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It’s like watching a strange game of chicken as she marches toward him and he barrels toward her. The moment they connect, my mom flattens her hands on either side of his chest and shoves, sending him staggering several steps backward.
“I hate you so much! I hate you!” My mom’s rage jets to red hot, and before my grandfather can gather his balance she’s shoving him again. My grandmother comes rushing to him as he stumbles into the front of his SUV.
“You’re being insane, Elena. Stop it! Stop it right now!” My grandmother’s effort to enact peace through discipline only seems to fuel my mother more, and it draws her anger toward both of them.
“You’ve ruined my life! Ruined it! I let you, and I hate myself for it. I hate myself every day, but now . . . I hate myself even more. How could you? He was going to get out!” Her voice is hoarse from screaming, but it doesn’t deter her from leveling morehate you’sat her parents.
My phone buzzes in my lap.
BROOKY:Are you ok?
I stare at her message for a few long breaths while I’m serenaded by the sound of my mom standing up for herself. God, I wish she had this break years ago, before I had to spend countless summers and holidays with those two. But she’s having it now, and beggars can’t be choosers.
ME:I think maybe I’m great.
I laugh at that thought, a bit like a lunatic, then twist to rest my arm on the seatback and prop my chin on my forearm. There’s a lot of pointing and screaming, and at least twice my grandmother pretends she’s overwhelmed with emotion and needs to sit down. The bell rings somewhere in the midst of the epic smackdown, and soon the entire campus population is clustered around the main building to get a glimpse of my dysfunctional family meltdown.
My mom shouts something about a tattoo, which sends my grandfather over the edge, and he storms toward his office. My head swivels to follow his path as he passes my window before standing in the main doorway, his back holding open one of the heavy glass doors. The board members, who were probably here for a regular, boring old meeting, all back away and eventually head to their own vehicles. I step out as my mom stomps toward my grandfather, still shouting about how it’shis turn to listen for oncewhile my grandmother rushes behind her.
I shut the door and debate whether or not I should follow them inside, but when I spot Brooklyn lingering off to the side, one of the few students who still has not gone to class, I decide my mom has this handled. It’s her war to wage anyhow.
To save myself from getting sucked in, I toss my bag over the fence then lift myself over to join Brooklyn. She slips her hands under my arms and around my sides, pressing her chin to my chest to look up at me. I kiss her nose.
“I’m not even going to begin to understand what that was,” she says.
I glance to my left toward the building. I swear, if I hold my breath I can hear my mom’s voice booming from inside.
“I think that was the culmination of living a lie,” I say. My mind recalls the way my parents looked at one another less than an hour ago. Those longing looks were kept so distant for my entire life. I saw them in fragments, whenever my mom would slip, or my dad would open up. They love each other. They always have.
“I have news,” Brooklyn says.
I return my attention to her, brushing her hair to the side and cupping her face. A faint smile paints her lips, and I brace myself.
“My dad sent a new letter. I have a copy for you. He’s supporting your dad’s parole.”
My chest warms with her news. Somehow this day got even better. I hold her eyes for several seconds, diving into the deep brown orbs and golden-touched lashes. I let my forehead rest on hers and give in to the massive wave of hope sweeping me toward the bright side.
Chapter22
Brooklyn
The Welles rumor mill is a well-oiled machine. By lunch the next day, everyone knows who Cameron’s grandparents are and that his father is in prison. The Welles Daily even tries to get comments from Cam, me, and the headmaster on the controversy that played out in the school parking lot.
None of us say a word, though. Well, except Cameron. His big epiphany quote flanks the top of the school paper.
“Some people really suck. Others, not so much.”
That mantra is quick to catch on. Morgan really likes it, her obsession to the point that she’s currently forcing Cameron to look at T-shirt designs on her phone app.
“I like it in orange. And that font really pops,” she says.
Cameron runs his palm over his cheek and smiles through his teeth.
“I’m probably not the one to ask about popping fonts and all that,” he says.
My phone buzzes for the fifth time with a call from the same unknown number. I send it to voicemail, like I’ve done every time, and wait to see if the caller leaves me a message. A minute passes with no notification. I have my suspicions on who is trying to get in touch with me, but I don’t want to assume the worst.
“Everything all right?” Cameron squeezes me at his side, and I shake off the funk and smile at him.
