by Shana Norris
“Because I’m having the worst day in the history of the world,” I said. “Or at least, the worst day of my life.”
Jude straightened up and wiped his hands on the greasy rag hanging from his pocket. He walked over to the driver’s side and reached in, turning the ignition. The truck rumbled, but didn’t start.
“Anything I can help with?” I asked. “I don’t know much about trucks, but I can hold the tools.” I laughed, but Jude’s expression didn’t change as he passed by me.
I frowned and stepped next to the truck, leaning against the side as he bent over the engine again. “Jude. Can you talk to me?”
His scowl deepened as he worked at the engine again. “I need to get the truck to start so I can go out and find a job.”
“You’re getting a job?” I asked.
“Don’t sound so surprised,” he growled. “Some of us actually have to work for a living.”
I stepped back, my mouth dropping open a bit. “Jude, please talk to me.”
Now he looked at me. His eyes were dark and narrowed, his nostrils flared.
“Why didn’t you tell me who your dad was?” he asked. “Why didn’t you tell me he’s not dead?”
I gripped the side of the truck to hold myself steady. “I didn’t want anyone to know about my dad. It doesn’t matter.”
“It doesn’t matter?” Jude roared. “You lied to me, Hannah. You lied about everything—about your dad, about who you are. You let me believe we had this connection, that we both had lost someone we really loved. When the whole time you were just playing some game.”
“I wasn’t,” I protested. “I never meant to lie to you.”
“But you did,” Jude said, his gray eyes dark as he glared at me. “After we promised to be honest with each other. You lied over and over. Why?”
I stayed silent, realizing that I didn’t have answer.
“Was it fun tricking the stupid loser? Is this what you rich girls do? When you get bored, you find some broke guy you can play around with for fun?”
My chin trembled and I gripped the side of the truck to keep myself steady. “No, that’s not what it was. I was going through so much and I just wanted to get away from it all. I was going to tell you the truth. I just didn’t know how. It was easier to keep pretending it wasn’t real.”
“Yeah, well, this is real for me,” Jude snapped. “This is my life, and unlike you, I can’t take the easy way out.” He pointed at me with the wrench. “Do you realize that your father’s bank is threatening to foreclose on my house? I’ll have no place to live because my brother died, I lost my job, and my mom is too drunk to keep a job longer than three hours!”
He spun around, hurling the wrench at the side of the house. It hit the brick and then clattered to the driveway, bouncing off the pavement into the grass.
I couldn’t move. “I-I’m sorry,” I stammered. “I didn’t know—”
“Of course you didn’t,” he growled. “That’s what your rules are all about, aren’t they? They keep you safe and secure, so that you don’t have to deal with the real world that the rest of us live in. Tell me, Hannah, why should I bother getting a job—just so I can keep a roof over my mom’s head—when your father is blowing all of our payments on those pills to get himself high? Why don’t I just save him the trouble and pay him in pills directly?”
Jude’s words felt like a slap. This wasn’t the guy I knew. This was someone else. This was the guy everyone had warned me to stay away from.
“What do you want me to do?” I asked him as tears stung my eyes. “Pay your mortgage for you?” I dug into my purse. “I’ll give you the money if that’ll make you happy.”
I could tell right away that I’d said the wrong thing. Jude slammed the hood shut, leaning over it and glaring at me.
“There’s the Hannah whose car I fixed. You can’t just whip out your checkbook and make everything better. When are you going to figure that out?”
I held my hands out to him, palms up. “What then? I said I’m sorry. My dad has problems, I know. Why do you think I came here? I told you I was messed up. I told you my family wasn’t perfect.”
“Grow up, Hannah,” Jude said. “Rule #1 Be honest. You never were. You have everything handed to you and yet all you do is focus on how terrible your life is. How unfair it is that you’re supposed to go to Yale.” He pointed at his small, crumbling house. “That is real life, Hannah. That is what it looks like to have to fight every day just to hang on in this world when money and opportunities don’t come easy.”
“I never asked to be who I am,” I whispered.
Jude laughed, loud and sharp. “I understand everything now, why you didn’t want anything to happen between us. Your dad owns some big bank and I’m just a guy without a job or a fancy education. What your mom thinks was never the problem. It’s what you think.”
Tears blurred my vision, but I wouldn’t let them fall.
“You blame all of your problems on your parents,” he went on, “but the truth is you don’t want to own up to anything. Stop pretending to be the victim and take responsibility for your own mistakes.”
I felt Old Hannah surface. I wanted to hurt him the way he was hurting me. My parents’ rules of self-preservation had taught me to always have the upper hand and I was going to have the last word.
I crossed my arms. “You’re telling me about owning up? Look at you, Jude.” I pointed to the tree where the shirt still fluttered. “You’re too afraid to move on from your brother’s death! You won’t take his shirt down, you won’t even paint your truck. He’s not coming home. It’s time for you to stop pretending and own your life.”
All color drained from Jude’s face. We stood there, staring at each other across the hood of the truck. We were only a few feet apart, but it felt like we were on opposite sides of the world. Something had cracked open between us, something too big and too deep to cross.
At last, Jude broke eye contact. He turned and walked across the yard, disappearing into the house. I finally let go, and the tears fell from my eyes, landing in the hard-packed dirt.
#
The door slammed with a satisfying crack behind me as I entered Aunt Lydia’s house. I threw my purse at the table, where it slid across the polished wood and knocked over a couple of framed pictures of me as a child.
In the kitchen, I opened cabinets at random and then slammed them shut. I wasn’t looking for anything in particular, I just needed something to do with all of the frustration that was bubbling inside me, threatening to boil over at any moment. Energy raced through my limbs and I couldn’t stay still. I buzzed with electricity that needed a release.
“What’s all the noise down here?”
I spun around to face Aunt Lydia, who stood in the doorway to the kitchen. She wore her painting clothes and had a smudge of red paint across her cheek. She still held her paintbrush in one hand.
“I thought maybe I was being robbed by some very noisy burglars,” Aunt Lydia said with a laugh.
I didn’t laugh. I leaned against the counter, drumming my fingers on the countertop. My teeth clenched so hard that my jaw ached.
“You okay?” Aunt Lydia took a step toward me, the line of concern crinkling between her eyebrows.
“Fine,” I snapped. “Just fine. So what if my entire life is falling apart in a single day, and my mom doesn’t even care enough to come home, and everyone blames me for what my parents do? Everything is fine.”
Aunt Lydia’s mouth fell open and she blinked at me. Then she recovered, snapped her jaw shut, and stepped toward me again. “Is there anything you want to talk about?”
I snorted. “Talk? Now you want to talk to me and act like you actually care? You walked out of my life, Aunt Lydia. You ran away and rarely called, never came to visit. I had to come to you. When I needed you, you weren’t there.”
Aunt Lydia’s face paled as she looked at me. She gripped the back of a chair.
“Hannah,” she said in a soft voice, �
�I never meant to hurt you or leave you—”
“But you did!” I shouted, blinking furiously to keep back the tears that stung my eyes. “You’re just like everyone else! Every single person I have ever known has always let me down. They don’t stick around to make things work. They don’t even try. Everyone is only concerned about themselves, and you’re just like them.”
Aunt Lydia shook her head. “No, Hannah—”
I backed away when she took a step toward me, holding up my hands as a barrier between us. “Don’t make excuses now. I should have learned my lesson long ago. Maybe my mom had it right after all. Pretend reality is what you want it to be, because the real world sucks.”
I grabbed my purse from the table in the living room and then walked out the door, letting it slam shut behind me.
Chapter Twenty-One
By the time I reached the first of the exit signs for Raleigh, my cheeks had dried and I felt empty.
My little car sped down I-40 along with the rest of the traffic. While everyone else weaved in and out of lanes around me, I stayed where I was in one of the middle lanes. I tried to focus on driving, but I felt numb. I had nothing left in me.
I hadn’t even bothered to pack my things when I’d left Aunt Lydia’s. I’d just gotten into my car and driven. Another two hours and I’d be home, back in Willowbrook. I wasn’t nervous or happy to be going home. I was nothing.
Mark was wrong. I couldn’t be the Hannah I wanted to be, because I didn’t even know who that was. I thought I did for a while. The Hannah I wanted to be was the one who had friends like Ashton and Kate. Who ate pounds of ice cream and climbed to the top of Chimney Rock with Jude and screamed until her lungs were empty.
But the real Hannah had always been there. She was the one who didn’t tell the truth. The one who knew that not following the rules always led to bad things happening. It had happened with Avery back in seventh grade. It had happened with Aunt Lydia when she moved away. It had happened with Zac when I let him get too close. It would keep happening as long as I thought I could live without the rules.
Mom was always right. Reality was too difficult to deal with.
I pulled my phone from my purse and pressed the button to call her. She answered on the first ring.
“Bonjour!” she trilled, as if nothing had happened.
I cringed, “Mom, I need you to come home. Now.”
Mom sighed. “Hannah, I’m on vacation. I’m in Paris! I can’t just run back home at a moment’s notice because of your father’s silly . . . things. Besides, there will be reporters parked outside our house, wanting to ask questions about your dad. I can’t deal with them right now.”
“I left Aunt Lydia’s,” I told her. “I’m on my way back to Willowbrook.”
“No,” Mom said, her tone stern. “Don’t go home. Go back to your aunt’s until this all blows over.”
A sob choked my throat. “I can’t. Everything has fallen apart. I need you. Dad needs you.”
There was silence on the other end, punctuated by a flurry of faraway French. I thought she had dropped the phone until she spoke up again, this time in a softer voice. I wasn’t even sure if she was talking to me, she sounded so far away. “We would be better off if your father had died from those pills,” Mom said. “At least then we wouldn’t be living in this humiliating nightmare. Your dad is fine. Everything will be fine once it all blows over. Go back to Asheville, Hannah. Good-bye.”
Mom hung up. I tossed the phone into the passenger floorboard.
Her words echoed in my head. We would be better off if your father had died from those pills. It was what I had pretended had happened while in Asheville over the last few weeks. I had ignored my dad’s calls and let Jude and everyone else think he was dead.
I was no better than my mom.
My hands tightened on the steering wheel. No, I wouldn’t be like her. I didn’t want to check out of my life because it was too hard. I didn’t want to miss all those little moments I’d had this summer that had made it good. And she shouldn’t either.
Suddenly, I knew exactly where I was supposed to go.
The green sign hanging over the interstate grew larger as I sped toward it: RDU International Airport Exit 2 Miles.
Rule #4: Don’t be afraid to face reality.
I bit my lip, tightening my grip on the steering wheel. Then I took a deep breath and veered my car into the exit lane.
#
I pounded on the door again, but I knew it was useless. The room inside was quiet. The whole hall was still, as if everyone staying on that floor was out at the same time. Which was likely. It was almost nine o’clock at night, and most people were probably still out to dinner or else enjoying the nightlife in Paris. Through the window at the end of the hall, I could see the glittering lights of the city spread out in the darkness below.
I rode the elevator back down to the lobby. A man in a nice black suit stood at the concierge desk, but I didn’t bother talking to him. Jude’s face floated into my mind; I had to do this myself, and I wouldn’t leave until I had.
I found a plush chair situated so that I could easily keep an eye on the front doors. Flying always made me sleepy and stiff; my eyelids felt heavy and my legs ached from the long flight. I stretched out on the chair and propped my head up on my hand to fight sleep. Strains of broken and fluent French intermingled in the lobby, and one woman who had the same tiny frame as Mama Rita burst in, speaking furious Italian. The sight of her made something twist deep in my stomach, a longing for what I had left behind.
It was after midnight when she finally came staggering through the front door. She leaned against Tess, both of them giggling like little kids. She didn’t even see me as they passed. Her face was smiling, but it looked worn and tired. She threw her arms wide as she talked too loud, her voice echoing around the lobby.
“Mom.”
I had to say it twice before she heard me. She froze in her steps, turning around to face me. She swayed a moment, leaning back against Tess, who also stared at me as if I was a hallucination.
“Hannah?” Mom asked. Then she recovered her poise and threw her arms open as she stumbled toward me, wrapping me in a tight hug. She hated to be surprised, so of course she would pretend that she was waiting for me to show up. “You’re here! How wonderful! I’ve missed you so much.”
I pulled myself out of her grasp and scowled. “How much have you had to drink tonight? You’re drunk,” I said, pushing her hand away. Her breath reeked of different cocktails. There was no telling what she’d had or how many.
“Just a few drinks with dinner,” Mom said, waving her hand. She put her arm around my shoulder and grinned at Tess. “Isn’t this fun? Now it’s a real girls’ vacation.”
“You need to come home, Mom.”
Mom’s smile faltered, but she didn’t pull away from me. She cleared her throat and then smiled at Tess. “Go on upstairs,” she said. “We’ll be along soon. I want to show Hannah the hotel.”
Tess pushed her blonde curls out of her face and smiled at us. It looked puckered, like she was eating a lemon. “Of course. Have fun, you two.”
I watched Tess wobble on her heels as she made her way to the elevators. Once the golden doors had closed behind her, Mom steered me over to a far corner of the lobby.
“You have a lot of nerve, talking to me like that in front of my friend,” Mom hissed. She collapsed into a chair, rubbing a hand over her eyes. “What are you doing here?”
“I came to bring you home,” I said, crossing my arms.
“I can’t go home right now,” Mom said. “What will everyone say? They’ll look at us with contempt, Hannah. They think your father spent their money on those damned pills.” She shook her head. “I’m staying here until this dies down.”
“Dad needs you,” I said. “He needs both of us.”
Sadness passed across Mom’s face and her eyes became glassy. She blinked quickly, taking a deep breath to compose herself.
�
�Hannah, I’m on vacation. I’m not leaving early just because you say so.”
“This isn’t a game, Mom!” I shouted. “This is real life! You can’t hide here and pretend everything is fine when you know it isn’t.”
Mom’s gaze darted around the room and she grabbed my wrist, pulling me closer to her chair. “Stop making a scene. You’re acting like a spoiled child.”
I laughed, a short staccato laugh that bounced off the high ceiling above us. “I’m the child? You’re the one living in an imaginary world. If you don’t like something, you just pretend it doesn’t exist. You drink until you forget. Who cares what the rest of us are dealing with? As long as you can check out any time you want, everything is fine, right?”
Mom pushed herself to her feet, swaying as she looked at me. “I’m going to bed, Hannah. We’ll discuss this later when you can behave like the lady I raised you to be.”
I followed as she stalked across the room toward the elevators. “And what kind of lady is that, Mom? One who pretends she doesn’t have a drinking problem? One who runs around Paris with men who aren’t her husband?”
Mom whirled around, glaring as she pointed a finger at me. “You watch what you say. I’m still your mother.”
“Do you care about Dad at all?” I asked. “Or do you only care when things are perfect? That’s the only way you know how to love anyone, isn’t it? If they don’t behave the way you want them to, you turn your back on them and pretend things are great.”
Mom’s lip trembled. “I love your father. I have always loved him. Don’t tell me about love, Hannah. You don’t know the sacrifices I’ve made for your father so he can have the things he wanted in life. Do you know how exhausting it is being Daniel Cohen’s wife, making sure everything about our lives is perfect so he looks good among his colleagues? You want to know why I pretend? It’s all for him.”
She pressed her mouth into a hard line. I knew she meant what she said, but it didn’t matter. I clenched my fists. I wouldn’t feel sorry for my mom. She had a part in this whole mess. “I’m done pretending. I’m done living by your rules. I’m not going to Yale. I’m not even applying there. I won’t be the person you think I should be.”