevor Lewis?”
For a moment I didn’t answer, because I was too pissed off that he wanted to talk about me instead of what he’d done. I guess he wanted to ease into the whole thing. Heck, I only had one lie to hide behind. He had hundreds, maybe thousands.
