by Julia Day
“That’s one of the nicest outfits I own.” I gripped his arm. “I tried to ask you for help, but that didn’t happen because you ignored me all day.”
“My friends were watching.”
“Why were they more important than letting me go in there unprepared?”
“I could hardly think straight. My parents and friends already believed that I’d lost my mind, that you had a strange hold over me.” He swallowed hard. “My mother found the condoms.”
“What? She went through your things?”
He winced.
“I see.” Anger roared through me. It felt good. I knew what to do with anger. “Not only have your parents violated your privacy, they assume that I’ve lured you into a relationship with sex. You corrected them, right?”
His eyes widened with horror. “I don’t discuss sex with my parents.”
“Well, great. Letting them believe that I’m a slut is so much better.” He’d covered for his ex-girlfriends at my expense. “Coward.”
He jerked back as if I’d slapped him. “Nice, Eden. I think I’ll go now.” He spun around and stalked over to the steps.
This couldn’t be happening. It was too soon. Our relationship had brought me so much joy, and it was crumbling with each step he took. “Don’t leave me, Ash. Please.”
He paused at the top of the steps, bracing himself against the frame.
I crossed to him, frantically hunting for something that could salvage us. “We can still see each other. We’ll be careful.”
“No.” His tone was dull. “I can’t take the risk.”
“They don’t have to know. We can find places to hide.”
“Maybe you don’t mind deceiving your parents, but I wish to honor mine.”
“Great catch there, Ash. Dishonesty is totally how redneck families operate.”
His head dropped to his chest, his shoulders sagging. “I’m sorry, Eden. I don’t think that.”
Why were we attacking each other this way? It didn’t lighten the pain or delay the inevitable. We’d both been guilty of sneaking around, but it had only been because our parents had forced deception on us.
Defeat radiated from him. I watched for an agonized moment, choking on its bitter taste.
Long-buried memories flickered, of Christmases past. I’d wanted to believe in miracles so badly. I’d tried hard to be good. I would awaken early each Christmas morning and tiptoe out to the tree, hoping that this would be the year I’d get what I wanted. But it never had been there. Santa couldn’t come to homes like mine.
For one short month, Ash had been my miracle, and I was losing him too.
When I pressed a hand lightly to the small of his back, he shuddered.
The answer might break my heart, but I had to ask. “Why am I not worth the risk?”
“They’ll take away everything.”
“Your car? Your phone?”
“So much more.”
No longer denying myself the need for an embrace, I locked my arms around him and rested my forehead against his back. He straightened and placed his hands over mine. Trembling, I waited for him to pry me away, but he didn’t. Instead, he linked our fingers tightly.
“Do you think I’m bad for you?” I whispered.
“No.” He spun around and hauled me up against him, an arm hard at my waist, a hand light against my sore cheek. “No. You’re the best part of my life.” The pad of his thumb brushed gently over my bruise. “Your father hit you. Do you know how much that tortures me?”
No, not that. I wouldn’t allow my dad’s actions into this. “I can take care of myself.”
“Eden.” His jaw clenched as something intense raced through him. “I’ve had to put up with a lot over the years because my parents weren’t born in this country, but I’ve never had someone else take the blows.”
“It doesn’t matter. We can keep our relationship a secret. We’ll only see each other after dark. We’ll call at midnight. Our parents don’t have to know.”
“They’ll take away Stanford.”
“What?” Shock rippled through me. “How can they do that?”
“If I don’t stay away from you, they won’t pay.”
I breathed in his statement. Let it fill me.
His parents were brilliant. They’d played a card that I’d never imagined they would use, and not for a second did I wonder if it was a bluff. This threat was masterfully designed to achieve its goal. They were willing to take away his dream to get rid of me.
I loved him better than that. “Okay, Ash. They win.”
“What are you saying?”
“I give up. You can’t lose Stanford.” We both needed to escape Heron. Me, because it was too little. Ash, because it was too much. “We’re done.”
He scanned my face as his thumb traced the curve of my lips. Leaning closer, he angled his mouth over mine, his kiss soft, reverent. It wasn’t enough. I threaded my fingers through his hair and pressed harder, needing more.
It was as if my touch unleashed something in him. He moaned, his hands roaming my body. We kissed over and over, hungry and crazy and wild, like we couldn’t get enough of each other.
Like we were saying good-bye.
He wrenched his mouth away. “I love you. Always.”
“I love you, Ash.”
He pressed his lips to my temple as his hands slid slowly down my back to my hips. Reluctantly, he pushed me away. “I’m sorry, Eden. I’ve got to go.”
He rushed down the steps, his footsteps fading into the dusk. There was a moment of silence, then a car roared, spitting rocks as it screeched from the parking lot.
I crumpled onto the gazebo’s bench and clung to one of the wooden pillars, surrounded by the scent of decaying leaves, the click of bare branches colliding in the wind. My throat ached with tears.
The night Heather abandoned us had been like this. Cold and windy with a big moon painting the outdoors silver. Boone and I had been eating at the kitchen table and trying not to listen to an argument that she and Dad were having in the foyer. Their voices came and went in a weird, staccato rhythm. Then there was a shriek and a thump and a crash.
I had dropped my spoon and glanced at Boone. We turned in unison to gape at them. Dad seemed to be hugging the wall, crying. Our latest family portrait lay on the floor, shards of glass sparkling around his dusty boots. Heather stood by the front door, dressed in her Sunday best, suitcase in hand.
“It’s no use, Byron,” she said. “I’m tired of playing house.” The screen door thwacked behind her.
Slipping from my chair, I squeezed past my father and onto the front porch, my feet bleeding into the boards. “Don’t leave me, Mommy,” I screamed. “Please.”
The clip-clop of her high heels stopped, tapped twice, then returned. She emerged from the shadows. “I’m sorry, Eden. I’ve got to go.”
With a smack, she planted a strawberry-scented kiss on my cheek. Then she hurried down the sidewalk, her footsteps fading into the dark. Two car doors slammed. A motor whined down the street, growing fainter. Then silence.
She never came back.
27
Gaping Wound
The sun rose at 6:37 on Saturday morning, a neon orange ball illuminating the wavy line of scrub grass on the other side of the bay. I studied it objectively, wondering how I would capture the image if Dr. Holt assigned such a project in 2-D art.
A boat puttered in the distance. The wind gusted, peeling back a corner of my blanket. I wiggled on my low deck chair, burrowed deeper into the blanket’s warmth, and waited for the hours to pass.
Footsteps thudded on the dock. Marnie’s voice floated past me on the breeze. “Have you been up long?”
“I never went to bed.”
She crouched beside my chair, smelling of coffee and bacon. A travel mug appeared before me. “Here.”
“Thanks.” I took the mug and sipped. Paul Newman’s Bold. A luxury.
“Do you want company?”
“I prefer
to be alone.”
A sympathetic grunt. “Do you want your phone?”
She knew about that? I shook my head.
“Mundy called twice last night and once already today.”
Ah. I hadn’t put it on silent. “Don’t want to talk to her.”
The footsteps receded.
I rested my chin on my knees, retreating into my blanket like a turtle into its shell. My thoughts drifted lazily.
Boots clopped on weathered boards, intruding again.
“You won’t answer the phone,” Mundy said, “so I came to you.”
I poked my head over the edge of the blanket, up to my nose, but I didn’t look at her.
She dropped next to me onto the end of the dock, her legs dangling over the edge. “I had my date with Sawyer last night. It was fabulous.”
“Not. Interested.” I could feel her gaze on me, but I still didn’t look her way.
Her boot kicked a pillar of the dock, thump-thump-thumping. “We haven’t really spoken since Thursday. What’s the deal?”
“Didn’t Marnie tell you that I want to be alone?”
“She did. I knew I was exempt.”
I finally peered at her from my blanket, marveling at her lack of perception. “You aren’t exempt. Especially you.”
“What do you mean?”
“You’re leaving, Mundy. What’s the point?”
“The point?” She recoiled. “We’re friends. Friends talk. They listen to each other’s problems.”
“Can’t listen if you’re not around.”
“I’ll be in California, not Antarctica, although that wouldn’t be a problem either since I suspect the Internet works there as well.”
“Hanging out is a big part of friendship. Being trustworthy is too. You went after me, knowing the whole time that you’d move soon.”
There was a long pause. “That’s true.”
“You could’ve let me know up front. You could’ve let me make the choice.”
“I didn’t want to. You would’ve turned me down.”
“Yes, I would’ve, but you did what you wanted, without caring how it affected me.” I blew out a shaky breath. “You wouldn’t leave me alone, Mundy. You forced me to talk and got me used to something I’d never had before. And soon you’ll be gone.”
“Wow. I’ve never thought about it like that.” Her voice softened as she worked through her thoughts. “I’ve never had this type of friendship either. With homeschooling, we have all of these events planned. There’re a mix of ages, and we hang out however we want. But you’re the first friend I’ve ever had where it was just the two of us. And now I’m going back to my old group. And you’re…”
“No shit.”
“Stop it.” Her mouth twisted. “You’ve had a sucky life. I’m sorry about that. I’m sorry that Heather abandoned you, and I’m sorry you don’t know where she is.”
“Lovely. Can’t wait to hear where this is going.”
“Hush.” Mundy stood and glared down at me. “Maybe I should’ve told you that I’d likely be here one semester, but I’m not apologizing. You know why?”
“I’d rather not.”
“Stop being a jerk.” She clomped a few steps away, then halted. “I’m glad that I didn’t give you a chance to turn me down, because that would’ve been wrong. Our friendship’s been the best thing about living here, Eden, only now it has to change. Like all good relationships do. As far as I’m concerned, a few months were better than none.”
“Glad that worked out for you.”
“Fine, then. You want to be alone. I’m giving you your wish.”
* * *
I spent Saturday evening the same way I’d spent hundreds of nights, quietly studying in my room. It was the way I liked it. To escape, I had to make stellar grades. I had to stay focused on the future.
The clock ticked away the hours. The pages of my literature textbook blurred and swayed. Eventually I gave up.
I couldn’t sleep or think, but I could feel.
I missed her.
I missed him.
My time with Ash flickered on the edge of my consciousness, like a beautifully framed image except the glass had shattered. I couldn’t stop myself from thinking about the cracks.
I needed to lean on someone. Mundy would be willing, but she couldn’t help me because I sent her away.
The best thing about living here …
She was right. It had been. I’d been happier in the past two months than I could ever remember being. Ash was a big part of that, but so was Mundy. With him gone, I needed a friend more than ever, and I was only an apology away from having one. I also needed to have it out with her—to let her know how much her deception hurt me—but we had to be talking first.
* * *
It took me until lunch the next day to work up my courage. I borrowed Marnie’s car and drove into town.
Mundy answered the door, gazing at me blandly through the screen door.
I shifted from foot to foot, not sure of my reception. “Hi.”
“Hi.”
Good. Instant rejection would’ve been hard to get past. “Can I come in?”
“Are you going to apologize?”
“Are you?”
She shook her head.
I shrugged. “Me neither.”
She opened the door wider and got out of the way.
We sat in our normal spots on the sofa. She looked at me expectantly, but I didn’t know where to start.
“Well?” she prompted.
This was awkward. It would be appropriate to get emotional and spill my guts, but I wasn’t the mushy type. Which she knew. “Uh—”
Shrieks from the second floor interrupted me. Naked Destin charged down the stairs, dripping from his bath. Close behind him chased Clarissa, red towel dangling from her hands like a matador’s cape. They ran giggling around the sofa until Destin dived into my lap and rubbed his soaking-wet, shampoo-laden hair into my shirt.
“I’ve got you,” his mother said. She swaddled him with the towel and rushed up the stairs.
The whole thing lasted less than a minute. Mundy and I looked at each other, then burst out laughing. Thank God for Destin. He broke the ice.
“I need us to be friends again, Mundy.”
“Yeah, me too.” She scooted around to face me and crossed her legs. “Tell me everything I’ve missed.”
I wasn’t quite ready. The gaping wound where Ash used to be was still too raw to probe. “I want to hear about Sawyer. What did you do?”
“We had batting practice.”
“What?”
“Have you been to the Battleship Fun Park in Wilmington? They have a batting cage with this machine firing baseballs at you.”
Unbelievable. “How’d you do?”
“Better than Sawyer.” She smiled smugly. “I played short for my homeschool league’s coed softball team.”
“How did Sawyer handle it?”
“Well. Sawyer is impressed by excellence.”
“Uh-huh.” The Sawyer I knew didn’t like to be beaten. The poor boy must’ve been impaired by hormones. “What happened next?”
“We ate hot dogs, which were disgusting, and came here. Mom fixed us popcorn, and we sat in the porch swing and talked.”
“That has to be the tamest date Sawyer has had in years.”
“He obviously didn’t mind, since we have another date tonight.” She sniffed. “What did you do this weekend?”
“Completed the work on my Peyton application. Prepared for a statistics test.”
“Boring. You may not mention school again in this house. There are much better things to discuss. Like Ash. Did you see him Friday night?”
I nodded, blinking back the moisture stinging my eyes. “We broke up.”
“Wow. Do you think you could’ve shared this, oh I don’t know, two days ago?” She scooted closer, until her knees were touching my thigh. “No matter how enlightened his parents might try to be about their son dating
outside their community, they couldn’t get past your baggage.”
Deep breath. By coming here, I’d chosen Mundy’s brand of sympathy. “Yeah.”
Leaning forward, she peered into my face. “Is there anything else I should know?”
Yeah. Lots. Retelling the story hurt almost as much as living it had, but I told it all.
“Ash is right about your dad, you know.” She studied my bruise, her frown intense. “You never filed a police report?”
I shook my head. “Homegrown justice is taking care of this.”
She made a rude sound with her lips. “I’m skeptical. Do you want to stay here tonight?”
“I’m babysitting for the Fremonts.” Grief had me caught in a vise. “How can I make it through tomorrow? How can I see him?”
“Eden.” Mundy dropped an arm over my shoulders. “It’ll be awful, and you’ll survive it anyway.”
For the first time since Friday, I cried.
28
Too Tired to Lie
I handed Kurt a plate with two pieces of toast, lightly buttered, no jelly, cut into fingers instead of triangles. He inspected them suspiciously before grunting, “Juice?”
“Right here.” I set his favorite red cup within reach.
Breakfast was underway for Marta. She fixed her own cereal and milk.
The garage door whined open and the SUV pulled in. Marta looked up, chewing furiously. Kurt nibbled toast. I glanced at the clock, surprised. Mrs. Fremont was a half hour earlier than normal.
Their mother trudged in through the utility room and leaned against the kitchen counter. “How are my babies?”
Marta giggled.
Kurt scowled. “How many times do I have to tell you? Children stop being babies when they reach their second birthday.”
“Thanks, I’ll try to remember.” She exchanged a tired smile with me. “How did everything go last night?”
“Smoothly.”
When she yawned, I placed a mug of coffee in front of her with a soft click. She wrapped her fingers around it and took a sip. “Mmmm.” She yawned again. “Marta, you can ride the bus this morning. Kurt, finish up. We’ll leave in a few minutes.”
“What’s happening today?” I said, mopping crumbs into the sink.
“I’m having a parent-teacher conference before school. I hope you don’t mind being dropped off early.”