“Dad knew,” I respond while attempting not to flinch. She didn’t notice for two weeks.
“I know.” There’s a rare bite in her tone. “And I’m dealing with that.”
Mom hesitates and I shove my hands in my pockets as I pause with her. Two weeks. Mom didn’t notice I was gone for two weeks.
“I’ve been all but living here at the hospital and when I was at home briefly and didn’t see you, I just assumed that you were out with friends. Making new ones at your new school and keeping up with old ones. We all knew you weren’t coping well with Rachel being here, so I thought...you were...dealing with this in your own way. I...” Mom drops off. “You’ve always been so independent that I never stopped to think...”
That’s the point: when it comes to me and my brothers, Mom never stops to think.
“Your brothers knew,” she says, but before she can continue Dad calls for us to join him.
In the empty waiting room, Dad pours three cups of coffee and hands one to Mom, then me, and gestures for us to sit. The rich aroma drifts in the air. It’s surreal being here with them and crazier that the atmosphere fits a business negotiation more than a family reunion.
“How’s Rachel?” After all, that’s the reason I’m here. “She didn’t move her legs.”
In his pressed white shirt, starched black pants and black tie, Dad pulls a seat around, creating a triangle as he faces me and Mom. “I’m flying a new specialist in this week. We should know more soon.”
I hold the hot drink between both of my hands and think of Haley’s cold fingers. Rachel would like Haley. That’s the type of friend she should have instead of drug dealer Abby and punk Isaiah. “Isaiah’s bad news.”
Dad nods.
“So’s the girl,” I say with a twinge of guilt. Abby’s been helpful, but she’s a drug dealer and regardless of what she’s done for me, Rachel’s safety is the priority. “They’re both trouble.”
He nods again.
Even now, our father is worthless. “Then why the hell are they in there?”
Dad sips the coffee and leans forward. “How do I tell her no when she’s in pain?”
“I guess the same way you told me to get the fuck out of your house.”
Dad and Mom glance at each other. Mom angles her body toward me and Dad inspects his coffee. “I was angry and said things I shouldn’t have. I didn’t think you would listen.”
Anger crashes through my bloodstream like a tidal wave. “You didn’t think I would listen when I was informed I was trash and you didn’t want to see me again?”
The man honestly has the nerve to meet my glare. “It’s not like you’ve listened to anything I’ve had to say for years. Why would I have thought you’d start now?”
I start to rise and my mother slams a hand on my knee. “You’re not leaving.” She directs herself at Dad and yells, “He’s not leaving. I have buried one child and I have come close to burying another. I will not have stupid pride costing me a third.”
“Mrs. Young?” A nurse pops her head into the waiting room. “The dietary nurse would like to speak with you.”
Mom is charity-ball smiles as she tells the nurse she’ll be right there, but the moment she’s gone, Mom releases an expression that could rival Abby’s any day of the week as her cold eyes work over Dad. “He’s coming home. Fix this. Now.”
She stands and smooths out her gray pants and checks the cuffs of her sweater before resting a hand on my cheek. “I love you and I want you home. There is no other option.”
Her tone tells me everything else: I disappointed her. She’s hurt, angry, sad. That once again I failed. But mostly, she loves me.
I nod, unable to say or do anything else. Her heels click against the faux wooden floor and fade the farther she goes down the hallway. I place the coffee on the end table. “What now?”
“I don’t understand you, West.”
No shit. He doesn’t understand anyone in our family.
Dad eyes the floor. “Why were you in the Timberland neighborhood?”
“How did you know?”
“The GPS in your car. I had one installed in all your cars when you got your licenses. I’ve been trailing you the entire time. You didn’t actually think I would just let you walk away? Jesus, West, give me some credit. You are my son.”
My eyes jump to his at the word son and a dangerous glimmer of hope flickers inside me. Is it possible he regrets throwing me out? But if that’s the case, how come he never showed? How come he didn’t ask me to return home?
“Your mom tried to call you,” he says.
“My cell died.”
“I figured.” He scratches his jaw. “You haven’t answered me. Why were you in the Timberland neighborhood? Why not with one of your friends or my parents?”
“Dump’s in that side of town. Just going where you told me I belonged.” I’m pushing him. We’ve been tearing at each other for so long we have no idea how to stop. At least I don’t.
“Why, West?” he presses. “I need to know, why there?”
“Why does it matter?” Does Dad know Mom’s been going to that bar?
“Answer the question. Why do you make everything difficult?”
“If I do, it’s because I learned from the best.”
“Just answer the question.” His voice rises with his anger.
I stay there because it’s close to Haley, but I don’t want her anywhere near a conversation with Dad. “It doesn’t matter why.”
His fist clenches. “My father once told me you can love your children, but you don’t have to like them. I never understood him. I thought his words were cold and callous, but then I realized I don’t always like you.”
Fuck it. I stand, memorizing what I’ll tell Mom because I refuse to live under his thumb. Not after holding Haley last night. Not after figuring out my life’s jacked up. I’ll take the damn shelter. Living in the damned car wasn’t as bad as listening to this.
“I was in the Timberland neighborhood because I got a job,” I say. “That pays. Tell Mom I’ll call her once a week.”
The surprise registering in his eyes causes me to smirk. He honestly thought I’d return home with my balls cut off and he sure as hell didn’t think I’d be willing to walk again.
“A job?” he asks.
“Yeah. I don’t need you anymore.”
The moment I step for the door he says, “Your mother’s been through hell. Are you willing to put her through more?”
Fuck him for using guilt. “No, I’m not.”
“Then come home for her.”
A knife straight to my gut. Come home for Mom, not for him because he could give two shits about me. Regardless of how much I tell myself I don’t care what he thinks of me, I do. I’ll never hear him say he wants me or that he’s proud of me, yet whenever he opens his mouth, I hope for the words.
“What are your terms?” I won’t fool myself that this is anything more than a business negotiation. Haley’s words echo in my mind: Are we different from animals on an auction block?
“I’ll give you until graduation to clean up your act, your grades, your life, your attitude, and if you do, I’ll let you stay in my house. Otherwise, I want you out this summer. Who knows, maybe you can find a way to make me proud.”
“Yeah,” I mutter as I leave. “You never know.”
Haley
It’s eight at night and West is late.
I untangle the last jump rope and loop it neatly with the others on the hook on the wall. Two million explanations as to why he hasn’t shown yet have deluged my mind, but it’s the reasons that cause my heart to ache that stick around to torture me. Nibbling on my bottom lip, I scan the gym to find something else to fiddle with to pass the time.
“Prince Charming chip
a nail and decide the sport wasn’t for him?” My grandfather turns off the light to his office. “Tells you a lot about a man’s integrity for him to show late.”
“I’m sure he has a good reason.”
“Humph.”
“He’ll show.” He will. Though doubt tiptoes in my mind like a linebacker through tulips. After the intense night we shared together, I sort of freaked and blew him off this morning. My eyes drift over to the clock again. As much as each tick of the second hand causes a painful sinking of my heart, in theory, isn’t this what I wanted? West to walk away?
The door opens, cold air rushes into the gym and the groan of a tractor trailer rumbling down into a lower gear from the freeway enters alongside West. My muscles actually relax at the sight of him, like I stepped into a hot bath. Until this moment, I hadn’t realized how much I had come to depend on him keeping his word.
With his baseball cap on backward, heavy jacket and gym bag thrown over his shoulder, West smiles when he spots me. My answering grin actually makes me feel like I’m floating, but then I notice his blue eyes. There’s no light shining from them. Just a bland dimness and the high within me plummets.
John mumbles something to West as he leaves. West nods his head and says, “Will do.”
I sit on the mat and roll out my yellow wraps, pretending I’m not dying to know why he’s not on time. “What did John say?”
“He told me to make sure you got home safely.”
“Hmm.” I have nothing intelligible to say to that.
West plops down beside me, unzips his bag and pulls out his set of wraps. “Sorry I’m late.”
“Why were you?” Hey, he brought it up.
He smirks with a muffled snort. “You don’t let anything slide, do you?”
“Answer the question.” Because while I hate to admit it, John’s right. Being late is an integrity issue and it’s one I plan on nipping in the bud now.
West pulls his cap off and scratches the top of his head. His blond hair sticks out in a hot crazy mess. He shoves his hat into the bag, then stares at the ground. “I saw my parents.”
My eyes flash to him, but he doesn’t meet my gaze. “Where? How? What happened?”
“At the hospital. I visited my sister and they were there.”
He pauses and I have no idea if I should fill the silent gap. Time passes. Enough I’m uncomfortable. “Is she okay?”
“Yes. No. I don’t know.” He shakes his head and the shadow of pain darkening his face physically hurts me. “She’s out of the ICU and in a normal room, but she looks like hell and her legs...”
Because both of his hands are untangling his wraps with the fury of a sailor untying knots on lines during a storm, I place my hand on his thigh, on the spot above his knee. “I’m sorry.”
West drops his wraps and places his hand over mine. He doesn’t respond. He doesn’t squeeze my hand. He just holds on.
The wall-length mirror reflects us—me and West. My mother read a story to me once where a girl walked through a looking glass and discovered that the world on the other side was the opposite of our reality. I can’t help but wonder if the opposite Haley and West are happy or if they’re drowning in worse circumstances.
With a sigh, West pats my hand and stands, taking his wraps with him. He leans his back against the mirror and weaves the fabric over his wrists and knuckles. Following his lead, I do the same, but because I’ve been doing this years longer than West, I finish before him.
I stand and try to ask as casually as I can, “What happened with your parents?”
West pulls hard on the material over his knuckles, then wraps the leftover material around and around the length of his wrist. “They told me to come home.”
Home. The word ricochets within me like a bullet. “That’s...that’s...great.”
But it doesn’t feel great and it feels worse knowing I should be happy for him. West won’t have to sleep in his car anymore, he won’t have to face the shelter and he’ll be fed. More than fed. For a guy who drives an Escalade and wears brand-name clothes on his body, I’m sure he’ll be full of all sorts of fancy food. He’ll have a warm bed with high-thread-count sheets and he’ll probably have every creature comfort that I could only dream about.
Somehow, this loss of a home was the bond between us and it made me feel less alone. Now, with him returning, I feel more isolated than I did to begin with.
I pull on my ponytail. Brat. He’s going home and I’m throwing a pity party. What’s important is that West will be safe. Even though I don’t understand what’s going on between us, I want West to be safe.
“That’s a good thing,” I repeat.
“Yeah,” he says and the heaviness in his tone indicates that returning home isn’t his dream come true.
I replay the conversation. West only said that they asked him to go home; he never said he agreed. “Are you going home?”
West slams the Velcro into place and rests his hands on his hips. “Yeah.”
“Is there a problem? I mean, is there something else going on there? Is it not safe?”
“No, it’s safe.” His face contorts. “But the problems... They’re still there.”
He’s going home and I’m not. He’ll be safe and I’ll still live in the presence of evil.
I think about my home. The place that Maggie drew with the stick figures. Nothing was perfect there. My mom and dad would have the occasional fight. Kaden and I would get on each other’s nerves. The hot water heater suffered from manic depression and would either be really hot or really cold. But for all the problems that surrounded me at that brick-and-mortar address, they were nothing like what I face now.
“I’d give anything to go home,” I whisper.
West’s head jerks up and the apology on his face is apparent, but I wave him away as I grab two jump ropes off the hook. “Three minutes jumping rope. Twenty-five push-ups. Then twenty-five squats. We’ll repeat the cycle five times.”
“Haley,” he says and I only offer him the rope.
He reaches over, but instead of taking the rope from me, he glides his fingers onto my wrist and swipes his thumb over my pulse point. His caress sends fire straight to my toes, but there’s a part of me, no matter how pathetic, that resents him. I yank my hand away. He’s going home and I’m not.
“As I said this morning.” I shove the rope into his hands. “We need to keep this simple. No complications. Now let’s get moving. You’ve got a fight in less than two months.”
Without allowing a response from him, I turn up the volume on the stereo and let Eminem drown out West’s voice and my emotions.
West
I’ve never slapped a woman, but the pain that slashed across Haley’s face earlier this evening when I told her I was going home... I felt like I had. My entire body flinches. I hurt Haley tonight. Like I always do, I acted and didn’t think.
I’m on autopilot as I race down the rolling hills of our sprawling gated community. Mansions dot the land every quarter to half mile. Some properties, like my parents’, are practically their own zip code.
Turning, I spot our house and my foot falls off the gas. The house is larger. Somehow even bigger than I remember and I remembered it huge. The towering white columns and white marble stairs are illuminated against the night sky.
It’s massive and for the first time in my life a pit forms in my stomach as I ease into the driveway. It’s not just massive. It’s excessive.
I bypass the attached garage used only by my parents and whip around the back to the structure built for me and my siblings to park our cars. On instinct, I reach for the garage opener attached to my sun visor and a sickening nausea spreads through me as the door opens. Where three cars should be sitting, there’s only one. Ethan’s car looks lonely in the spot to the left. I park the Es
calade near the right wall and close my eyes, unable to glance at the empty middle.
That’s where Rachel’s Mustang should be. In fact, that’s where she would be if she’d never been in that accident. The entire garage rings loudly with memories.
At midnight on a Saturday, Mom would be asleep and Rachel would have escaped out the kitchen door to slip in here to work on the cars. She’d be knee-deep in grease and would have sent me a smile the moment I rolled in next to her.
Rougher than I mean to, I push the door open and slam it behind me, doing my best to ignore what’s not there...what I want to be there.
The house is quiet. Dark. With the flick of a switch the lights of the kitchen spring to life. The air from the heater rolls out of the overhead vent and the sound only presses against the silence.
A loaf of bread sits on the counter. A bowlful of apples on the island. The pantry door’s cracked open and a dozen or more boxes of assorted foods pack the shelves. My stomach growls and my hand lowers to stop it. I’ve eaten two meals a day for two weeks. Sometimes one. The meal always small. And here...we throw food out.
“Welcome home.” Ethan leans against the doorframe leading to the foyer.
“Miss me?” I ask casually. I didn’t hear shit from him or any of my brothers.
“I texted and called,” he says. Sometimes it’s hard to look Ethan in the eye. He’s too much the spitting image of Dad. “You didn’t answer.”
It’s a convenient excuse that’s probably true. “My phone died.”
Ethan nods like that explains everything away. “I was worried about you.”
I pause, knowing that means I left Ethan here alone...by himself...worrying not only over our sister, over our mother’s sanity, but also over me. “I’m sorry.”
“You’re a goddamned asshole for leaving. You know that, right?”
“Just an asshole.” I drop my bag, readjust the hat turned backward on my head and open the fridge. “Let’s leave God out of this one.”
Ethan chuckles and the thick tension between us eases.
Ham. Cheese. Milk. Eggs. Leftover spaghetti. My stomach cramps at the thought of eating it all. I grab a chicken leg out of a bowl and start devouring it while swiping a Tupperware container of potato salad. With the chicken in my mouth, I flip off the top of the potato salad, fish a fork out of the drawer, then spike it into the container.
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