I stop, too, kicking at the knotted stump of a broken branch before turning to face him. “He cut himself, Jace. On purpose.”
His mouth drops open. “What! My God. You’re sure?”
“Yeah.” The horror is back, just with that one word.
Ahead of us, two older ladies appear, one walking a small black dog with a red polka-dot leash. He curses under his breath and gestures to the trail. We jog again, passing the ladies. When the trail is clear ahead, he says, “You should have told me. We have to do something. We have to tell someone.”
“I did. I told his mom.”
“And?”
“And it’s covered.”
“Covered?” He stops again.
Sighing, I slow to a stop and turn. “What?”
“What the hell does that mean, covered?”
“His mom is going to talk to a doctor.”
“She’s going to talk to someone?” His voice rises. “What if he tries something…does something…What if—”
“It’s okay. He’s not going to do anything like that again.”
“How can you be sure?”
“Because I gave up the internship.”
He plants his hands on his hips and stares at the dirt. “Aw hell, Emma.”
I clench my jaw, very close to lashing out again. “A second ago you wanted to get Dillon help. This is what will help.” I turn back to the trail and start running.
“Emma, come on!” His voice is frustrated. Does he think he’s the only one?
He catches up and reaches for my arm. “There has to be something else we can do.”
I stop and shake my arm free. “There isn’t.”
“So that’s it? You’re just going to give up everything?”
“I’m not giving up everything. Right now, he needs this. He needs me. You know he hasn’t been himself this semester. You said it yourself. But it’s not going to go away or work itself out. He needs counseling. Once he’s stronger, then I can think about Rome again.”
He pulls off his hat and runs a hand through his matted hair. “I can’t believe this is happening. This is Dillon we’re talking about. Dillon!”
I shrug. I don’t know what to say.
“Maybe if I stay. If I take the Bergen Scholarship—”
“Jace—”
“No,” he snaps. “You shouldn’t have to do this!”
Frustration hums between us and we both turn back to the trail. This wasn’t a good idea—running with Jace. It’s only making things harder. The path winds right and circles a giant rock outcropping. I usually love this part of the trail. It’s shaded and cool, dipping beneath the branches of three trees that form a canopy. Today it feels more like a tunnel—dark and claustrophobic.
“It’s not that big a deal,” I say. “Think about all the sacrifices people make for love. How many kids do we know who are choosing universities because of a boyfriend or a girlfriend? They’re going to move across the country and rack up huge debt all so they can be near the person they love. Look at everything my dad has been going through, all for the sake of love. Me, I’m sacrificing an internship that I probably wasn’t going to get anyway.”
The trail rises over a muddy patch of rock but jutting from beneath a ragged boulder is a spray of wildflowers. It’s beautiful and harsh all at the same time. Like life, I think.
“So,” I say, “we’ll skip a few runs, wait a week or two, and then I’m sure things will get back to normal.”
“Normal, huh?”
“I have to do this, Jace. When you love someone, you have to help them—any way you can.”
“Yeah,” he says, a funny note in his voice. “I guess you do.”
“So we’ll just be patient for a little while.”
“Emma.” He stops so suddenly I don’t realize it at first. It’s his voice that makes me turn to him. I wait as he walks toward me, his breath coming in short, fast bursts. At first I think he’s reacting to what I’ve said, but then I see that his gaze is lifted to one of the hills that overlooks the trail.
“What?” I say, even as I’m searching to figure out what has him so stiff. All I see is the rising slope of the peak. Then something flashes in the sun. A pair of sunglasses. There’s someone sitting on top of the hill. It’s too far away to see clearly, but I know.
The sweat on my skin turns into chills. Dillon is watching.
When I get home from my run, Dad is sitting at the kitchen counter sipping a cup of coffee. He’s dressed in a deep pink polo I’ve never seen before and the jeans that Lauren and I tease are his “sexy jeans” because they have embroidered pockets and a fitted cut. His hair is still damp from a shower and carefully brushed forward.
“Dad!” I don’t know what to say. I’m not sure why he’s up this early or why he’s dressed like this or why he seems so bright-eyed. But I feel as fragile as a fossil, and the only thing I’m absolutely sure of is that I’m not going to like it and I can’t deal with it right now.
“Did you have a good run?” he asks.
I open the fridge and reach for a cold bottle of water. “Um. Yeah.” I unscrew the cap and take a deep drink, feeling the cold work its way to my stomach. I still feel an itch between my shoulder blades as if Dillon is watching me. “I’m going to get in the shower,” I say.
“Sounds good.” His smile seems a little forced. “Then I’ll tell you about the great idea I had last night.”
“Dad—”
“I’m going with you today to see Mom. I should be there when she opens her present.”
My gaze shifts to the album that is now wrapped in silver paper and tied with every color of ribbon we own. Dad runs a finger over the edge of one ribbon. “You would have laughed if you’d seen me trying to make these curlicues. I couldn’t figure how to hold the scissors. So much for my advanced degrees.”
I close my eyes against his sweet smile. “We already agreed that I would bring it to her. Remember? Give her some time to look at it without feeling pressured.”
“There’s no reason for her to feel pressured.”
“Look at you,” I say. “Is that a new shirt?”
He looks down at himself. “What’s wrong with trying to look nice?”
“Because she’s going to know that it’s all part of a manipulative plan to get her to take you back.”
He blinks, startled. “Polo shirts are not manipulative.”
I rub the cold bottle over my hot forehead. “Just let me go by myself. Please?”
“We have things we should talk over. Your trip to Rome, for starters. She’s hurt, by the way, that you’ve only texted her the basics.”
“Because I knew I’d see her today.” I take a deep breath. I half expected Mrs. Lyght to tell Dad my decision, but I’m not going to get off that easily. Oh, why not just get it over with? “As it turns out, I’m not going to Rome.”
He tilts his head as if he didn’t quite hear. But he did.
“I’ve decided to stay here. I’ll go to ASU as planned. You’ve always said you could get me volunteer work close to home. There’s the Land of Enchantment in New Mexico, right?”
He cups his hand around his mug but doesn’t drink. “When did you decide all of this?”
“The other day.”
“And why? There’s a copy of your assignment on the home computer. I’ve read it, Emma. The work you did is excellent.”
“I’m not submitting it.”
“Of course you are.”
“No, I’m not.”
“Emma.”
I start to go around him toward the hall but he stands and blocks my way.
“Is this because of Dillon?” His eyebrows dip in disgust. “You’re not giving up an opportunity like this for a boy. Please tell me that’s not what’s happening here.”
“I’m eighteen, Dad. I’m old enough to make my own decisions.”
“Then act like it.”
I shake my head, fighting off anger and exhaustion. “I’m going to take a sh
ower.”
“We’re not done talking.”
I push past him. “I am.”
“Then I’ll have a talk with Dillon.”
I spin back around, my heart racing. “No, Dad!”
“He says he loves you. Well…if he does, then he won’t allow you to sacrifice this internship.”
It’s all too much then. The mix of anger and fear boils over and comes spewing out in a cry. “What about the sacrifices I made for you? Do you ever think about that? All the school games I missed, the dances and the parties so I could stay with you over the weekends. So I could put you to bed when you got too drunk to do it yourself. I moved across town to take care of you! I was going to be a senior, Dad. I was going to be…” I swallow a sob as all the things I was going to be and do flood through me. “And you let me give it all up. You never even said you were sorry.”
His mouth drops. “You said you wanted to move, to make a new start.”
“But I didn’t have to move so far away. I wouldn’t have left my friends if I wasn’t so worried about you.” Tears spill down my cheeks and into my mouth. “You were out of control, following Mom. Showing up outside Henry’s house. And look at you in your new shirt—like she still might change her mind.”
“We had twenty-five years together!” His voice trembles. “You don’t understand what that means.” He grips the countertop, squaring his shoulders. “We share things she’ll never have with that man. I was the one who got her through the winter when her brother died. I was the one who held her hand when she gave birth to the two of you. I was there when she had a cancer scare and when she sold her first house.”
“And I was there when she said she was leaving!”
His head bobbles back as if I’ve just slapped him, and it feels good. “She’s not coming back,” I say. “She sold the house. It’s gone. She’s not lonely. She’s not rattling around in the past like you are. She’s with Henry. With his kids. She’s gone, Dad, and she’s not coming back.”
He staggers back a step, then finds his way into the chair at the counter and sits heavily. “She sold the house? She couldn’t have. She loves that house. I would know.” His voice grows stronger. “I would know.”
I stride across the kitchen to where the phone is sitting in its cradle. I grab it and bring it back to the counter. I drop it on the granite with a clatter. “There. Call Lauren if you don’t believe me. She’s been after me to tell you for weeks, but I didn’t want to hurt you. But you can’t go to the house today and you can’t bring Mom the book because she’s not there.”
He grabs for the counter as if he’s physically going to teeter over. Disbelief flares in his eyes as the muscles of his face sag. He blinks back at me—an old man. Guilt rises, sudden and fierce. What did I do? “Dad?” I say hesitantly.
“When did this happen?”
“We packed up the house over spring break.”
“And she’s been living with him?”
I swallow. “Yeah.”
“The house is gone,” he says carefully, as if he’s testing the words.
“Yeah.”
He’s quiet for a long minute. “I’ve seen his boys, you know.” Dad shakes his head. “A ten-year-old and a twelve-year-old. Out of control, both of them.” He looks at me, his face pinched in disbelief. “I wonder how that’s going to work.”
I wipe at the wetness under my nose and eyes. “I’ll bring her the album, Dad. I know she’ll appreciate having it.”
“Sure.” But I can tell he’s not really listening to me. He shakes his head again, lost in his own thoughts. “Day in, day out. She’s going to be miserable, and sooner rather than later.”
“Dad?”
“I guess we’ll see.” He straightens and stands. The lost look is gone. There’s the hint of a smile on his lips and I can see hope flare as if he’s just struck a match to a wick that had burned out. “We’ll see.”
“Grinding has been outlawed.” Hannah announces the news as she sits with her tray of pizza and—of course—pork rinds.
“I didn’t know you could outlaw a verb,” Jace says.
Spence shrugs. “We already have so many of them.”
“The dancing kind,” Hannah retorts. “In preparation for a prom with no sexual intent or content.”
We’re sitting at our usual picnic table, though I think this will be our last Friday for that. We’re in the second week of April now and even sitting in the shade it’s starting to feel a little sticky out here.
“I overheard Mrs. Bishop in the office,” Hannah continues as she opens a can of orange soda. “They’re going to make the announcement later today.”
I smile because that seems like the right thing to do and I’ve been careful all week to do the right thing. Dillon rubs a hand over my back and I’m careful not to stiffen.
“But that’s my best move,” Spence complains. “I’m a world-class grinder.”
“I thought that was an Italian sub?” Jace quips.
“Idiots,” Hannah pronounces cheerfully. “We’re meeting at six for pictures, right?”
I nod, looking to Dillon for confirmation. In the end, we decided to all meet for pictures by a man-made lake in Hannah’s neighborhood. Then Dillon and I are having a romantic dinner in the guesthouse before the dance—Mrs. Hobbs has it all arranged. It’s the first time we’ll be alone since the night he cut his hand. His touch feels connected to that night now—to all the blood, to all the fear. Let’s wait for prom, I said. To make it more special. I keep thinking that normal is one more night’s sleep away, but it’s Friday now and I’m still on edge. I’m careful not to let that show, either.
“I don’t want anyone to comment on my dress,” Hannah says. “It’s Spencer’s fault that I’m going to look like a frightened peacock.”
“I said I’m going vintage blue. You didn’t have to match.”
“Of course I have to match. That’s one of the key components of prom torture.” She looks at Jace. “Is Mel matching?”
Jace is taking Melodie Chung. It all happened last-minute, but Hannah thinks it’s romantic. Mel is the student trainer for the baseball team, and apparently she was the first to apply ice to Jace’s face. According to Hannah, love is the silver lining to Jace’s faded bruise. I’m just happy he has a date, because it might relax Dillon. All I can think about anymore is if Dillon is calm. If Dillon is happy. I’ve become a human tuning fork. I seem to exist only to pick up on Dillon’s moods.
It is getting better.
I tell myself this every day.
I love Dillon; he’s more important than Rome could ever be.
He saved me and now I can save him.
I tell myself this every day, too.
Just because I gave up this opportunity doesn’t mean there won’t be others. In fact, I’ve been thinking I’ll talk with Mrs. Lyght again. Tell her to keep me in mind for something next summer.
“Emma!”
I hear my name and look toward the doors to the cafeteria. It’s almost as if I’ve conjured Mrs. Lyght from my thoughts. She smiles and heads toward the table, her slacks flapping she’s moving so quickly.
“Do you have a minute?” she asks.
I look down at my half-eaten turkey sandwich. I don’t remember tasting the part I did eat. “Sure.”
“Looks like some good news,” Dillon says.
“As a matter of fact, it is.” Mrs. Lyght beams. She slides onto the edge of the bench next to Jace. “I just heard from Dr. Abella in Rome. You’ve got it, Emma. The internship is yours!”
I hear the words but I can’t make sense of them. I feel like a fish with my mouth open, drowning on nothing but air. “What?” I finally say.
“It’s yours.”
Gazes shift to me and I shake my head. “It can’t be,” I say. I look at Dillon. His jaw is tight, a muscle twitching in his cheek.
“You applied?” he asks.
“No!” I look at Mrs. Lyght. “It’s not possible. I never sent you my appl
ication.”
“Yes, but…” She looks as if she’s suddenly feeling my panic.
And then I know exactly what happened. “It was my dad, wasn’t it?” I snap. “The application was on his computer. Of course it was him. He has your email—what could have been easier?”
Even behind her glasses, Mrs. Lyght’s eyes are wide with denial. “It wasn’t your father. It…”
Her gaze shifts to Jace. It’s not a random look. I stare, slowly processing the pleading in his brown eyes. But I don’t want to believe it. I don’t want it to be true because then I have to hate the one person I’ve been depending on.
“I thought you could see how you compared,” he says. “Just to know how good you really are.”
I can’t look at him. I can’t listen. “You let him submit it for me?” I say to Mrs. Lyght.
“I’m so sorry, Emma.” She presses her hand over her heart. “He said you had a virus on your home computer. And the attachment had your complete application, including the essay. I thought you must have changed your mind, but I never should have—” She swallows the rest of her words as her gaze shifts to Dillon and back to me. “I’m very sorry. Of course I’ll inform Dr. Abella of the error.”
I’m suddenly aware of Dillon’s tension beside me. Is there threat in the way he’s holding himself? Is he a fuse that’s just been lit or am I imagining it? Does it matter if I am or not? How do I take that risk? “You do that.”
She stands. “You should still feel very proud of what you accomplished. Emma, he said you were the only candidate still in high school and the only one who seemed to grasp what the museum is trying to achieve.” She shrugs almost helplessly. “I’m so sorry.”
Why is she telling me this? I don’t want to hear this! My breath feels as thin as thread. “Thank you.”
As soon as Mrs. Lyght is gone, Hannah snaps at Jace. “How could you do that?”
“Seriously, man,” Spence adds. “That’s effed up.”
“Her application was really great. I wanted them to know it.” He looks at Dillon and then me. “I wasn’t trying to mess things up for either of you.”
“But you did,” Hannah snaps.
Die for You Page 17