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“You heard me?” I dish out a bit of hood girl to my tone, but his eyes twinkle.
“Yeah. Take it. Happy birthday, Willow.”
“Since my birthday was lousy, I am taking it.” I remove it from his hands, letting a genuine smile form on my face.
“Thanks,” Jamie mumbles awkwardly.
“That’s my line. So, thank you.” I bump shoulders with him and open the box. A charm bracelet is nestled in the center. My thumb glides over the silver shoe and number one ornament.
I choke up, my voice a torrent of emotion. “Awe, you . . . you shouldn’t have.”
He places his hands over mine. “Can’t take it back. I had it made for you, Willow. I’m sorry your mom’s not able to celebrate your eighteenth birthday with you.”
Jamie catches the inundation of tears gliding the length of my cheeks.
“Ca—” I plunge the wrong name back down my throat. Dammit, I’m in the presence of an amazing, handsome guy while wishing I were in the company of someone else. His brother no less. “Thanks . . . um, I guess if we’re still working on the project together, now’s as good a time as any to start.”
* * *
On Thursday night, I climb into the window of my mom’s room. I haven’t visited all week, creating the design for the physics project with Jamie.
I reach into my backpack and pull out an old knit blanket. On the furthest side of the room, I curl into a ball on the seat. If any nurse comes in, I may have a chance to roll underneath the hospital bed.
“Hey, Mom.” My voice distorts.
“Remember when Dad . . .” I massage the gravel in my throat. Dad had conveniently called Hillary while we were finishing up our chicken and waffles. I’d forgiven her, yet I still lack the courage to speak to him.
Clearing my throat, I start over. “Remember Dad started working security overnight. Hillary rented a movie we thought included a hot French foreign exchange student.” I snort. Much like Thad may have been in another lifetime, a hundred and twenty years ago. “It turned out to be a horror flick, but we were so sucked into the storyline. At the crack of dawn, Dad came home to three chicks in his bed.”
The ventilator swoosh drowns out my murmuring. “Is it bad that I miss him?”
I glance at my helpless momma and instantly decide Dad shouldn’t be forgiven.
The sound of heavy grunting commands my attention. Momma’s neighbor talks in her sleep. But this labored breathing sounds different.
“Right there, oh shit . . . take this dick right . . .”
My head cocks. The neighbor to the right of my mom is an eighty-something paraplegic.
“I’ll be back, Mom,” I murmur low, grabbing my backpack. Silently, I unzip it and let my fingertips brush past a paperback and a change of clothes. As I walk out of my mom’s room, the handle of the gun feels like power in my palm.
