I let my bangs fall across my eye to hide the bruising and prayed he wouldn’t notice the swelling. “I need to use your phone, if possible.”
“Where’s yer folks?”
“My dad’s mom passed away.”
“Heard that, but the funeral’s done and gone already.”
At the sharp edge in his voice, I considered my answer carefully. “They had some things to take care of.”
“Today?” His tone sounded incredulous.
I had no answer but a shrug. “So, can I use your phone? Ours seems to be out at the moment with the weather and all.”
“Shouldn’t be. Mine works just fine.”
“We have the dish. Our television isn’t working now either.” He didn’t need to know nonpayment had shut off our services.
“Satellite. I knew your father shouldn’ta put that in when he did. Who needs that much television? Lazy is what it is. Probably the reason your driveway’s not cleared out yet.”
“Mr. Parson, remember? My dad’s not home. That’s why I need to use your phone.”
He pointed to a wall unit and stood over me while I dialed. I ran the bunchy cord between my fingers, winding the coils around my pinky and prayed voice mail wouldn’t pick up. Travis did.
I turned my back on Mr. Parson and spoke into the receiver. “Travis, hey.”
“I don’t want to talk to you, Gemini.”
Travis never called me by real name. My cheeks heated up at the thought of Old Man Parson getting an earful of gossip over this call. “I need you.”
I sucked in a breath, waited for the disconnect. When it didn’t come, I spoke again. “Can you come to my house? I’ll explain everything then.”
“I’m kind of busy right now.”
“I understand that, and I would never ask if I didn’t absolutely need you.”
Travis let out a long sigh.
“I wouldn’t have called otherwise.”
Silence. The kind that’s painful to more than your ears. Not wanting to give the neighbor more ammunition, I blurted out a half-assed apology. “I’m sorry.”
“Fine. I’ll be there at three.” The line went dead.
I turned back to Mr. Parson and the smug look on his face. “Thanks for letting me use your phone.”
“Havin’ your boyfriend out, huh?”
“My study partner.” Even as I said it, I knew he could read the lie in my words. I didn’t care. It didn’t matter what he thought of me because I didn’t plan on coming back. I thanked him again and showed myself to the door.
I almost made it outside before he spoke. “You tell your daddy to stop on over when he gets home. I’d like to talk to him about that fire in your yard the other day.”
I put on a fake smile and stepped outside, calling over my shoulder as I went. “Will do, Mr. Parson. It might not be for a couple days. Maybe even into next week. It depends on what they need to take care of.”
You’re in trouble.
Big time.
I couldn’t escape Mr. Parson’s snoopiness fast enough. He’d obviously noticed the fire and my parent’s recent absence. While I was certainly old enough to take care of myself during my parents’ hit-and-miss schedules, his sudden curiosity and pressing need to talk to my dad confirmed my fears. The old man was anything but harmless.
And the last thing I could afford right now was him drawing attention to my crumbling family.
Chapter 16
Angel wandered the attic, sifting through the debris of her parents’ lives.
Her mother was an artist. Scratch that. Ex artist. The remains of her passion lay scattered across the wooden floor. Paint tubes long dried up. Brushes once lovingly handled, now frayed and broken. Angel remembered a time when her bedroom wall had danced with cartoon characters. A testament to her mother’s abilities before the Fall.
That’s what she called it. The Fall.
Her pastor had explained perfectly about good and evil, angels and demons, God and Temptation.
In the fight for their souls, her parents had lost, leaving Angel stranded between loyalty to her flesh or the blood of her Ultimate Savior.
Her Father had won, as He must, and so she prayed.
She knelt next to a half-painted canvas of two faceless children sitting in a field of dandelions. Sexless and ageless. But in her mind, Angel had painted her own story behind the sea of yellow.
A boy and a girl, rubbing dandelion smudges under chins and on wrists.
Do you like butter?
No.
Uh huh. Your chin is yellow.
Sweet giggles and innocence.
Sucking the nectar from the clover.
A gift from God.
And then the Fall.
Angel prayed, begging first for her mother and then her father, but finally, for herself.
Please let me forgive them.
Please let me forgive.
Oh, God, why can’t I forgive?
The light shifted in the attic window. An hour had passed, maybe two.
No longer did the sun’s winter rays illuminate the canvas. Rather, they settled on a stack of baseball equipment. Brand new shoes, still in boxes, ranging from tiny size nines to adult twelves. Gloves with the price tags still on. Metal bats and wooden bats, even a faded red plastic one. The equipment progressing in size as if to mark the passage of time.
Angel picked up a glove and held it to her nose. She breathed deeply and took in the pungent odor of dust and fine leather. And, faintly, the scent of tears.
It satisfied her soul that her father felt some pain.
He should. After all, the Fall was his fault.
Angel dropped the glove onto the pile of unused equipment, dusted off her clothes and crossed herself as if at an altar. Another quick prayer. A nod and bow.
She backed away through her parents’ past and to the stairs that would take her to the present.
* * *
An insistent knock pulled me out of my thoughts. I considered not letting Travis in, but one look at his stormy eyes through the window told me he was in no mood for games.
He didn’t mince words. “You look like crap.”
The makeup had obviously failed to fool him. “Thanks.”
“What’s this about?” he asked, his voice rough. He fiddled with his tie, paying it more attention than he gave me.
“I’m moving into Granny’s house.”
His head snapped up. “You dragged me out here for this? To tell me you wanted to move? Why today? Why now?”
His jaw tightened, and he paced the tiny entry. His hands clenched and unclenched. He slid them into his dress pants. I tried to remember our fight—the reason Travis looked mad enough to strangle me—but came up blank.
“Are you trying to make me hate you?” Instead of shouting, his voice came out deadly calm. Scared speechless, I shrunk back against the wall, away from the impending explosion. I’d seen it once, when some boy smacked a stray cat with a baseball bat. Travis had nearly ripped off the kid’s head. His temper was another reason I kept my family problems so tightly under wraps around him.
Travis grabbed me by the shoulders. “It’s Christmas frickin’ Eve, Gemi, so make this quick.”
“No it’s not.” I ran through the days in my head—Granny died five days ago. Today was Thursday, not Saturday—and felt the icy hand of fear stroke my spine. “It can’t be.”
He fixed me with a look of wary concern, his gaze lingering on my bruised eye. “What day is it?”
Thursday? It had to be Thursday. “My parents are gone,” I said, as if that explained anything.
Travis snorted. “What’s new?”
“They’re not coming back.”
“Did they tell you this? Because you’ve been acting so strangely lately, I don’t know what to believe with you anymore.”
“I don’t know what to believe either.” My voice cracked, but didn’t break. I hated being this vulnerable. Hated the blackouts. Hated the confusion. Hated my dad.
Hated…no, I didn’t hate my life. Not yet. But I would if I lost Travis.
I pulled myself together from the inside and held my hand out to him, hoping we were still friends enough for him to take it. “I want to show you something.”
He placed a hand on my back and pushed me forward. It wasn’t enough, but I’d take it.
When we got to the kitchen, I stopped and waved around the room. “This is the me you know. Neat and clean, all put together and maybe even a little pretty.”
Travis opened his mouth, and I put my finger across his lips. “Don’t say anything. I have to do this.”
My hand found his, and I led him down the half-finished hall, past the stairs still stained with my blood, into the living room. I didn’t have to turn around to see his reaction, I felt it in the tightening of his fingers and the lag as he slowed down to take in the unfathomable mess. I finished the tour with the office and gently pushed him to sit on the weight-bench that often doubled as a chair.
“This is my life.”
Travis shook his head. “It’s your parents. It’s not you.”
“It is me. On the inside. Something inside of me is broken and dirty and wrong just like this house.”
He glanced around at the piles of debris, then back. Not denying what I had said. Not lying to soothe me. I gathered my thoughts and my courage. Or at least what remained of both.
“Granny passed away on Saturday. We went to her house on Monday. Tuesday was the funeral and Wednesday, I…we…went to the college and, well, you know how that turned out. Last night after you left…”
Trav’s eyebrows bunched. “Do you know what day it is?”
Instead of answering, I stared at him, unable to look away from his probing gaze. “I woke up on Thursday, and my parents, they were leaving, almost like they were sneaking out. My dad had a duffelbag. And I…”
“You what?”
“I cut my arm on my way down the stairs. You didn’t answer when I called, Mom’s car wouldn’t start, and I had to get Collin to give me a ride to the hospital. Then he brought me home. That was today. He brought me home today after the blizzard blew itself out.”
Trav’s stare told me I was wrong, but I couldn’t stop. I had to convince him—me—that everything was all right. “And the electricity was out, and I packed and…oh, God, Travis, what is wrong with me? What is happening to me?”
“Your granny just died, and you’re upset.”
“It’s more than that. Somehow I feel it—the wrongness—here.” I pressed my fingers to my forehead.
His next words terrified me. “You might be right. Tell me everything you remember.”
I tugged my sweatshirt sleeve up to expose my bandaged wrist and repeated my story—the only one I knew, the only thing that made sense right now. “I cut myself on a nail on my way to answer the phone. You didn’t answer, so I called Collin. I got stitches, and he brought me home after the blizzard.”
Travis held my wrist with one hand and turned my face toward his with the other, checking out the bruise under my eye. “What else happened?”
“Nothing…I…I don’t know.”
“Did he hurt you? Because if he did, that son of a bitch is dead.”
A sob hitched in my throat at his over-protectiveness. He didn’t hate me.
As if to prove my thoughts, he stroked my cheek with his thumb. “Close your eyes and tell me what you see.”
I snatched at a memory. “I was bleeding everywhere.”
Not too much detail, Fell directed in a stern voice.
“The doctor stitched me up and sent me home.”
Good.
“It was snowing. Lots of snow and…”
And nothing. You can’t tell him.
I can’t tell what I don’t know, Fell.
She has to. If she’s going to tell anyone it has to be her Indian. Rae spoke up for me. Finally somebody understood.
“…we…”
He’s exactly the wrong person to tell, Fell protested.
Rae disagreed. He can help. Besides, it’s time for her to know.
“And what?” Trav’s thumb soothed the ache in my temple, and I sank down in front of him.
If she doesn’t say something soon he’ll think she’s crazy. Rae’s presence gave me strength. I struggled against the emptiness of my mind and saw a foggy outline of a memory.
“I think…a car…another car.”
Fine, Fell relented. Give her something small.
“We smashed into a truck.” My eyes popped open in triumph. “I must have hit my head.”
Travis ran his fingers across my scalp until he found the goose egg. “What else?”
“That’s it.” I wasn’t crazy after all.
“Was he drinking?”
I pulled back. “Of course not. I’d never drive with someone who’d been drinking.
His eyebrow arched in disbelief. “You’re sure?”
“Almost. Yes. I mean no. He wasn’t drinking.”
If she wants the truth, give it to her. Fell.
“Gem?”
I nodded, small enough that I wasn’t even sure I did.
Travis spit a curse into the air between us, and broke the connection. I tensed, knowing the next question before he even asked. “Were you?”
“I don’t drink.”
“But you’re sure he drove you home after the blizzard?”
It was the only thing I knew for certain. “Yes. The roads were slick, but we could see.”
Travis pushed me away. “Stop lying.”
Tears spilled down my cheeks, and I shook my head, unprepared for his next words. “The blizzard ended yesterday. On Friday. Today is Saturday.”
Somewhere I had lost two days.
I leaned over and vomited in the trash.
Chapter 17
Rae sifted through photos—a tedious process, to be sure, but one she loved.
She sorted and stacked them into piles, shuffled and sorted again. Each snapshot had a clear and distinct memory attached to it. Some pictures were worn, a testament to Rae’s adoration and gentle fingering over the years. These, she tucked into a box and hid away. They were too precious to share.
Some were dirty and hurtful. As much as she wanted to shred them, she knew that knowledge was crucial. But not now. Now, she turned them upside down in a pile all their own. Forgotten.
She continued to sift, sort and stack. Shuffling and reshuffling until she felt comfortable with the final product. These she left on the desk, and returned to her knitting.
* * *
Travis remained wary. Not that I could blame him. Now would be the perfect time to tell him that my memory lapse started long before the bump on my head. But somehow, I couldn’t bring myself to say the words. Instead, I’d gone upstairs to get my bags so I could leave this house once and for all.
“What exactly are you running from, Gemi?”
“At Granny’s you asked what I was going to do. I told you I planned to live here, saving money and biding my time. I can’t do that anymore.”
He leaned against the door jamb, his dress clothes confirming the date. Saturday. Christmas Eve. “Why the change of mind?”
I pointed to the light switch. “Turn it on.”
He tried. When nothing happened, he gave me a funny look that dawned into understanding. “That’s right. Your electricity is off.”
“And the phone. I had to call you from Old Man Parson’s house. Which, I might add, sucked. He eavesdropped the whole time. He knows something’s up even if the rest of the world doesn’t. But whatever. The cable’s also out. Next will be the gas which will make the water pipes freeze. I don’t know how long it will be before that happens.”
“But that’s not your responsibility.”
“In my world, it is.” I ran my fingers through my hair, easing the mounting pressure. I couldn’t keep living a lie forever, and if I couldn’t tell him about the extent of my memory loss, I could at least tell him what he’d probably long sus
pected. “My parents haven’t had a job in over six months, Travis. Unemployment doesn’t cover job jumpers. Everything I make goes to keeping this house running.”
“Why didn’t you say anything? I could have helped you.”
“Because it’s not your job. When Mom’s parents died, she paid off the farm. Thank God, or we would have been sleeping under a bridge a long time ago.”
“Your dream car?”
“Will never be mine. I don’t think you get how poor we are. I’m not even sure I know.”
“There’s got to be more. You wouldn’t run away from money troubles.”
I gave him a thin smile. “You don’t know what I’d run away from.”
“I know you.”
“Do you? Do you really, Travis? Because I don’t even know me anymore. I don’t know if I ever did.”
In one step, he crossed the room and took me in his arms. “I’ve spent nearly every day of the last four years with you and before that…”
I cut him off and stepped away, unable to face his raw devotion when I didn’t even like myself. “But not the nights.”
“What about the nights? Are you a vampire or a werewolf?” His attempt at humor fell flat.
My legs gave out, and I slumped onto my bed. “I just can’t stay here anymore.”
“He beats you, doesn’t he?”
The memory of me slinging plates at my dad popped into my head. Another memory wiggled free and another. Not me. And not beatings, so much as pinches, shoves, cruel remarks or one sharp slap to the back of my head in passing. “I just need to get out.”
“Then stay with me.”
“I can’t.” Because I don’t know what I’ll do. “I want to stay at Granny’s.”
“Talk to Grandpa Clarence first.”
“What if he calls me in as a runaway? I can’t take that chance.”
Travis sat on the bed beside me. “He won’t. But what about your parents?”
I swallowed hard. I had replayed the scenario in my mind a hundred times and still didn’t know if they would call me in. “I don’t even know if they’re coming home, and I can’t worry about it. Not now.”
“Fine. But I won’t take you to your granny’s until after Christmas.”
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