Only a Breath Apart Page 8

“The counselor said you might not understand,” Mom says calmly, so calmly that I want to throw something at her. “And that you would be upset for a while. But he also said that we can’t let your negativity hurt the progress your father and I are making.”

  The world sways. I’m dizzy with rage, and that terrifies me. How can I be filled with rage? Does that mean I’m my father? “You told your counselor he hits you?” Mom and Dad aren’t known for public honesty. In fact, they’ve sworn me to secrecy.

  “He hit me, not hits. Only five times in twenty-five years. And, yes, our counselor knows.”

  “What crackpot of a therapist thinks you staying with him is a good idea?”

  “Forgiveness is freeing,” Mom says. “It’s so much better than how you’ve been behaving. You need to let this all go and be happy again.”

  Happy? I’m drowning, and I’ve told her what she needs to do to help me survive, but instead of reaching into the water, grabbing me and pulling me to the surface, she’s wringing her hands and watching me flounder from the dry dock.

  I can’t do this anymore. I stand and the china cup rattles with the movement. “I’m going to bed.”

  “Scarlett,” Mom calls as I walk away, but I ignore her. “Please don’t leave things like this between us.”

  She won’t sleep tonight. She doesn’t like it when anyone is mad at her, and she’ll twist and bend herself in order to appease. I should care and should make her feel better, but I can’t. Not tonight.

  My entire life, my mom and I saw eye to eye. A united front standing in the middle of a hurricane, but we aren’t the duo I thought we were.

  As I round the corner for the staircase, I catch my father sitting in his favorite chair in the living room. The TV isn’t on, his computer isn’t in his lap, and his phone is on the end table.

  He’s sitting there, perched on the edge, his hands clasped between his legs as he leans forward as if he’s the one who has the right to be upset. He lifts his head and looks at me.

  Terror flashes through me and my hand drops to my stomach as it roils. He wasn’t in his study. He was here, in the living room. Did he hear me tell Mom how I went to Glory’s? That I broke his precious rules and neglected to tell him where I was at every second of the day? That I want him to leave?

  Run.

  It’s a small voice inside me. A demanding voice. The voice that has kept me safe all these years, but there’s a crazy feeling within me that stops me from sprinting up the stairs. If he’s going to be angry with me, then I want him to be angry with me for a good reason. I want him to know how much I despise him. I raise my chin and glare. “I will never forgive you.”

  He shuts his eyes as if he’s crushed, and I should leave, but I don’t. There’s a part of me that wants to see him bleed like Mom did several weeks ago. I want him to beg for my forgiveness. I want to see him on his knees, but instead he merely lowers his head into his hands.

  “Do you know what it’s like for me to love?” Dad says through his fingers in this wrenching tone, the sound of a wounded animal on the verge of death. I grab the bannister, because while that voice inside me screams to run, his brokenness is so abnormal that I’m drawn to stay.

  “After losing my sister, I didn’t think I could love again.” Dad raises his head and there are tears in his eyes. Tears, and that causes my mouth to turn down. Mom had said that Dad has cried, but I’ve never seen it. Never in all my years.

  “I see so much of your aunt Megan in you. She was also beautiful and smart and had this smile, just like yours, that could light up any room.” Dad pauses, then looks straight at me and the pure agony on his face makes it hard to glance away. “I was made fun of a lot when I was in school, did you know that?”

  I shake my head. I’ve never heard any of this before. He doesn’t talk a lot about Megan, he’s never told me that I was like her, and he’s never let on that his life as a teen before her disappearance was anything short of perfection.

  He shrugs his shoulders as if what he said wasn’t a big deal, but it is—to me. “I was an awkward child and teen. I bloomed late in life. My feet grew faster than the rest of me, and I had no coordination. It didn’t help that I thought quoting lines from Star Trek would impress girls.”

  It’s as if he’s talking about somebody else. Not him—not the man this community loves.

  “I didn’t have many friends,” he continues, “but it never mattered because I had Megan. She stuck up for me, was my best friend and gave me confidence when I didn’t have any.”

  A tear rolls down Dad’s cheek and my throat constricts as I try to fight off a wave of sadness.

  “After Megan went missing, I felt like I died. I didn’t just lose my sister—I lost my best and only friend. For weeks, for months, I went out looking for her. I saw her on every street corner and behind every tree, and every time I got close and realized it wasn’t her, it was like losing her all over again. I would lay in bed and wonder what happened to her—if she was alive, if she was scared, if she was hurt or if she had died and if she died in pain—”

  Dad chokes, and I can’t find the ability to breathe.

  “I didn’t think I could love again,” he says between broken breaths. “I didn’t want to love anyone because losing Megan hurt too much, but I did learn to love again. I love you, I love your mom and I love Isabelle. I messed up, and I’m sorry. So sorry. You don’t understand how much I love you, Scarlett. You don’t understand how I’m terrified I’m going to lose you like I lost my sister.” His head falls into his hands again. “I can’t do that. I can’t lose anyone again.”

  My chest is heavy, an ache that is so strong that I’m nearly doubled over. My pain, my father’s pain, all of our pain surging through me and it’s too much to control.

  “Please forgive me, Scarlett.” Dad’s word are muffled through his tears. “Please forgive me. I can’t take this anymore. Knowing you’re upset with me and that you hate me, it kills me. I can’t lose anyone else. I can’t.”

  I rake a hand through my hair, pulling at the strands until pain pricks my scalp as a war wages inside me. My eyes burn with tears I don’t want to shed. “You can’t hit her anymore.”

  “I won’t,” he cries. “I promise I won’t.”

  Dad sobs, his face in his hands, and his shoulders shudder. He’s hurting, and I understand hurt. Against my will, my feet shuffle forward, and I end up on the floor in front of him. I place a hand on his shoulder. An offer of comfort, comfort I wish someone would offer me, as if I’m loved. There’s a screaming inside my soul yet I say, “Don’t cry, Dad. Please don’t cry. I’m sorry. Just please don’t cry.”

  JESSE

  By being on the land, I’d been able to keep my mind off losing Gran. I cut the hay in the back field, helped Mr. Bergen move his cattle from one pasture to another, then helped harvest corn in the east fields. Unable to enter the trailer, I slept three nights in the hammock.

  I spent a lot of that time absorbed in memories of Scarlett. I don’t know why. Maybe it’s because thinking of her was easier than thinking of Gran. But I try not to think of Scarlett anymore, at least not as my Tink. She’s changed and so have I. Life sucks that way.

  The first day of school is tomorrow, and I need a shower and a decent meal. As I approach the front of the trailer I raise my eyebrows at the sight of Veronica sitting on my steps.

  V is all of four foot nine, ninety pounds, has striking blue eyes, a head full of tight blond curls and takes adorable to another level. Yet the girl used to smoke Marlboros like a southern boy hooked on NASCAR, and when she’s pissed she cusses with the eloquence of a retired combat marine. When she’s happy, she rivals unicorns puking rainbows, and that’s when the scary really begins.

  Finding her on my front steps with an expression that reminds me of the Reaper doesn’t sit well. In fact, the shifting in my gut informs me my aorta is about to be slashed.

  “Jesse Lachlin returns.” V takes a drag on her cigarette, blows out the smoke and the
n smashes out the tip on a rock by her foot. She only smokes when she’s having a bad day.

  If I ask her what’s wrong, she’d get pissed and deny she’s having problems. That irritates me, and I’m not into fruitless conversations, so I keep my mouth shut.

  “My butt got numb an hour ago waiting on you to show. Here’s a piece of advice: answer your texts so I don’t have to hitchhike to confirm you’re still alive.”

  I stop at the bottom of the steps and look at V, but I don’t see her. Instead I imagine the inside of the trailer. It’s dark. The air possibly stale from no one being in or out for days. A genuine tomb.

  My stomach sinks because the last thing I want is to cross the threshold and spot Gran’s ashes on the mantel. There will be no smile at me walking in covered in dirt from working hard. No glare for not coming home for the last three nights. No comfortableness as we watch TV in silence. A heaviness in my chest, and I briefly close my eyes at the pain.

  “Why didn’t you tell us your grandmother passed?” V asks, and my insides flip at the sympathy in her tone. I hang with V because she’s not sentimental. She’s steel; so are the other two guys we hang with. None of us have room for emotions.

  I hitch a thumb over my shoulder. “Want to get off my steps so I can shower?”

  She nods as if she’s agreeing to how I need this to play out. V stands to the side, allowing me access to the door, and after the lock clicks open, I swallow. This is it. This is how life is going to be now and forever—alone.

  I push the door open, flick on the light and breathe out when I walk in without ripping in half. At least not physically. The emotional might take a few decades.

  “Are you going to invite me in?” V asks from the door.

  Like a vampire afraid she’ll burst into flames, the girl won’t go into any house without permission. Does it make sense? No. Will V tell any of us why she’s like this? Never. Maybe she is a vampire. Those monsters are supposed to be super-teddy-bear cute on the outside and deadly on the inside, right? “Come in.”

  She does and follows me into the kitchen. A red light flashes from Gran’s old-school landline phone, and I push play on the answering machine.

  “Hi, Jesse. This is Mrs. Haig.” My guidance counselor from school. “I’d like to pass on my condolences, and I’d like you to drop by the office on Monday so we can discuss the plans you had for your senior year. I know that you worked hard to gather enough credits to graduate by December, but now that things have changed, I’d like to discuss other options.”

  Options meaning she would like me to stay in school and graduate in May. She was never a big fan of me graduating early. I was doing it so I could take care of Gran full-time. Now, thanks to Marshall, my future is blurry.

  Mrs. Haig says a few more things then the message ends. I go to the sink, wash my hands, and V props herself on the counter. She wears a black shirt that falls off the shoulder, a short skirt, and neon-pink and black striped socks that reach her knees. She’s a funked-out Wicked Witch of the West.

  “Are you going to tell me what that message was about?” V asks.

  No. “Who brought you here?”

  “Leo and Nazareth. They sat with me for a bit, but then they had to go to work. They’ll be here later to take me home.”

  I turn off the water. “You’ve been here all day?”

  “And yesterday.” She shrugs one shoulder. “I had two days off at the grocery store and was bored. Here’s better than home anyhow.”

  True story. V’s alone a lot and her house is bizarre. I don’t scare easily, but that place makes the hair on my arms stand on end.

  “Look,” she says. “None of us are warm and fuzzy and not a single one of us knows what to say about your gran dying, and if we did attempt words, we’d probably tell you something stupid like ‘suck it up and get laid.’ So instead of saying something that’ll make you kick our asses, how about we agree to ignore it and yet you know that we aren’t complete jerks because our silence doesn’t mean we don’t care.”

  I slowly finish drying my hands, and she rakes nervous fingers through her shoulder-length curls, a rare moment of insecurity.

  “Unless you want to talk,” she continues. “I mean, I guess we can do that. I’m a girl. I can do feelings.”

  The right side of my mouth tips up with how she shivered with the word feelings. She might be more jacked in the head than me. I doubt it, but it’s possible. “Hungry?”

  “Starved.”

  The shower will wait. I open the fridge and find nothing besides mustard, ketchup and barbecue sauce. “Want to get a taco?”

  She’s already on her cell, and I don’t have to ask to know she’s telling Leo and Nazareth to meet us at Cosmic’s, the only Mexican place in town.

  I go down the hallway, and I’m grateful I closed the door to Gran’s room because I’m barely holding it together now. Seeing her room without her in it might make me drop to my knees and bawl like a baby. At least with the door closed, I can pretend she’s still alive.

  “Mind if we go shopping afterwards?” I call out as I switch jeans and peel my shirt off. She gets a 15 percent discount at the grocery store and that discount is going to help me survive until the land is mine. Possibly for a while after, until I can get the farm up and running right again.

  “As long as it’s not the five-finger discount, I’m in.” V leans her shoulder against my doorframe and stares at the maps on my wall. One is of the world. The other of the U.S. Along the other walls are smaller maps of other states and regions. V raises an eyebrow as if today will be the day I offer her an explanation for my map obsession. I don’t offer one. Instead, I dig my keys and wallet out of my old jeans and slide past her for the front door.

  We walk out and I see the light is on from Scarlett’s second-floor bedroom. She said her goal is to attend the University of Kentucky. Her CEO daddy could empty his pants pocket and have enough to buy her an entire wing at the school. But I saw the expression on her face, understood what she didn’t say—Daddy must have said no.

  I don’t need to understand the why for the scenario, I just need the girl to like me well enough to vote for me to keep the land.

  “I need a favor,” I say.

  V pauses at the front of my rusting truck and studies my face. Asking to use her discount, that’s something we all do. Other than that? I don’t ask for favors.

  “What do you need?”

  “I need you to help someone get a job at the grocery store with no questions asked.” A job is what Scarlett asked for, but I don’t think she fully understands her request.

  If Daddy has dug in his feet, and the University of Kentucky is something Scarlett really wants, she’ll have to become a big girl and do it on her own like the rest of us peasants. That means money and money means a job. That responsibility will probably scare the hell out of her.

  V’s been employed at the Save Mart since she was fourteen and has worked herself up to assistant manager. It sounds big, but it means she has to fight with people over returns. V’s sweetly mean enough to say no with enough force that people listen.

  “Will you buy me dinner tonight?” All negotiations for me and her come down to food and money. It’s gritty and simple. “And tomorrow night, then once a week after that.”

  “I’ll buy dinner tonight, tomorrow night and then I have the option after that to either buy you dinner once a week or make you dinner once a week.” Dinner out can get costly. Even at ninety-nine cents per taco.

  She bobs her head as if she’s weighing the pros and cons. “Fine, but if you make dinner then it’s hot and it isn’t something frozen that you put in the microwave to warm up. Real food, Lachlin.”

  “Deal.”

  “Then have whoever it is show after school on Tuesday. I’ll find something for them.” She walks backward then spins for the passenger side door of my truck. As soon as we’re in, gravel flies from the back tires and screeching guitars blare from the broken speakers. I peek over at
Scarlett’s window, and I swear the curtain moves.

  SCARLETT

  It’s the first day of my senior year, and near the library’s autobiography section, Camila and Evangeline have repaired their friendship for the thousandth time. This makes me, once again, the odd man out, but I’m fine being on the periphery.

  Friendships are built on secret-sharing and trust. I’ll listen to what anyone has to say, at any time, and I’ll never repeat another word to anyone else. I’m good at keeping secrets. But there’s this impenetrable wall surrounding my heart that keeps me from opening up, and it grows by the day. I should be ashamed to admit I like the wall, but I’m not. I embrace the inner ice princess. Emotions are overrated.

  Except for a few required classes—math, English and science—I have more than enough credit hours to graduate in the spring, so the period before lunch, along with Camila and Evangeline, I’m an aide in the library.

  I’m at the circulation desk, the librarian’s in her office at the computer and the rest of the place is dead. Staying awake isn’t easy. Last night I participated in my persistent, not-so-favorite hobby: worrying. Thoughts circled my brain like vultures, then those vultures dipped down and picked me apart, leaving me feeling bloody and bruised.

  Dad and Mom argued last night. Not really argue as much as Mom pleading about something and Dad telling her no. Their voices carried down the hallway from their room to mine, a constant barrage of the buzzing of angry bees. Sometimes the buzzing would intensify, but it never got loud or angry, nor could I make out the reason for the fight.

  With the covers pulled tight to my chin, I kept waiting for the ax to fall. For Dad’s loud bellowing voice to echo along the hallway, for doors to slam so hard that the picture frames on the wall rattled, for Mom to cry, and then I waited for the sickening sound of flesh hitting flesh.

  Five times in twenty-five years. But the last time was so heinous, so bad, and it was only a few weeks ago. Over the years, Dad has become more controlling … or has he? Is this how it’s always been and I’m the one seeing the world differently?