“In here,” her voice carries, coming from the kitchen. She looks over her shoulder and smiles. She’s watering the different plants she has around the house. “Did you need something?”
“What’s going on?” I ask, leaning against the counter next to her.
Her eyes flit to me, then back to the pot she’s filling. “What do you mean?”
I rub my hands down my face and breathe.
“You okay? Do you need to go for a run?” She puts down the watering can and touches my arm.
My arms drop to my sides. “I need you to tell me what’s going on with Dad.”
Her back straightens. “What do you mean?” she says with a humorless laugh.
“Do you honestly think I haven’t heard you two fighting every single day for the last few weeks? I can’t take it anymore, Mom. I have to know.” My hands contract into fists as I attempt to remain calm.
“Oh,” she says quietly. “I’m sorry you’ve heard that. I guess I was hoping by some miracle you hadn’t.” Her eyes well with tears. “Your father and I were going to talk to you together, but neither of us could agree on when.” She wipes the tears from her eyes. “We’re getting a divorce.”
My jaw slackens. “But . . .” My brain works in overdrive. How could this be happening? Why now? They’ve been married for over two decades, and now they decide to get a divorce. But I can’t form the words. The only thing I can manage to ask is, “Why?”
Tears stream down her face, and it’s the most broken I’ve ever seen her. She has always been brave, and the one that people can go to for help. But now she’s the one who needs help. I wrap my arms around her, and she holds me tight as she softly cries into my chest.
“Oh, I’m so sorry. I know this isn’t what a child wants to hear about their parents. We just can’t seem to make it work.” She pulls away and cups my face in her hands. “We’ll get through this, though.”
I nod, knowing she’s right. But now my mind is reeling with all the signs that pointed to this. My dad stays out late, constantly storms around the house, yells, and makes subtle comments about how my mom’s a nag. Looking back, I think he grew more unhappy with each passing day, but it was so gradual, I forgot what he was like before and becameaccustomed to this version of him. One thing is for sure, I’m not leaving her.
My feet haven’t leftthe dirt since I woke up. I tossed and turned all night. Finally giving up on sleep, I pulled on my shoes and began running our property. I know these trails like the back of my hand. It doesn’t matter that the sun is barely peeking above the horizon. I fly through the trees.
My breathing is ragged, and I didn’t even bring my earbuds. The ringing in my ears is deafening enough, but right as my mind starts to ease, my dad’s truck engine roars to life. I cut through the trees to where I see him just feet away from my truck. I didn’t know he left this early for work. He used to always leave at eight, but it’s barely seven. His truck heads for the end of our long driveway, and I jump in my truck, pulling out my spare key to start it. For some reason, I have a sinking feeling, and I have to know if I’m right. I pull out and barely avoid squealing my tires as I go to follow him. Turning onto the road, his truck is two cars ahead, and he didn’t turn in the direction of his work. Six turns and five minutes later, he’s pulling into an apartment complex. I whip into the parking lot and into the first open parking spot. He’s already walking towards an outside staircase, heading for the second floor. I watch as he knocks on a door, and a woman with blonde hair, wearing only a towel, opens it. She leans in and kisses him, and I turn away when his hands grab her waist as he walks her backward, shutting the door behind him.
My hands grip the steering wheel, and my white knuckles bulge as the leather groans under my hold. My phone buzzes in my pocket, and I take a deep breath and pry my hands open to fish it out of my shorts. Rylee’s name flashes on thescreen, and my fingers pinch the bridge of my nose. I was supposed to pick her up for school five minutes ago. I click the green button, pressing the phone to my ear.
“Where are you?” Rylee’s voice is laced with concern.
“Running late,” I rasp. She doesn’t say anything. I know she can tell when something is wrong, and she wants to give me the chance to tell her. But I don’t think I’ll ever be ready to talk about this. “I’ll be there soon.” I end the call without another word. All I want to do is run, but midterms are coming up, and I can’t miss any classes. But for as long as I live, what I saw will be burned into my memory. With one last glance at the door where my dad entered, I pull out of the parking lot and head toward home. A place that feels like a lie.
15
RYLEE: NOW
I’ve allbut forgotten yesterday’s fall thanks to a new fantasy book I picked up, and I have barely left my bed. Trish keeps coming to make sure I’m fed and to see a doctor. After a few x-rays, they told me it’s only badly scraped and bruised. I’ll be good as new if I stay off it for a few days and use crutches, if I need them, for a week after that. After getting home, my nose has been buried in my Kindle. I’ve always loved to read, and I haven’t been able to as much as I would like, so this is the perfect excuse to make up for lost time. I’m immersed in the book when a commotion outside jolts my gaze from the book to the front door on the other side of my bedroom. I put my Kindle down and pause, unsure of what to do. The sound comes again, followed by a muffled voice I can barely make out.
“Hello?” I call out, as I lean over on my bed, trying to see the front door.
I groan. I hate getting up to pee, and the bathroom is only ten hops away. The front door is farther. Trish knows to let herself in, but anyone else doesn’t. I’m still in my solid gray matching cotton pajamas, but I have no energy to change. The sound is louder this time, and I swing my legs off thebed. Holding onto furniture, I hop my way through the house and wince each time it jostles my leg on impact. When I finally reach the door, I yank it open, and Clayton stands in my bushes with to-go bags of food and appraises me.
“What are you doing out of bed?”
My jaw slackens. “Excuse me?”
“Why are you out of bed?” He doesn’t wait for me to answer before he says, “You need to lie down.” Concern is etched into the lines of his face as he steps over my plants and approaches me.
“What were you doing?”
“I was trying to find your spare key.”
I blink in surprise. “Why didn’t you just knock, or I don’t know, call me?”
Clayton releases a long exhale, but he steps forward and faces me. I meet his gaze as his caramel-colored eyes bore into mine. “I need to talk to you, but you should be resting. Not hopping around.”
