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But he does deserve a real goodbye.
“Fine, I’ll do it,” I say. “Any more instructions?”
He grins and shakes his head, and I feel his intensely piercing gaze following me out the door and at least halfway up the wide wooden staircase to the first floor.
I have to pack fast and leave even faster. Or else I might just change my mind all over again like I’ve already done a bunch of times over the years.
* * *
My room in this mansion is the size of some people’s home, and almost bigger than my grandparents' whole trailer. That bothered me a lot in the beginning, and I’m almost embarrassed to admit that I grew very accustomed to it over the years. The furniture inside it is all gleaming dark honey-colored mahogany, including the four poster bed that dominates the space. It’s sickeningly grand, and so very comfortable and I’ll miss it. Maybe.
It’s unmade, just as I left it, the white cotton bedding rumpled and crumpled up and the sheet pulled off the mattress from when I turned and tossed all night last night, waiting for the big day of the rec center protest to finally come.
Now it’s come and gone and nothing went according to plan.
I’m still clutching the wad of cash Cross have me, and all of a sudden my mind’s a complete blank. What do I even pack? What am I even doing just bolting out of here? No one’s expecting me at the reservation, I don’t even know where I’ll stay when I get there.
I could wait until the morning. I could wait until next week and make my plans better. I could give everyone a chance to get used to me leaving.
But what good is that going to do?
The police might come looking for me in the morning, for one thing. And for another, I’ve been putting this off for too long. I’ve always been the it’s better to just rip off a band-aid, rather than peeling it off slowly, type of person. And that’s exactly what I’m doing now.
No over-explaining anything to anyone. Least of all Eagle. He’ll never get it. For one thing, it took him twelve years to realize I wanted him to kiss me. Or understand why I need to go back home for that matter. If he doesn’t get it by now, he never will.
Besides, I’ve been planning this trip since pretty much the day I got here.
I had a good life here. The best life. But it was never meant to be permanent. The last thing I remember thinking as my mom packed me into her run down Mustang to drive me here was that I’d come back.
Now I finally am.
I get the old, dark grey duffle bag from the back of my overflowing dark wood closet and start stuffing clothes into it willy-nilly. Half an hour later, the bag is bulging and I’m pretty sure I packed enough for several people.
I can barely lift the bag and consider dumping some of the stuff back out, but that’ll just prolong this agony of doubt that I’m doing the right thing, which is slowly, but surely growing worse and worse.
I’ve made up my mind and I’m going and that’s that.
But my throat is burning with the tears I almost never shed as I approach my little brother’s room, which is two doors down from my own.
The floorboards are creaking beneath my feet and I remember how scared he used to be of that what he was younger. I hope I’m not scaring him now.
I open the large door to his room slowly, almost expecting him to be up and looking at me wide-eyed from beneath the covers of his bed, but he’s sound asleep in his own four poster bed, which is so big it literally swallows him up. His hair is all ruffled, he’s only half covered like he’s been tossing and turning a lot, and he wakes up with a jerk as soon as I lay my hand on his shoulder.
“Lily,” he says and lets out a loud sigh as he reaches to turn on the lamp on the nightstand.
I have no idea what to say as we sit there, looking at each other eye to eye, mine black and hard, his dark blue and soft, but in the way the ocean is soft, yet dangerous at the same time.
“You’re going away,” he says and it’s not a question. I nod anyway.
“I’ll miss you,” he adds, speaking with a deep, pensive tone that suggests he’s five times older than he actually is. Maybe my brother does have what it takes to make it in our father’s world. Maybe I’ve been wrong to worry.
“I’ll miss you too,” I say and hug him, holding him as tight as I can. And I don’t know if I’ve ever said truer words.
Maybe I should just stay home for awhile longer. Maybe he needs more time to adjust to me leaving, maybe I do. Maybe Eagle does.
But before that line of thinking can get anywhere further, the door to his bedroom opens wide and Roxie walks in, followed by Cross.
She’s in her pajamas, a satin, button down, bright red affair with lacy trimming at the collar, sleeve-ends and down the sides of the legs. She’s barefoot and her long dark hair is a mess just like it always is in the mornings. Her eyes are unnaturally wide, as though she’s forgotten how to blink.
