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I’ll dig my keys out of my front pocket after I get outside. Quieter that way. I take a step, on tippy toes, toward the cabin’s door.
Shit.
Shit.
Shit.
My phone.
I may be able to leave the panties, but I can’t leave the phone.
Has to be on the bed. Right? Under Josh?
I tiptoe back toward the bunk, scanning around Josh’s prone body. Looking for my phone’s occasional blinking light to give its location away. No clue what that light means or why it blinks sometimes, but maybe it’ll prove useful in finding my phone tonight. It’s still night, right? Hell, I don’t know. For all I know, it could be early morning. It’s definitely still dark outside.
Josh’s chest is moving up and down rhythmically, with deep breaths. He shifts. I pause. I still, completely, even holding my breath while he rolls over on his side, then doesn’t move again. Bracing myself against the top bunk so that I won’t fall, I lean over him, looking for my phone.
Nothing.
Now what? I can’t leave it. No. Definitely can’t do that. I put my hand on the bedspread, feeling around on it. Running my fingertips dangerously close to Josh. I feel under his shirt, under his pants, near his hip, his abdomen.
Something hard. Unyielding. Rectangular. Tucked into the folds of the bedspread. I free my phone, make a hasty one-eighty, shoving it in the other back pocket, and begin my tiptoe back to the door. I feel dumb leaving like this. It’s not because of the sex, I tell myself. It’s because of the secrets.
Yeah, secrets I have no business keeping.Whatever. Some things are best left in the past. I’m just about at the door. This close to freedom. So close I can practically taste the salt air of the docks on my tongue.
“So when were you going to tell me about the baby?”
Josh. He’s awake—
—and—
God. No. I can’t deal with that.
A sound escapes me, ripped from my lungs, throat, and heart. It’s a half-sob, half-gasp. Panic sets in. My stomach wrenches. I think I’m going to vomit. I lurch toward the door, taking those last two steps like some freakish Frankenstein creature that’s just learned to walk. Jerking it open, I dart out and pull it shut behind me clumsily, with a slam. The same second I realize that I’m barefooted is the second I slide on the condensation and sea mist that’s accumulated on the boat’s deck, grab a post to keep from falling and dig the keys out of my pocket.
It’s still dark out. The sliver of a moon added to the lights that are buzzing with insects cast a surreal glow, but it’s enough light to see my car. Running across the deck, I leap for the dock, and land on my feet. That doesn’t last long. Now I’m sliding, and my knees catch my fall.
He knows. He knows.
Those words reverberate in my head. How long has he known? What does he know? Behind me I hear the cabin door opening and know he’s following me. I can’t turn around to look. Not sure what I’d be able to see anyway. Tears are clouding my vision. I fumble with the door handle, get it open, and climb in.
My one hand pulls the door shut while the other’s jamming the key into the ignition and starting the car.
20
SCAPEGOATS AND BLUE JEANS
CASSIE
“Hey.” Kara’s lying on the couch.
“Hey, back.” I drop my bag on the floor by the front door. I’ll put it away later. It’s New Year’s Eve. I remained in Boar Creek for a few days after that thing with Josh, but I stayed locked in my room, feigning an illness. And right after I woke up on New Year’s Eve morning, I packed up my car, kissed my mother’s cheek, hugged my dad, and got the hell out of there.
I’m still a bundle of nerves and confusion. I don’t know how he found out I was pregnant with the baby. I don’t know what all he knows, but I’m quite sure about one thing. I have zero interest in discussing it with him. Zilch. Nada.
“You’re home earlier than I thought you’d be.” Kara puts down the book she’s reading. “Get sick of your mom already?”
“Ha, funny.” I think for a brief moment whether I want to discuss Josh with her. If I want to discuss any of it with her. I do want to, but I can’t deal with more emotional shit right now. “Yeah, pretty much sick of my mother.” Poor Mom. She’s the scapegoat today. I pause, internally.Really? Did I just saypoorMom? I almost shake my head at myself for that one.
