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I didn’t. “He also lied to you.” I squeeze her shoulders and drop my hands. “How are you not pissed?”
“I’m grateful.” She’s being honest. Emotions are something she never learned to wipe away.
I study her, looking for the answer key to decode her brain. “You’re grateful he lied?”
“I’m grateful I didn’t have to sit alone at Dinner with Dad. He chose to be part of our lives when he didn’t have to. I don’t look at it like he lied. Mom was the one who wouldn’t let him tell us about... Mark.” Mark gets the anger I expected for David. “David stuck around anyway.”
“For you.Iwouldn’t nominate him Pseudo Dad of the Year.” I head to the Charger I rented at the airport.
She trails me. “David was there for you too.”
I cross my arms and lean against the door.
“He taught you to swim when you were six. He gave you his Mustang and spent his summer working on it with you. When you leaked that interview about Jax to Gretchen, he called your agent. And after those restroom pics of Jessica circulated, it took him a day, but he got them locked down.”
That last one I didn’t know. “David doesn’t even like Jess.”
“He didn’t want you to hurt her.”
And that’s exactly what I did. The memory of her sliding off that bathroom counter and walking out of my life digs in with jagged claws. “David’s right. All I ever do is mess things up.”
“You came.” She puts her arms around me and rests her head on my chest. “You’ll figure the rest out. Just don’t leave me again, okay? I can’t do this without you.”
“I won’t. I promise.”
Coley hugs me tight. “I know I can’t stop you from going, but when you get there, please don’t be a huge dick to David.”
That promise I don’t make.
chapter 63
Jess
The closer it gets to DL-Day (Desert Lizzie Day) the more I’m falling apart. Monday, T and I yelled at each other for the first time, and I did something I never thought I would. (No, not paying Allie’s older brother to buy me some Jack Daniels, although I did that too, and I had to pay extra for him to keep it secret.) I told T to stay away from me. I was mad, and didn’t mean it. But now it’s Friday, he still hasn’t talked to me, I can’t breathe, and my bottle’s empty.
~ from the diary of Elizabeth Sara Thorne (age 17)
Brunette hair hangs in loose waves down Mom’s back. She’s wearing her favorite holey jeans, a faded tie-dye T-shirt, and a blindsided expression that says she’s just as shocked to see me standing on her tiny porch as I am that I didn’t play ding-dong ditch.
Now that I’m here, barefoot in my pajamas, and she’s watching me frombehindher screen door, part of me wishes I had.
Looking over my shoulder, she stretches her focus to the navy SUV I parked at an angle too close to her mailbox.
She wouldn’t recognize it. Dad replaced their minivan the way he replaced everything else post-Mom—with something she’d never touched. “It’s Dad’s.” Maybe she hasn’t opened the door because she’s worried. “He’s not here.” I hold up his Swiss Army keychain. Never know when you might need a wire stripper. “I’m driving now.” One of many things he’s made her miss.
She stays inside. “You shouldn’t have—”
“I won’t tell him.” Not until we can figure out how to approach him together. “I won’t get you in trouble.”
Tiny wrinkles appear around her mouth. “Why would I—?
Smack. The screen door goes flying open. I jump back as Chloe, Mom’s golden retriever, comes flying out, tail wagging in a tornado of excitement. She sniffs my legs and feet until she seems satisfied she remembers me and licks my hand.
Mom finally steps out. Same as in her recent posts, her green eyes are clear.
Done with me, Chloe pads over to her and sprawls by her feet.
“You look good.” I don’t tell her I saw the sobriety coin on her page or that I’ve hung on every one of her life updates.
