“Do you have a date?”
“Careful,” I warn as playfully as possible. Wouldn’t want him to think I’m reading anything into those words I shouldn’t. “You’re starting to sound like you might care.”
Chapter Fifteen
Monday afternoon, in lieu of the time we should be spending working out a schedule to copy each other’s homework, Beth and I are sitting on the hood of my car. She quizzes me on the different colors of our classmates’ hair and eyes as they pass by. I try to explain to her in the nicest way possible how actually trying to describe a color to someone who doesn’t see in color is like attempting to explain the sound of a certain song to someone who can’t hear.
“Or, well, maybe it’s not like that at all. I really don’t know. I don’t want to sound like a jerk by actually making the comparison though, so let’s forget I ever said that.” I wave my hands in the air, attempting to erase the words from her memory, but she doesn’t laugh. She doesn’t seem like she’s even listening to me really. “Hello? Beth?”
She lays her hand on my shoulder and nods at something behind me instead.
“Do you know her?”
“Know who?”
I turn, afraid for half a second the mystery SUV is back. I breathe a little easier when I see it’s not. Across the street though, parked in the lot outside the school’s sports complex, is an older model gray sedan that looks kind of familiar. In the driver’s seat is Angela McCormack. I see her nod slightly, more to herself than anything else from the looks of it, and then open the car door to step out. Once she’s standing, she doesn’t make a move to cross the street or come any closer. No, she waits patiently and I lift a hand in a little wave because really, what else am I supposed to do?
“Yeah.” I turn back to Beth, who’s busy looking back and forth between me and the woman across the street. “Yeah, I do.”
“Let me guess…”
“Drew’s mom. Yup.”
She glances back across the street and hitches her bag up over her shoulder. Backing up a step, she nods in the direction of her own car.
“I’ve got to head to work anyway, but you call me if you need me.”
I walk the extra hundred or so feet to the crosswalk to stall for time. I’ve spent what’s most likely been hours upon hours wondering what’s going through this woman’s head since I left her living room. But regardless of that, I’m still allowed to be nervous. Okay?
About five feet from her car, I stop and offer a closed mouth smile, but keep quiet. I left her with the last word before. It’s only fair she get the first ones this time.
“I have a shift at the hospital starting soon, but I was hoping we could talk beforehand.”
No hello, no pleasantries of any kind. Straightforward, but I guess I can appreciate that.
“All right.” I nod my head once and resume my stare.
She crosses her arms in front of her chest, pulling the sides of her jacket together and cradling each elbow in the opposite hand. She looks nervous, rocking from one foot to the other. Like she’s afraid I’m going to go off on her again. I hope for both of our sakes’ that’s not true. I don’t think I have the energy for that kind of thing right now.
“Do you want to go grab a coffee, or a bite to eat somewhere, or…?”
“Coffee’s fine,” I say, positive I wouldn’t be able to eat a bite of anything. “There’s a place not far from here. You can follow me.”
I spin around and stalk off back to my car quickly, bypassing the crosswalk route and stepping right over the speed bumps in the middle of the road. If she’s put off or surprised by my sudden departure, I don’t see it. On account of the whole departing thing and whatnot.
I’m halfway to the coffee house before I even think to check my rearview to make sure she’s following me. All I think is something along the lines of ‘Guilty. Guilty. Guilty.’ Because that’s how I feel. Like I’m going behind Drew’s back. Interfering where I know he’d rather I mind my own business. Even thinking for half a second that because it’s his business makes it my own has the guilt multiplying tenfold.
This is not my place, but I go right ahead, and I interject myself anyway.
God, I wish this was easier. Isn’t it supposed to be easier?
It being what exactly, I’m not sure. Life? Falling in love?
Oh God. That cannot be what this is.
I pull into the parking lot and am so rattled I almost forget to take my keys out of the ignition. I double back to get them and count at least three different black SUVs in the parking lot. Normally not something that would even garner my attention—almost everyone has a black, white, or gray vehicle for crying out loud, but I can’t shake the feeling the one in the parking lot on Saturday left me with. I meet Ms. McCormack at the door of the coffee shop with my keys still dangling from my fingers. And with more confused, nervous energy running through me than I’d like.
She offers to buy me a drink, but I decline. I don’t even like coffee. I claim a booth in the corner. After she sits, like in the parking lot, I wait for her to talk.
Finally, she takes a sip of her drink and clears her throat.
“I feel bad about the way I handled things before.”
“With me, or with your son?”
She winces, but I think deep down, she almost expected it. I’ve said before I’ve always been honest most of the time, but I’m a lot more blunt than I probably should be. There’s something about this woman though—or maybe it’s her son—that really makes me want to lay everything out on the table. I don’t want to mince words or let there be any sort of miscommunication on where I stand. About which side of the fence I’m on.
“Would you believe me if I said both?” She looks me right in the eye as she says it and her gaze does not waver. The intensity of it almost makes me feel uncomfortable and enough to want to look away, but I won’t. I’m too busy trying to figure out the level of her sincerity and whether or not I should waste my time believing her.
I don’t know this woman, or the kind of person she really is. Other than someone who’s obviously let a bad situation get the best of her. When Drew talked about his family, he talked about the little brother he loves and protects. And the one time he really spoke of his mother, he showed the exact same fierce protectiveness. Of course he loves her, and of course she’s worth protecting. And I keep trying to remind myself of that and the whole ‘walk a mile in their shoes’ thing, and I really want to, but it’s hard to see where she’s coming from when I’ve gone to sleep for the past week with her son’s face, bruised and swollen, burned into my brain.
“I think that depends on what you plan to do about it.”
“You don’t…” She looks away, running a hand through her hair in a way that reminds me of her son. Her hair goes off in all directions and she hurries to push it back into place, smoothing down the flyaways and shoving it behind her ears. She sighs heavily and closes her eyes for a second before giving me a tired smile. “There are bigger things at play here, Libby. You can’t understand how hard this is.”
For me.
The words remain unsaid, but I can still imagine them hanging off the edge of her tongue. I can imagine them in her eyes and in the way her hand curls into a fist on top of the table between us. For a split second the horrifying notion that maybe she’s the one who made the surveillance video disappear crosses my mind.
It’s unfair for me to think because I know her decision to keep quiet is about more than her protecting her own interest. I know Drew told her not to tell, but damn it, he’s not the one who should be making those decisions. No matter how much he wants to protect his family. He’s seventeen years old. I’m seventeen. I know how it feels to think I’m not a child and that my decisions are valid and should be respected. But to this extent? To the point where he ends up ruining his life with those decisions?
She has to see that. And she has to see she’s the parent and she’s responsible for making sure the right thing is do
ne. Even if it goes against his wishes.
And I have to bite my tongue to keep myself from snapping. I grit my teeth and curl my own hands, hidden at my sides, into fists and shift as far away from her as I can on this stupid fake leather bench.
“You’re right,” I say, bobbing my head in a manic nod, and probably looking like I’m out of my mind. “I don’t understand. I won’t even pretend I do. I can’t. I literally cannot fathom the idea of a man who would do… Who would do the things he’s done ever being more important to you than your own wellbeing, much less your own sons’.”
A vaguely horrified look crosses her face and I can practically hear her thinking ‘just who the hell does this girl think she is?’, but I don’t let it stop me. I can’t let it stop me.
“Let’s forget for a moment that anyone, that you, deserve better than whatever you think he offers you. Because you do. I don’t even have to know you to know it’s true. Forget that, though, and think about your son. Drew, who despite everything as far as I can tell, is one hundred times the man than the one who should have been setting a better example for him.” I’m not even sure if my sentence makes sense, but I can tell it packs a punch regardless. I will my voice to take on a softer tone as I lower my eyes to the table, afraid I might actually cry or do something else equally embarrassing if I’m looking anywhere else. “Do you really not see how wonderful he is? How much more he deserves?”
Her silence makes my heart feel like it’s going to crack in two. It makes me wonder if she’s ever taken the time to consider the man her son has managed to become all on his own.
“And are you really okay with just sitting here, and letting him sit in there … in that place, spending his time thinking he’s no better than that man?”
“That man is still his father.” She purses her lips. “Benjamin might not be the easiest to deal with, but deep down he’s a good man, and—”
“That man might be his father, but he’s also the one who put your son in this position.” I stand up, unwilling to hear anything else she has to say. “And, let’s face it, we both know you’re pretty much the only the one who can get him out of it.”
****
For the rest of the day, I think about our conversation, and about the look on her face, and how I’ve probably ruined all chances at ever having a polite, healthy relationship with the woman in question. I think about it again on Tuesday.
I want to be sympathetic toward her, I really do. It’s not her fault her Soulmate is a jackass. Nothing that’s happened to her is her fault. I can’t find it in myself to feel much of a connection for someone who knowingly put her own children in danger—regardless of Drew’s wishes. Maybe it’s because I’m new to this whole Soulmate thing, and I really don’t know how it works—how it’s supposed to work. But I can’t see anyone being worth the sling on her youngest son’s arm, or the gray jumpsuit on her oldest’s back.
Having a Soulmate might not always correspond with romantic love, and I understand that. Whatever they have, though… That kind of love? I don’t want it.
I continue to think about these things as I beg my father at dinner Tuesday night to do whatever he can to get me in to see Drew the following day.
“I haven’t asked you to pull any strings so far,” I say, like it makes all the difference.
But he relents in the end, and I feel bad about keeping so much from him—the second hospital visit, the trip to the McCormacks’ house, the sense of dread I’m starting to get every time I spot a black vehicle in my rearview. My father’s not a rash man. He wouldn’t do anything stupid, but it’s easy to convince myself the fewer people involved in this whole mess, the better.
****
I wait for Drew in the chair I’m starting to think of as my own—last visitation booth on the right.
Maybe it’s because I’m not usually here on Wednesdays and he didn’t expect me. Maybe it’s because he hoped I’d be someone else—mother, brother, who knows. Or maybe he can read the unease in my eyes and the severity in my posture. Whatever it is, he sits down across from me and the smile, a small and soft one that makes my breath catch in my throat, slips from his face as soon as we lock eyes.
“Is everything okay?”
And there it is. Is this not an example of the things I pointed out to his mother? He might have felt guilty before for not thinking to ask about me—which I realize is silly now considering how much of our time spent together I’ve monopolized by not letting him talk about anything but himself—but now his first thought is something is wrong and he needs to know what it is. And he realized it all without me having to say a word.
Or maybe I’ve been so stuck inside my own head these days I’m seeing things that aren’t there at all. I’m also realizing for someone who claims she’s never been guilty of romanticism, I sure have been doing it a lot lately. I suppose there’s a first time for everything. Or even a third or fourth.
“I need to talk to you about your mother.”
And there it is. It’s almost like there’s a sudden, impenetrable blockade closing off any emotion that tries to make its way to his face. His lips form a straight line. His brows flatten. His eyes are like ice.
It’s not hard to see he’s not granting an extension on the conversation we had at the hospital.
“There’s nothing to talk about.”
“I think you’re wrong,” I say softly. I shouldn’t push, and maybe I shouldn’t stick my nose into this, but it’s a little too late for that.
“And I think you’re wrong.” He scoffs and the sound actually hurts to hear. “And I really don’t mean any offense, but talking about her again… Well, it’s off the table.”
His eyes are lowered and he slowly twists his fingers in and out of the phone cord. He looks, and sounds, almost sad. Which probably means he is, right? But is it sad about her, or for her? Probably both.
“She hasn’t been to visit, right?”
My voice lilts up at the end of my sentence. Higher than one’s normally would, even if asking a question. Drew looks up and studies my face for a second, but I keep my eyes firmly on his hands.
Yes, Libby, please lead him down a path that will immediately incite suspicion on your behalf. That’s a totally smart thing to do!
“Libby…” he starts, and he’s used my name only a handful of times so it has this effect—this accelerated heartbeat, I bet he can actually see my pulse jumping in my neck effect. I actually forget for a fraction of a second we’re about to have a conversation which will most likely not end well.
“She, um…” I clear my throat and look up at him. His eyes are hard and I look down in time to see his knuckles go white. “She came to see me earlier this week.”
There. It might not be the whole truth, but it’s definitely not a lie.
But it must be pretty obvious it’s not the whole truth by a long shot because Drew leans forward, the movement slow and fluid, almost cat-like really. It makes me wonder how he moves on a regular basis, or on the soccer field. It also makes me a little more nervous than I was before.
“Why would she do that? Why would she do that when she has no idea who you are?” he asks, and there’s something in the way he says it that leads me to believe even if she had been to visit him, she still wouldn’t hear a single word about me from his lips. I don’t know if it has more to say about his relationship with his mother or the way he feels about me. “Why would she come see you, when she can’t even be bothered to visit me?”
Well, that answers any questions about whether or not he resents her not visiting. He doesn’t even look at me when he says it, and his voice sounds small. Hurt. I have no idea what to say to that in order to make him feel better, so I blurt out the truth and hope he doesn’t absolutely hate me for it.
“I might have gone to have a talk with her first,” I mumble, slurring the words together and tucking my chin closer to my chest.
“I’m sorry, you what?”
“I said that I—”
Once I start, I can’t make myself stop.
“I saw your father, too. At the hospital the day after I visited you there.”
“What?”
His interruption is filled with so much disbelief, and so much … anger. And I realize how many boundaries I’ve over-stepped, but I have to let it all out now. Might as well get it over with.
“I also might have tried to pull the security footage from his apartment building.”
“You don’t need to see that,” he says, his voice cold and detached. His glare is so intense that when he continues, it’s like he’s looking straight through me. “You don’t need to see that, and you don’t need to see him. He sure as hell doesn’t need to see you. Did you even think about how dangerous that was?”
I’m so inappropriately angry it’s embarrassing. The truth is I knew it wasn’t the smartest thing to do, but I did it anyway. I knew I should have kept my nosy ass out of it, but I still didn’t mind my own business. It’s something I remind myself of every single time I catch the glimpse of a black SUV in my rearview, or insist on scoping out every parking lot before picking out a spot. It’s not Drew’s fault I’ve been acting like a dumbass over this situation and over him, but he’s the only one here right now. And the only one making me feel like an idiot at the moment.
“What’s he going to do, Drew?” I wave one hand through the air for the simple reason that there’s too much angry energy in my body to sit still. “Is he going to look into me? Look into me and say ‘Youth leader? But Andrew doesn’t even go to church!’ It’s kind of hard for him to make that claim when he’s pretending he doesn’t even know who you are!”
He lets out an ugly laugh.
“Well, there’s no way he can deny knowing who you are, is there? He could look into you, you know. He could look into you and say ‘Youth leader? Likely story, now someone explain why she’s lurking around my hospital room the day after checking on that little shit who put me here.’” He stares at the counter in front of him. “Did you even think about that? You put yourself at enough risk by even visiting me.”
What's a Soulmate? Page 17