That’s when I see Chris, standing on the steps of school, hand shading his eyes as he looks for me. His eyes lock on me and I get that heat in my middle, the one that gives me goose bumps. I give Rudy the finger over my shoulder. He laughs too loud, so I know my rejection landed.
I trot up the cement stairs, peck Chris on the cheek, and twine my fingers with his. But he isn’t looking at me. He’s glaring at Rudy.
“Ignore him. I am.” I stroke the back of his hand with my thumb, letting him know how good it feels to touch him.
Chris clears his throat, his features softening. He glances at Rudy, then back to me. “Let’s go.” His grip on my hand tightens as we head into the school.
I sneak only one glance back, over my shoulder. Rudy’s still in the shadow of the trees, sullen and sulky. His eyes glitter black.
~
That afternoon in woodshop, Mr. Garrison pulls me aside and nods at a pile of boards on the floor behind one of the machines. “You can have those for your project if you want,” he says. “And I was wondering if you could work tomorrow afternoon. I’m teaching another class, and we’re cutting veneer. I could use an extra pair of hands to make sure no one loses a finger.”
“Sure.” I eye the wood hungrily. I need to finish the slats on Nigel’s bed, so I’m not laying my air mattress directly on the baseboard, which is already beginning to bow from the nights I spent out there.
“Great. You can take the wood with you then. But there’s one more thing.” He grins and rubs his hands together. “Ms. Pine talked to me at staff meeting this morning about a carpentry apprenticeship she’s found that starts in the summer. She wanted to know if I’d write you a recommendation.”
My heart slams behind my ribs. “And?”
He gives me a look. “Well, of course! But you need to pursue this in a real way, Tully. You’re good. And you’ll get better if you can work with someone every day. Don’t question yourself. Just go for it. Okay?”
I bite my lower lip, because it feels wrong to believe what he’s saying. What if I apply and they don’t want me? What if I screw it up and take Mr. Garrison and Ms. Pine down with me? Where is it? Will I have to leave Chris? There’s a jolt when I realize the urge not to leave Chris is as demanding as the urge to get out of this town. My stomach flips over.
“Tully?”
“Yeah, yeah—I mean, thank you!” I say, my voice higher than it should be.
“You okay?” Chris asks when I get back to our bench, studying me.
I squirm because I don’t know how to feel. I mean, if I can get this apprenticeship, I won’t have to wander around after graduation, trying to find a place to belong. I will have a home base, a paycheck—a future. Whenever I pictured my life after Riverside, it was just me and Nigel on the open road, taking it day by day, hour by hour. This certainly was never even within the realm of possibility.
The rest of the afternoon disappears behind me until the final bell rings and I head to Ms. Pine’s office. For once I don’t resent the walk to see her when everyone else is streaming out the doors. The last week of “detention” hasn’t been as bad as I expected. She’s shared more of her story, and even though I know she’s doing this to forge a connection, to make me trust her, it is oddly comforting to know that I’m not the only one who has to live like this.
She smiles when she sees me. I break and grin back.
“I have to tell you, Tully, this feels right,” she says, pushing a piece of paper across her desk toward me. It says application for novice/apprentice.
I read some of the questions, my heart growing lighter. There’s nothing here that will get me in trouble. No questions about my home or family. No requirements for not being a screw-up.
“I just wanted to check one thing,” Ms. Pine says hesitantly, and I look up, a chill behind my ribs.
“What?”
She taps her pen on a question toward the bottom of the page. “Will you be able to . . . I mean, if you’re interviewed and progress, you’ll have to be drug tested.” She regards me frankly, waits.
How long has it been?
I’m suddenly thrown back to the day I met Chris, to that awful Friday when Rudy . . . How long has it been? Can it possibly only have been a couple of months?
“Don’t worry, I’m clean,” I say.
Ms. Pine relaxes and sits back. “That’s good to hear.”
We sit in silence as I fill out the paperwork line by line, the only sound the scratching of the pen as I describe my level of experience and what I hope to gain from the apprenticeship. Then, before doubt can seep in and change my mind, I sign my name at the bottom and pass the application back to Ms. Pine.
She picks it up and reads it over, a small smile playing on her lips. The moment stretches on and the air is thick around us, both of us aware that my future, quite literally, is fluttering in her hands.
Chapter 27
I feel alive as I help Mr. Garrison with his class after school Friday. Explaining how to work with wood is a glimpse into what my apprenticeship could be and in spite of myself, a thrill runs through me at the idea. Afterward, Mr. Garrison hands me a few crisp dollar bills along with the pile of free wood.
I walk out of class and as promised, Chris is there. He’s pulled his Jeep through the service gates so we can put the wood in the back. Mr. Garrison gives me a knowing look as Chris picks up an armload of wood, but I pretend I don’t see it.
Minutes later we’re in the Jeep and Chris twines his hand with mine.
“What’s up with you today?” Chris asks. “You feel like you’re on top of the world.”
I laugh. “Not quite. But I am excited about the apprenticeship.”
“I think it’s perfect for you.” He squeezes my fingers, then lets go to change gears, his fingers sliding back between mine when he’s done. “And Jacksonville’s only an hour from Rand. I’ll still get to see you all the time.”
“So, you’re definitely going there next fall, then?”
Chris shrugs. “If you’ll be close, then sure.”
My breath catches. Somehow, when I wasn’t looking, I became this person who has a guy who loves me, and wants to be close to me a year from now. Who talks about a future.
“Thank you,” I murmur, embarrassed.
“For what?”
My cheeks flame. I lean against his arm so I don’t have to see his reaction. “For loving me. You’ve changed my life.”
Chris pulls the Jeep to the side of the road, then turns, takes my chin in his hand, and kisses me.
“Ditto,” he breathes.
When we eventually get moving again, I can feel the heat in my cheeks and Chris keeps glancing at me sideways. The air between us crackles.
I look out the window to cover my giddiness. The sky is ominous with clouds and the wind is picking up. “Can we swing by my place? I need to pick up a jacket.”
“Sure. As long as we go to Nigel after that. I’ve got a surprise for you.”
“What do you mean?” My stomach trills. “Is Nigel running?”
Chris laughs. “No, sorry to get your hopes up . . . But we’re really close, promise.” He blows out a breath and looks me straight in the eye, very clearly not just talking about Nigel. My stomach swoops.
When he stops the Jeep at the curb outside my house, he’s still smiling.
I give him a look. “What are you so happy about?”
He waggles his eyebrows. “Grab your jacket. Let’s go. I’ll show you.”
I smile wider and get out of the Jeep, slamming the door behind me and walking around the front as he gets out. Behind me the front door to my house creaks open and it’s reflex to turn. Then every thought leaps out of my head and splatters to the cement in front of me.
Our front door swings and Dad walks out, followed closely by . . . him.
I shudder to a halt.
Dad looks rough, unshaven, his hair is sticking up on the side. His eyes are puffy and there are crags in his cheeks. He’s pale and even from here I can see his hands shaking.
But that isn’t what has turned my stomach to lead. Behind Dad is That Man. The man Dad promised me would never step foot in our house again. The man Dad cried about bringing into my life.
There’s warmth at my back that I know is Chris, but for once his heat can’t penetrate the cold in me. I wish he wasn’t here. Oh, God, please help me. Get him away from here so he won’t see this.
Every sick and dreadful thing I’ve ever done rolls over me like tar, hot and sticky, suffocating me. It’s followed by an equally violent wave of rage.
That Man is a cesspit.
I can’t look at him. I’m frozen, heart thumping painfully. I feel his eyes sweep over Dad’s shoulder and catch on me, and my skin crawls.
“Mr. Harden?” Chris says. I can see the tension in his face, his manners warring with his disapproval of Dad. But he forces his voice to lightness. Ever polite, he’s got one hand outstretched to shake. I grab his arm and he stops, confused. But I can’t look away from Dad. Because if I do I’ll look at what’s behind him and I’ll implode.
Dad sneers at Chris like he’s about to spit on him. “Who are you?”
Chris’s brows press in, but he turns back to Dad. “I’m Chris, sir,” he says. “I’ve been hoping to meet you.”
Dad inspects Chris, then turns to me. “Got yourself a frat boy, Tulip?” he asks, the edge of laughter in his voice.
I can’t move. I can’t speak. I can’t do anything but feel thick dread riding through my intestines, threatening to push up and out everything I’ve eaten for a week.
When I don’t respond, Dad’s expression flattens.
“What?” he asks, gruffly.
He knows what.
I hate him. I hate That Man for being a monster, and I hate Dad for letting him lurch through our house again. I hate them both for reminding me of the scum I am.
I swallow bile and speak through my teeth so the scream can’t rise.
“What’s he doing here?” I say, too quiet. Too weak. My words should be bricks, but they’re feathers.
“He’s my friend,” Dad says grittily, sucking me down to that night.
Hot breath on my neck.
“See, that wasn’t so bad, huh?”
Shame, boiling and putrid, crawls over my skin, seeping into my core.
I am not here. I am buried in the mud and darkness of it. Dad stares, and he lurks as if he never left. As if he’s been absorbed into the air, into the ground. Into me.
My stomach threatens to revolt. Chris reaches for me.
“Tully, what’s going on?”
“Her name is Tulip!” Dad snaps.
Chris ignores him. “Tully? What is it?”
And I’m so consumed, so fixated, trying so hard not to disappear, that my defenses are down and without me realizing what’s happening, Chris reaches forward and takes my hand. His fingers close on mine and he gasps at the same instant I rear back. But it’s too late. And his grip is too firm.
I am sick. I am everything that is wrong in the world. I’m flame and heat and rage. I am oceans of terror. I can’t do this. Oh, God, I can’t do this.
I wish I were dead.
A tiny noise erupts from Chris’s throat. He’s rigid, his fingers a vice on mine. He snaps his head toward Dad and Him.
That Man leers. “Hey, Tulip. You’re growing up fast.”
It’s the final blow. My frozen lungs crack and shatter. I suck in an empty breath and turn to Chris. “Get me out of here. Please.” My voice cracks on the last word.
His lips are thin white lines. He takes my arm and turns me. Next thing I know, I’m stumbling back down the path with Chris, Dad’s voice chasing us.
“You’re brave, kid,” Dad calls. “You touch her too long you lose your mind. Unless she’s losing hers, if you know what I mean.”
Chris yanks the door of the Jeep open. I try to pull myself up, but my foot slips and I lose my grip. Chris practically shovels me into the seat, then slams it shut. He turns, squares off with Dad. I’ve never seen him so rigid. The tendons on his neck stand taut. His knuckles make little white half-moons.
“Don’t ever speak about her that way.” Chris’s voice is stone.
Dad barely blinks. I’m not even sure he understands. I pray Chris will move, put the car in gear, and take me away. As if he’s heard my thoughts, Chris circles the Jeep and slides into the driver’s seat, slamming himself in and turning the key.
As the Jeep roars, Dad blinks again and comes to life.
He starts laughing.
He’s still laughing when we squeal away from the curb and down the street.
And even when we’re away from there, faraway, I can still hear Dad laughing.
And I can still see his face. His eyes, dark and shining.
Fixed on me.
Soulless.
Chapter 28
Two minutes from my house, my body revolts.
“Stop the car! Stop!” I gasp.
Chris jerks us to a halt and I throw the door open, lean out just in time to heave the contents of my stomach onto the street. But even when I’m purged, my stomach won’t stop trying to push more out and I can’t breathe. Then Chris’s hand is on my back, clapping hard. I cough and suck in air, heave again.
When I finally stop coughing, I sit back in the seat. Tears have never felt so welcome.
“Tully, what’s going on?”
“Can we get out of here, please?” My voice is nothing but a rasp, my throat raw.
Chris watches me for a second, then he sits back and puts the Jeep in gear again. I lean my head back on the seat. That Man has always driven me into the darkest places. How could Dad bring him back? How could he? He promised. He cried, and took the blame and told me he’d never let it happen again.
If Dad’s bringing him back to the house, does that mean he’ll take the lock from my door too?
Shoulders making shadows in the dark. Hands on my skin.
I shudder and push away from the images. The sun slants in through the window, cutting gold lines across the dashboard. But there’s no warmth in it. I rub my chilled arms. Chris doesn’t speak, but he turns the heater to high.
“Thank you,” I whisper.
He keeps driving. I’m grateful he hasn’t reached for me. I can’t stand living in my skin right now. How would he? I drop my head and force away tears.
We don’t talk until Chris slows the Jeep and turns into his driveway. The garage door slides smoothly on its tracks and we roll to a stop inside.
The nausea rises again. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but . . . I can’t handle facing your parents right now.”
“They aren’t here.” He taps his thumb on the steering wheel. “They’re gone until Monday. I didn’t mention it because I didn’t think it was a good idea to . . . to . . .”
I cough a brittle laugh. He didn’t want me to tempt him.
Then he looks at me. Really looks at me. “Tully, I don’t know what happened back there. But I saw your face and I felt you. And I wanted to kill him,” he says hoarsely. “I’ve never wanted to hurt someone so bad in my life.”
Me too.
“Why, Tully?” Chris asks. “Why does that guy make you want . . . Why does he make you feel . . . What did he do?”
His pain is tangible. I suck in air. He wants to break through my walls and I can’t be open right now. I can’t let myself go. I feel my face screw up and I put it in my hands and hunch forward, counting to ten and back because I have to focus on something before I lose control.
Then Chris’s hand is on my back.
“Tully?” His voice breaks on my name and it’s like an arrow in my g
ut. “What happened?”
“I can’t,” I whisper into my hands. His palm doesn’t stop its slow glide up and down my back. “Please don’t make me.”
We sit that way—me wracked with shudders; him rubbing my spine—for so long I lose track of time. Eventually, I get my body under control. I won’t cry. I won’t hit anything. I can bite back the screams.
I sit up gingerly, afraid of pain. Chris and I get out of the Jeep and head into the house. Chris pushes a button and the garage door rattles and hums to life. I watch it go down, watch the light behind it disappear slowly until we’re plunged into darkness, where I belong.
~
The guest room is soft and inviting. It makes me even more aware of the layer of grime that coats me. I spend an entire hour in the shower scrubbing under water as hot as I can stand to scald me clean. But I can’t get free of the feeling that the decay on my insides has eaten its way to my surface.
When I finally get out of the shower the shining surface of the mirror catches my eye and I can see myself, red and mottled, a living bruise.
I turn off the light, dry and dress myself in the dark.
My hand shakes on the knob when the bathroom breathes me out in a moist cloud. The bedroom feels cold as the muggy heat seeps away.
Chris isn’t here.
I should be relieved. It’s what’s right for him. He shouldn’t be close to me right now. I told him to leave me alone, that I needed to sleep. But even though I’m exhausted, sleep won’t come tonight. I won’t let it. Not when I know what nightmares are waiting for me.
I wrap a blanket around me and sit down on the window seat that overlooks the yard below. The trees and grass are cloaked in darkness, and looming shadows inch across the lawn, the moon peeking in between scattered clouds. I want to stay awake, but with the blanket and the pillow behind my back I am more comfortable than I have a right to be. I blow out a breath, wishing I could exhale my demons. Walk away from my ugly.
But here in this house is Chris, and he’s where there’s comfort and warmth and light. So I will sit for a little while. Rest a little longer. And when I leave, I’ll be ready.
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