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“Oh shit, what time is it?”
I felt around in my back pocket for my phone. The face was cracked, a casualty of my drunken exploits. The time read 5:17 in the morning.
I held my aching head in my hands. “Oh God, my parents are going to be up soon. They’re going to find out I didn’t come home. I’ll be fucked. I can’t go home like this.” I rose shakily to my feet. “I don’t know what to do. What am I going to do?”
Isaac got to his feet and tilted his head back and forth to get a crick out of his neck. His white T-shirt was streaked with mud, his jeans damp from hip to ankle.
Quickly, I bent to grab his jacket and handed it back to him.
“Here,” I said. “You look cold. “
He took the jacket from me and wrapped it around my shoulders. He held it shut in front, pulling me gently toward him. His gaze down at me held no judgment. He wasn’t disgusted and repulsed by my story.
“Isaac,” I whispered, swallowing hard.
“Don’t,” he said, and pulled me into his embrace. His arms wrapped around my back and held me tight. “Everything’s going to be okay.”
I shook my head against his chest. “No, it’s not. It hasn’t been okay for a really long time.”
“Maybe last night was a start.” He pulled back to meet my eyes, his voice lowering. “Where is he now?”
“College. Living his life. You can’t tell anyone. It’s too late.” I said, panic rising. I pushed away from him. “I have to get home. I have to… God, they’re going to know I slept outside.” I flapped my hands down at my muddy clothes. “I can’t hide this.”
“I can take you to the Fords. Marty will cover for us.”
“No. Not him. I can’t tell him. I wouldn’t be able to look at him in the eye for the rest of the play.”
Isaac didn’t debate me on that though I could tell he wanted to. “How about Angie? Does she know?”
I shook my head miserably. “No. And I hate that I keep doing this to her. Having her cover for me. I don’t want to get her in trouble. I don’t want to…”
Tell her.
“She’s your friend. Willow…” He shook his head, raking his fingers through his hair. “What about your parents? Forget last night. Forget the play. They don’t know what happened? Don’t you think you should tell them?”
“No,” I said, my voice hard. “I told you. And I’ll…I’ll tell Angie. But that’s it. No one else needs to know.”
Isaac started to say something more, but I shook my head. “It’s my choice. Mine. And I’m not ready. And even if I were, it’s too late.”
“You keep saying that.”
I stiffened. “Because it’s true.”
“Maybe not,” he said quietly. “Martin told me once that the idea of too late kills hope.”
“They won’t believe me,” I said. “I waited too long and he’s got that photo…” I shook my head harder. “No. I have to get to Angie’s place, get cleaned up, and try not to lose the play.”
I pulled up my phone and called Angie.
“Hello?” she said groggily.
“Ange, it’s me.”
“Willow? What time is it?”
I closed my eyes. “I need you.”
The McKenzies lived in a modest-size house on the southern edge of Harmony. Angie met us at the back door, wearing baggy pajama pants and a T-shirt that read, I solemnly swear that I am up to no good. Her eyes widened as she took in my stained and muddy clothes, then she flew at me, arms wide.
