Marta put her arms around us, too, completing a classic Scoller group hug. Just the thought made my chest hurt more, knowing it would never be complete again. Deep down, I’d been looking forward to having them as in-laws someday. As second parents. Now, that was just a fantasy. A dream from another life.
The only thing that could have snapped me out of the self-pitying pain in my chest was the sight of Jon’s white car, coming down the road, parking in front of his parents’ house.
Every muscle in my body rendered itself ineffective. I’d wanted him to text me, to call me, to come to my dorm and tell me it had all been a mistake. But here he was, walking toward us, a smaller brace on his leg, crutches-free. His hair had grown out, covered his forehead in a messy fringe. He looked...different. But the same. This was Jon, but he wasn’t mine anymore.
As if realizing I was standing with his parents, he froze. “What—what’re you doing here?”
Somehow my voice came out clear, cool, foreign. “My dad’s parole hearing is today.”
He looked between me and his dad, anger suddenly reworking his features. “You didn’t tell me?”
“I—” I began, but Glen stepped in.
“You had no right to know anymore.” Then he added, “And you weren’t supposed to be home until this evening.”
“Classes got cancelled, and I—that’s not the point.” He looked directly at me. “Of course I want to be there for you, Abi. I promised I would be there for you. Why wouldn’t you tell me?”
My mouth opened and closed, shocked at the indignation in his voice. He’d promised a lot of things, none of which he intended to keep. At least, not anymore.
Glen reached up and clamped a hand on his son’s shoulder. “You follow me.” He marched Jon toward the door, but not fast enough for me to miss him saying, “You do not need to cause that girl any more pain than you already have.”
Chapter Forty-Eight
Marta wouldn’t meet my eyes before getting in the car, but I didn’t miss her sniffing.
Grandma rubbed my back, walking me toward the door to the back seat. “Ready to go, sweetheart?”
I nodded and breathed, “As ready as I’ll ever be.”
She sat in the back with me, and when Glen returned, he twisted in the seat and said, “Abi, I’m sorry for that. Is there anything I can do?”
Erase the past, I wanted to say.
Instead, I settled for a small shake of my head and the ghost of a smile.
He put the vehicle in reverse, and before long, their house and the sight of Jon was a painful memory battling with my fear for the challenge I was about to face.
After two hours of driving, the men’s correctional faculty came into view before us, all brick walls and chain-link fence and spiraling barbed wire.
“Ready?” Glen asked, looking directly at me in the rear-view mirror.
Unable to speak, I nodded.
Glen said the parole hearing would be in a smaller trial room, with a board that discussed my father’s behavior in prison. The board members would decide whether he got to leave. And I should prepare myself for either outcome.
As if that were possible.
We opened the car doors and spilled out of the vehicle. Began walking in a mismatched, informal formation toward the prison.
After searching us all, the CO led us to a room with old red chairs and wood-paneled walls. When he closed the door behind us, it felt like he was closing us in, trapping us.
Grandma sat beside me, held my hand. She was here for me, always. I knew it. Felt it.
My other hand shook on the paper I held. The speech I’d prepared for this day in the limited time I had. Even if I’d had years to write and revise and envision this moment in my head, I never would have been prepared to see them walking my father into the room, handcuffed in an orange jumpsuit. His hair was grayer than it had been a year ago. His eyes harder, with deeper wrinkles at the corners.
I wanted him to look at me, to see the person I’d become, no thanks to him. To see the people I had surrounding me, even when he’d failed his basic job as a father to love and protect me. But he kept his eyes straight ahead, ignoring me completely.
They started the hearing talking about why he was in prison. What he had done. The brief synopsis did nothing to encompass the years of suffering I’d experienced at his meaty, unforgiving hands. And then they spoke about his behavior in prison. Said he kept to himself. That he was well-behaved, polite even, to guards and the warden.
Bile rose in my throat. Of course he was on his best behavior here. Dad had always been great at pretending like he wasn’t a walking piece of shit.
My hand clenched on Grandma’s. How could they be saying such positive words about someone who had left so much wreckage in his wake?
She squeezed back, sharing some of her strength with me.
Someone spoke my name. Glen.
“It’s your turn,” he said.
They told me to approach the microphone. To say my piece. My hands shook on the paper so much I had to take a deep breath and steady myself before I could read the words.
“The last thing this man said to me, the man you’re here to make a decision about, was that I would pay for what I’d done to him. He’s lived in these prison walls for a year and a half now, and I can tell you he’s nowhere close to paying for everything he’s done.”
I shared the story of how he was injured. How his mood spiraled out of control when he had to stay home after the surgery and couldn’t work. How he used to beat me on his benders and how a good night was when I found him passed out on the couch, usually next to a half-empty bottle of whiskey or vodka.
I shared how pills suddenly lined our medicine cabinet and would come and go as Dad made his mysterious trips and came back after days away. I now knew he was going to South Texas, getting drugs from people across the border.
And then I looked right at him, into his dishwater-blue eyes, which were so much like my own, as I said, “Do not be fooled by the act he puts on when in front of people more powerful than him. This man deserves every second of the sentence he was handed, and letting him out in the world would be a danger to everyone around him, especially those who are weaker.” I stared at him harder, willing him to feel every single word as much as I did. “As his daughter who lived under his roof for eighteen torturous years, I know exactly the kind of man he is, and he is not the kind who deserves to walk free.”
His eyes flared with the anger I knew lived inside him every day, and his lips formed a tight line that used to always precede a beating. He knew I’d meant every single one of my words. I just hoped the parole board had heard them.
The parole board left the hearing room. I tried to tell from their expressions whether or not my speech had meant anything to them, but they were blank slates, hiding all emotion. A CO walked Dad out of the room in handcuffs, back to his cell.
We could only wait.
After what felt like hours, the board returned to the wooden room, a CO bringing my father in again with him. My heart raced as they returned to their seats, and the person in the middle of the board cleared his throat.
“We have determined Mr. Johnson is not to receive parole at this time. He will continue serving his sentence as ruled by the...”
But I didn’t hear the rest of the words. I fell over Grandma’s lap, weeping with the relief those words gave me. My dad was still in prison. He couldn’t retaliate. Couldn’t put the hate in his eyes to action.
He had earned his sentence, and I had earned my freedom.
Chapter Forty-Nine
No part of me was ready to go back to college. To face real life after pouring my heart and wounds out in front of the man who’d created both. But I couldn’t stay in Woodman forever. Not with Jon a few doors down but a million miles away.
I knew I’d be back home soon. For summer break and Skye and Andrew’s wedding. I couldn’t believe they were actually getting married in less than two months.
&nbs
p; I only had one stop to make before leaving town: Stormy’s. I had to tell her my news in person, to see her again before the track season and semester wound down. In the last year, she’d become more than my friend; she was my rock. My person when Jon failed to be.
I walked up her sidewalk and knocked on the door. “Come in,” she yelled.
The door was unlocked, and I pushed it open. “Where are you?”
“In here,” she called from her room.
Following the sound of her voice, I found her covered in blankets, surrounded by snacks and drinks with her computer playing a movie from where it rested on her knees.
I furrowed my eyebrows. I knew she worked odd hours, but it wasn’t even ten in the morning yet. Why was she still in bed?
“I’m on bed rest,” she grumbled. Her voice rose to a higher octave, as if mimicking someone. “‘You must keep your activity to a minimum to keep your baby girl in there as long as possible. Take it easy. It will be like a vacation, and the plus side is no one can ask you to do laundry!’” She rolled her eyes. “Great. Just great.”
“What happened?” I asked, clearing some empty wrappers so I could sit beside her. “I just saw you Thursday and everything was fine.”
She rolled her eyes back, staring at her headboard. “I tripped over a mat at work and just to be safe, Frank took me to the doctor in Austin, and that’s when...” She gestured her arms around the room.
“Is your baby okay?”
“Yeah.” She fiddled with her comforter. “Just at more of a risk of being born premature than she already was.” Her voice rose again. “‘We want to keep that bun cookin’!’”
“Your doctor did not say that.”
“Yep.”
“Ugh.” I reached over and took a sour straw from her candy pile. The salt tanged against my tongue as I bit off a piece.
“Your turn,” she said. “Distract me.”
“Where should I start?” I asked. “My dad didn’t get parole and Jon proposed to me.”
“That did it.” She sat straight up, then cringed, shifting her hips. “What happened? What did you say? How did he do it? Where’s your ring?”
“Are you okay?” I asked.
“The proposal, Abi! Did he do it before or after you broke up?”
I sighed. “It’s the reason why we broke up.”
“What happened?”
Talking about weird maternity symptoms like we had during halftime at the game would have been preferable to reliving the proposal. But I wouldn’t mind getting it off my chest. I hadn’t even told Grandma all the details, but I relayed them to Stormy, hoping it would make me feel lighter somehow.
At the end of the story, I just felt more disheartened, though. “I just keep feeling guilty,” I admitted. “I should have just said yes. Isn’t that what marriage is? For better or worse?”
She shook her head. “You deserve better, chica. Whether it’s him or someone else.”
Only a month or two ago, I would have balked at the very idea that there could be someone better out there. Now, the idea just made me sad. “I couldn’t imagine dating anyone else.”
“Maybe Jon’ll come around.” She rubbed my back. “You know, everything will fall into place. Sooner or later.”
“It’s looking like later. Like a million years later.”
She chuckled softly, which turned into a long yawn.
I stood up from her bed, making the wrappers shift and crackle.
“Where are you going?” she asked.
“You need some rest. For that bun in the oven.” I winked and tucked the blanket around her and kissed her forehead. “Call me, anytime, okay?”
She nodded. “I love you, Abi. You really do deserve the best.”
For the first time, I was starting to believe it.
Chapter Fifty
Surprisingly, falling back into the rhythm of school and track after all that had happened was easier than I expected. Nikki and Anika made sure my evenings were filled with study sessions or dateless trips to the bars. Track kept me exhausted enough to fall asleep without too much trouble at night. Plus, we traveled to track meets, so my weekends were full of long bus rides with the team. School kept my mind off anything else.
By the end of the semester, my grades were better than they ever had been in high school, and my track times were largely improved from the beginning of the season. Coach Cadence even said she was proud to have me on her team. But I still felt like something was missing from my life. I wasn’t bullheaded enough to pretend I didn’t know what, or who.
At my last session with my therapist, I admitted as much.
“Healing takes time,” she said. “It took months for the flashbacks to become less frequent. Grieving a serious relationship is the same way. The important thing is that you have healthy coping mechanisms in place when those feelings become too strong.”
I nodded, doubtfully mulling over the words. How long did it take to get over the love of a lifetime?
She glanced at the clock. “That’s our time, but feel free to email me over the summer.” She stood up and extended her hand. “It’s been a pleasure working with you.”
I bypassed her hand and took her in a hug. “Thank you.”
As she pulled back, she straightened her outfit and nodded, a pleased smile barely masked by her placid, professional one. “Have a nice summer.”
I promised her I would and left the office.
Someone exited the counselor’s room across the hall at the same time, and I bumped into his chest, dropping my purse. “Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry.” My eyes landed on his brace. Now I felt like an even bigger jerk. And I was thinking about Jon. Great. I tried to clear the thoughts as I picked up my bag from the ground. “I need to watch where I’m going. Are you hurt?” My throat constricted on the last word as I looked into the face of none other than Jon Scoller.
He cleared his throat, adjusting his backpack strap. “I’m fine.”
“Right.” I nodded and started away, swallowing down the jagged lump in my throat.
“Abi,” he called.
But I kept going as fast as I could without running, until I was far away in the quad, not another person in sight.
What did it mean that Jon had been in therapy? How long had he been going?
I got out my phone to call Stormy and ask her, but a string of text messages topped my notifications.
Skye: Are you almost done, Abi? I can’t wait for my bachelorette party!
Andrew: Hey, it’s my party too.
Roberto: Remind me again why we’re not having separate parties?
Macy: Just because you want to go to a strip club...
Leanne: It’s better this way. Men going to strip clubs the night before a wedding is a chauvinistic tradition that should be put to death.
Roberto: Spare me.
Evan: Can’t we all just get along?
Stormy: Maybe after a few drinks. ;)
Evan: Eyeroll emoji.
Roberto: So there will be booze? Or is that chauviwhatever too?
Leanne: :) It’s feminist approved.
Anika: Your friends are hilarious, Skye. I can see why Abi likes you guys so much.
Andrew: Are you saying we’re not friends, Anika? I’m hurt.
Evan: Right? Ouch.
Roberto: Totally wounded.
I shook my head, almost fully distracted from my run-in with Jon. I looked around me at the empty campus to be sure he wasn’t going the same direction, but he was nowhere to be seen.
I tapped out a response and shoved my phone in my pocket.
Abi: Finals are done and my car’s already packed! Just having dinner with some friends and I’m on my way.
My drama could wait until we got home and finished the party and wedding. It was time to forget and have a good night.
Still, I dreaded saying goodbye to my track friends. Nikki, Mollie, and Jayne had all agreed to get together with me before we went our separate ways. Nikki had to work for her
dad, Mollie had an internship in Colorado, and Jayne would be going back to Sweet Water to spend the summer with her family.
As I pulled my fully packed car into a restaurant parking lot and saw my friends through the window, I realized a part of me didn’t want to go home. Even though I was going to see my friends and Grandma, I was saying goodbye all over again. Maybe my heart had found another home, a new home, in these three beautiful humans. And maybe that was a good thing, because no matter where I went, I could always find a little piece of home.
Chapter Fifty-One
All my friends’ cars were parked around Stormy’s house. I smiled at the sight of them, feeling the pieces of my heart coming back together. I’d missed them so much, and being separated from Jon had just made me realize how much I truly needed them.
I grabbed my bag, hurried down the driveway, and burst into the house. Everyone stood around the living room, except for Stormy, who sat on the couch, her stomach protruding over a soft lap blanket.
Skye saw me first, and I launched into her arms, rocking back and forth. “You’re here!”
She squeezed me back. “I missed you so much!”
“Never go to the East Coast again,” I said and pulled back before moving on to Andrew, who was always at her side. “I can’t believe you’re getting married tomorrow.”
“Me either,” he said. “It’s not soon enough.”
Roberto pretended to gag, and that just made me want to hug him more. I squeezed him tight, realizing his body was firmer, more solid than it had been before.
“Guera,” he said low. “College looks good on you.”
My cheeks warmed. “Could say the same about the military on you.”
“My turn!” Stormy yelled, pushing him aside and stretching out her arms.
I laughed, hugging her too.
I worked my way through everyone in the room, feeling more and more at peace with each embrace that passed.
“Okay,” Skye said, “now that everyone’s here, are we ready to go?”
Abi and the Boy She Loves Page 15