by Shana Norris
Mom’s nostrils flared and her face turned red. “We’ll talk about this in the fall.”
I nodded. “We will. We’ll talk about a lot of things that will be changing.” I took a step back, widening the distance between us. “Have fun on your vacation, Mom.”
My teeth chattered, though I wasn’t cold. It was a warm July night in Paris and the city sparkled around me. A happy couple passed on a romantic walk, the woman’s head gently resting on the man’s shoulder. A loud German family wandered down the street, all four of them buried in a map. The last time I was in Paris, I had let myself get lost in the magic of the city and forget everything else.
But the magic wasn’t there. It was just a city somewhere in the world. Nothing special.
I finally let exhaustion take over. The hollowness that had been creeping up since I watched Jude walk away from me seeped into me. I sat on a park bench and pulled my cell phone from my pocket, which was still off from when I boarded the plane.
It came back to life and a long list of unread texts and unheard voicemails immediately popped up. I didn’t have the energy to look at any of them.
My chin quivered as I scrolled through my contacts. The lump I’d been holding back rose in my throat, almost choking me. The screen of my cell became blurry as tears filled my eyes again.
I pressed a button and then put the phone to my ear.
It rang once, twice, three times—
“Hannah?” said a breathless voice on the other end.
I opened my mouth, but only a choking sob came out. My shoulders shook and I pressed the back of my hand to my lips.
“Where are you?” Jude asked. He sounded anxious and relieved. “Are you okay?”
“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you the truth about my family,” I said.
“That doesn’t matter anymore,” he told me.
“Yes, it does,” I said. “The truth is I live in a big lonely house and my mom is an alcoholic and my dad is addicted to pain pills, and I have no idea what that makes me other than seriously screwed up. I didn’t want you to know that.”
“We’re all screwed up, Hannah,” Jude said, “You’re not any worse than I am. I’m sorry I yelled at you. I wasn’t just angry with you, I was angry at myself for letting my situation get as bad as it is.”
I closed my eyes, enjoying the sound of his voice in my ear.
“I never thought I was better than you,” I told him. “That wasn’t why I didn’t want anything to happen between us.”
“Never?” he asked with a laugh.
“Never,” I said. “You’re amazing and honest and courageous and I was too afraid you’d see that I wasn’t any of those things.” I swallowed as the lump swelled in my throat again.
“Your aunt called me earlier,” Jude said. “She told me everything. I . . . I get it. I know you weren’t lying to hurt me. You just needed to protect yourself.”
I let out a long, relieved breath. I didn’t realize until then how much I wanted to hear him say that.
“And you were right about the things you said about me,” Jude went on. “I’ve been too afraid to move on. You made me see that.”
“Jude, I—” I said, cutting myself off. I had no idea where to start.
“I made a decision today,” he told me. He sounded confident and strong, no longer broken. “I’m going to enlist in the army. It was always my idea and I’d still like to do it. I just needed to find the courage to actually go for it.”
I watched a young couple walk by again, their arms around each other. “I think that would be good for you,” I said. “Don’t hold yourself back from anything, Jude.”
“I’ll try not to.” His voice turned serious. “Your aunt said you left and she thought you might be with me. We’ve been trying to reach you all day. Where are you? I’ll come get you if I have to.”
“Paris.”
There was a pause. “As in, France?” he asked.
I laughed. “Yeah.”
“How did you—never mind,” he said. “Are you with your mom?”
“No,” I said, gripping the phone tight. “We had a fight and I left. I’m sitting on a park bench.”
“What time is it there?”
“Late,” I said.
“Do you have money?”
I cringed at the mention of money. I always had enough money—just a checkbook or a plastic card away. “Yes.”
“Okay. Go find a hotel—a nice one, like with a hot tub inside and everything—and see if you can get a room.”
I laughed. “Only if there’s a hot tub inside.”
“Let me know where you’re staying. Just go to sleep some place safe. Everything will be okay tomorrow.”
I wanted to believe that was true. “Rule #1,” I reminded him. “Be honest.”
“Do you still trust me?” he asked.
I didn’t have to think about it. “I do.”
“Then everything will be okay.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
I opened my eyes to a white ceiling made of decorative tiles with swirling patterns of birds and flowers.
The knocking sound that had awoken me came again. I rubbed my eyes and then blinked up at the ceiling, trying to remember where I was. The bed was too large and covered in too many lacy pillows to be the one at Aunt Lydia’s house. For a moment, I thought maybe I was at home in Willowbrook, but my mom would have never approved of that ceiling.
Then I remembered. The last minute flight to Paris. The fight with Mom. The phone call to Jude.
Jude.
I pushed the blankets off and dashed toward the door as the knocking grew louder and more insistent. I pulled it open, holding my breath.
“Hannah, thank goodness!” Aunt Lydia wrapped her arms around me, crushing me against her.
She smelled like soap and paint. I closed my eyes, breathing it in. I didn’t even try to stop the tears this time.
Aunt Lydia rubbed a hand over my head. “Shh,” she said. “It’s okay. I’m taking you home.”
“I’m sorry,” I said between sobs.
“It’s all right. Where is your mother?”
“At her hotel, I guess,” I said with a shrug.
Aunt Lydia pressed her lips together and nodded. “Okay. Get your things.”
I didn’t have much to get, other than my purse. Aunt Lydia had a car already waiting for us outside and she gave the driver the address to Mom’s hotel. My stomach churned as we sped through the Parisian streets. I didn’t want to face my mother again, not so soon after our last argument.
When the car pulled up in front of Mom’s hotel, Aunt Lydia looked at me. “You can wait here. I just have a few things I need to say to Marilyn before we leave.”
Was it better to stay in the safety of the car, or make sure Mom and Aunt Lydia didn’t kill each other?
“I’ll go,” I said hoarsely.
I told the driver to wait, since my French was better than Aunt Lydia’s, and then we headed into the hotel to Mom’s suite. Aunt Lydia didn’t even stop at the desk to ask the concierge for directions. She strode through the gleaming lobby, her head held high, like a woman on a mission.
Aunt Lydia pounded on Mom’s door, much louder than she had knocked on mine. She kept pounding her fist against the wood, until finally, the door opened and Tess blinked at us.
“May I help you?” Tess asked.
“I need to see Marilyn,” Aunt Lydia told her. Without waiting for an invitation, Aunt Lydia pushed Tess aside and marched into the suite.
“Marilyn!” she shouted.
Tess winced and rubbed at her head. “Could you possibly do that a little quieter?”
“Just tell me which room is Marilyn’s,” Aunt Lydia snapped, loudly.
Tess pointed at one of the doors, and Aunt Lydia swung it open. I followed as she strode across the room. Aunt Lydia snatched the white comforter off of Mom, who was sprawled across the large bed. Then she pushed open the curtains, letting in the morning sunlight.
&nbs
p; “Marilyn.” Aunt Lydia shook Mom’s shoulder, rocking her back and forth violently until Mom’s eyes fluttered open.
She let out a moan. “Go away.”
“No,” Aunt Lydia said. “I flew overnight to Paris to speak to you, and you are going to listen this time.”
Mom sat up, pushing at her matted hair. She had slept in her makeup, and dark smudges of mascara lined her eyes. She sneered up at Aunt Lydia. “What are you doing here?”
Aunt Lydia pointed at me. “She is the reason I’m here.”
Mom let out a sigh as her bleary eyes focused on me. “Thank goodness, Hannah. I was up half the night worried about you.”
“Sure you were,” Aunt Lydia snapped. “She’s your daughter, Marilyn, and she needed you this summer. But you decided to take off and ignore the things you don’t want to be real, like you always do.”
Mom grunted and rolled on her side.
“Do you even realize how much you’ve let Hannah down?”
“She’s seventeen years old,” Mom said. “She’s not a child, Lydia. But I guess you wouldn’t know that, since you didn’t stick around to see her grow up.”
“Right, she’s seventeen, not an adult! You can’t expect her to deal with tough situations on her own. You can’t expect her to live by all those rules you drilled into her head and be a perfect, well-adjusted little grown up. She needs a mother who is there for her.”
Mom laughed, her eyes gleaming wickedly up at Aunt Lydia. “That’s what this is all about, isn’t it? You’re still jealous of everything I have.”
For a moment, I thought Aunt Lydia was going to slap Mom. Her body tensed, but she clenched her teeth and took a few deep breaths.
“Even after all this time, you can’t understand that I don’t want the same things you do,” Aunt Lydia said, like she was talking to herself.
“I was trying to save you from heartache, Lydia,” Mom told her. “Were you really happy then, going through all of that? Are you happy now?”
Aunt Lydia straightened her shoulders and lifted her chin. “I may not have what you have, Marilyn, but at least I know a whole hell of a lot more about life and taking chances than you do.” She turned and marched across the room to where I waited by the door. “I’m taking Hannah back to Asheville with me for the rest of the summer. Whenever you decide to return to the real world, I’d advise you to check out Keller-Burns for yourself. Daniel isn’t the only one with a problem that needs fixing.”
We were silent on the way to the airport. Aunt Lydia bought two tickets back to North Carolina. I offered to pay since it was my fault she had flown to Paris, but she wouldn’t let me. I cringed to think of how big a chunk of her savings she was spending.
I sat in a chair near a plate glass window that looked out at the runway while Aunt Lydia went to buy some breakfast for us. She came back with croissants and two bottles of milk, and handed me one.
“Bon appétit!” she said with a wink.
“How did you find me?” I asked.
“Jude,” Aunt Lydia said. “He told me where you were.”
I took a bite of my croissant, but I could hardly swallow it. I chewed slowly as I pushed flakes of bread around the paper wrapper in my lap.
Aunt Lydia put a hand over mine. “Hannah, I want you to know that your mom’s problems aren’t yours. She needs help, but you don’t have to protect her from anything. You’re not the parent here. You’re seventeen, and you should get the chance to be just that.”
I looked down at my food.
“I’m sorry I left Willowbrook all those years ago,” Aunt Lydia said. “I never meant to leave you, but I needed a chance to breathe. Your mom isn’t easy to live with. She doesn’t just try to rule your life, she tried to rule mine, too. Four years ago, I wanted something that your mom didn’t agree with.”
I raised my eyebrows. “What?”
“A baby,” Aunt Lydia said.
My mouth dropped open. “A baby?”
“On my own,” Aunt Lydia went on. “I’m not exactly as young as I used to be. And the right man never came along. So I wanted a baby, and if it meant having one on my own, that was what I would do. I chose an anonymous donor and went through IVF. Your mom was opposed. She thought it would reflect badly on her if her unwed older sister had a baby without having a real family. Marilyn loves gossip as long as it doesn’t involve her.”
Aunt Lydia took a sip of milk, then continued. “I tried the IVF a few times, but it didn’t work. Then one day, it did. I was pregnant for nine weeks. But at my next ultrasound, there was no heartbeat and I miscarried.” Aunt Lydia was calm, but her eyes looked somewhere past me, above my left shoulder. “Your mom…” She took a deep breath, blinking quickly. “Your mom said it was for the best, and I was stupid for even trying to do it on my own. She told me to give up and go back to devoting myself to the gallery. What she really meant was for me to go back to my life of being alone and be happy with that, all to save her own perfect world.”
I thought back to the time just before Aunt Lydia left Willowbrook. I hadn’t known any of that was going on, but I did remember Aunt Lydia crying one night when I had stayed at her house. It was late, and she hadn’t known I was awake. I’d gotten up to go to the bathroom and heard her crying in her room. I’d been too afraid to ask what was wrong.
“I don’t want to make you hate your mother,” Aunt Lydia told me gently. “You were very young when our parents died, so I’m sure you don’t remember them. They were good people, but they struggled a lot financially. Marilyn always wanted a big house and fancy clothes, and our parents could never give her that. When she married your father, he was so driven and intelligent that she knew he would go far. It was her chance to have her perfect life, and she became afraid of anything that might jeopardize it.”
I put my breakfast down on the little table in front of our chairs and leaned my head against her shoulders, which were shaking slightly. I wrapped my arms tightly around her and she squeezed me back. I was suddenly extremely thankful that it was Aunt Lydia at the door that morning.
“You were right to say that I ran away,” Aunt Lydia said. “There’s a part of me that’s no better than your mom. When things get tough, I run away and pretend it’s fine just like she does. I didn’t want to leave you, but I needed some space. Before I knew it, that space had turned into years and I didn’t know if you wanted to hear from me again.” She squeezed my hand. “I was so happy when your mom called and said you wanted to come stay with me this summer. I hoped that maybe we could fix everything and go back to the way it used to be.”
“Nothing is the way it used to be,” I said.
“I know.”
I flicked a crumb off my finger. “I’m not ready to go back to the real world yet.”
Aunt Lydia rubbed her hand over my head. “Trust me, Hannah, hiding from the hard stuff doesn’t make it any easier to live with.”
#
It was mid-afternoon when we landed in Charlotte, North Carolina. We found Aunt Lydia’s car in the airport parking lot and then headed back to Asheville. We didn’t speak much as we rode through the foothills and then the blue mountains. I sat in the passenger seat with my head against the window, my eyes heavy with exhaustion.
As Aunt Lydia turned a corner a few blocks from her house, something caught my eye and made me sit up straight.
We passed Jude’s house slowly. It looked still and empty. His truck wasn’t in the driveway, neither was his mom’s car. Everything else about the house looked exactly as it had been the last time I’d seen it.
Except there was no shirt hanging from the tree at the corner of the lot.
Chapter Twenty-Three
The figure standing on the front porch just after 8:00 a.m. had freshly shaved hair. Super short. A buzz cut. He ducked his head when I looked at him standing in the open door.
“Hey,” Jude said.
Now my heart was stuck somewhere in my knees as I looked up into Jude’s gray eyes. The same gray eyes I
had seen that first day I’d arrived in Asheville.
“Hey,” I answered.
It had been a week since I’d come back from Paris. Jude and I had seen each other a few times, but only briefly. I was still sorting things out in my head—who I was, what I wanted in life, and what would come next once I went back home at the end of the summer.
I raised my eyebrows. “That’s a new look for you.”
He bent over slightly, turning his head to show off. “Yeah. The military chic look.” He grinned and I couldn’t help laughing.
“It looks good,” I assured him. “Different, but good.”
We fell silent for a moment, listening to the birds chirping from the trees in the neighborhood as they started their day.
“I was wondering if you might want to climb a rock again with me today,” Jude said, stuffing his hands deep in his pockets.
I opened my mouth to say yes, but then another thought crossed my mind. “Actually,” I said slowly, “I have another rock I need to climb, and I was wondering if you would be there for support.”
He gave me an intrigued look. “I’ll do anything you need me to, Hannah.”
My chest pounded against my ribs as I said, “Will you go with me to visit my dad at rehab?”
#
My stomach twisted when the gray stone building came into view hours later. I had seen it only once before, but I remembered every detail. The perfectly manicured bushes cut into severe cubes that lined the path to the building. The spotless, sterile sliding glass door. The iron bench out front that left marks in your legs if you sat too long.
“You okay?” Jude asked.
I nodded, gulping down the lump in my throat. I couldn’t speak. If I opened my mouth, I might have cried or thrown up or done something else I really didn’t want to do right then.
I maneuvered the car into a parking space and cut off the ignition. Jude reached over to squeeze my hand. “I’m right here,” he said. “I’ll be here the whole time if you need me.”