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“Theresa, we should really leave,” Jane said.
My mother was tugging me, and Jane was pushing me out the door. I wanted to get to Grant, to defend him against my father. Why was he so angry and asking him if he’d touched me? I felt panic rising in my chest as my mother, and my best friend pushed me toward the car.
“Stop yelling at him!” I exclaimed. “Mom, what’s going on?”
“We need to get Jane home,” she said.
I wrenched away from them and stuck my finger in my mother’s face.
“Tell me right now why Daddy’s yelling at Grant,” I said.
My mother sighed as the front door opened. I whipped around and heard my father’s boisterous voice as Grant stormed out of the house. My father was pointing and yelling, his face red with anger. Grant’s eyes raised to mine, filled with confusion and questions. I reached out toward him, but he stumbled away from me, trying to get far away quickly.
Tears welled in my eyes as I watched him walk off, and I heard something land in the yard. My father, with anger in his eyes and a hissing sound in his voice, was tossing Grant’s things onto the front lawn.
“Daddy! What are you doing?” I asked.
“Come on, sweetheart. Jane needs to get home,” my mother said.
“Not until someone answers me!”
“Theresa, we don’t owe you any explanation. We’re your parents. Now get in the car,” my mother said.
“No.”
“Get in,” she said, her voice taking on a frustrated tone.
“Come on, Theresa. Get in,” Jane practically begged, obviously wanting to get far away from whatever the hell was happening.
“You will do as your mother asks,” my father commanded.
I whipped around and saw him standing behind me. I looked beyond him and saw Grant picking up his things from the lawn. He was shoving them into a trash bag before he slung it over his shoulder. His eyes rose to mine, and I could see the fear and uncertainty on his face. He stood tall and rolled his shoulders back, his eyes locking with mine one last time.
Then he turned on his heels and walked down the road carrying his only possessions with him.
“I hate you,” I said, seething.
“I don’t know what that boy did to you, but you will not speak to your mother, and I like this,” my father said.
“He didn’t do anything to me!” I exclaimed.
“Get in the car!” my father roared.
“No!”
Tears were pouring down my cheeks as I ran away from my parents. I wanted to run after Grant, but I knew that would simply make them angrier. I ran up the opposite end of the road, hoping to wrap around and catch Grant as he was leaving the neighborhood. I didn’t know where he was going or why any of this had happened, but I wanted to catch him.
I didn’t know what in the hell my father was talking about.
I huffed and puffed as I made my way around the neighborhood. Tears were streaming down my neck as my eyes darted around for him. I walked through the woods, wondering if maybe he took a shortcut. I knew that he and my brother had some sort of treehouse or abandoned barn in the woods they would always go to when things became too much. Maybe he was there, biding his time until my parents would let him come back.
They wouldn’t really kick him out.
Not after what his own parents had done to him.
But the longer I walked, the more my heart sank to my toes. When I made my way back home, my mother rushed out to get me. My father was glaring at me and tears were still falling from my eyes.
I didn’t care what they thought any longer.
