Chapter 10
Phoebe
The flickering porchlightthrew out a welcoming glow as I pulled into the driveway, parking my ten-year-old Chevy Cavalier next to Mom’s beat-up S-10 pickup.
I turned off the ignition, grabbed my backpack and purse, and opened the car door. Stepping into the night air, I inhaled a cleansing breath, relishing the calm and security of being home.
Thank God this night’s almost over.With a careful nudge of my hip, I closed the door, cringing at the squeaky hinges as it banged shut. I didn’t want to wake Mom up.
I stepped on the porch steps and into the light, hoping my lips weren’t swollen from Brian’s gnashing teeth. If Mom happened to be awake and noticed, I could always tell her I bit it, but I didn’t enjoy lying to the only family member I had left.
The gray paint around the house’s windowsills had peeled in some places. Several porch boards, warped and rotten, created little humps easy to trip over if I didn’t pay attention. We’d been saving for the past six months to hire a carpenter to replace some of the rotted wood.
I ran a fingertip over my lip gingerly, expecting a sting from the cut, but it didn’t hurt. The skin, smooth and unbroken, felt no different than usual.
Weird. I could’ve sworn I tasted blood right after that horrible kiss.
After shuffling to the doorknob and suppressing the ugly memory, I pulled out the house key, unlocked the door, and stepped inside the foyer. Farther down the darkened hallway, the kitchen’s muted yellow light peeked from the open doorway.
I tiptoed, avoiding a couple of squeaky floorboards, and craned my head to scope out the kitchen.
Hunched over the table, Mom clutched at old photos spread across the surface.
My heart squeezed as I drank in the sight. Dressed in her favorite pajamas—hot pink with cat faces plastered over the material—cigarette smoke curled toward the ceiling.
Ugh. I hate that smell.
The back of her head moved from side to side, and she pushed several pictures around, as if she searched for a specific one.
I padded closer to gaze over her shoulder. The table was filled with old family photos of the three of us—Mom, Dad, and me—smiling at the camera, opening Christmas presents or tossing water balloons at each other. A painful lump rose at the back of my throat.
For a moment, I closed my eyes and let myself remember those happy times as a young kid who’d never had any real worries, at least, none that mattered. My attention skated to Dad’s face, captured while he’d stood next to the gigantic, fossilized remains of a pluerocoelus, a dinosaur which grew up to forty-five feet long.
With Dad’s sandy-blond hair and baby-blue irises, he’d carried an All-American boy vibe. He’d always showered Mom with attention and showed me the wonders of the world as if he were just discovering them, too.
Not once did I ever remember him raising his hand or voice.Except for that last day.I shuddered. The warm glow of memories faded, and I suddenly wished Mom would pack away the pictures and never bring them out again.Better yet, she should burn them. They do nothing more than anchor us to the past.A past I yearned to put behind me.
“Mom,” I whispered as I kissed her temple. I wanted to tell her about my strange day, about Brian, about Cain, yet I hesitated. She had enough to worry about with her job.
“Hi, honey.” A tear fell onto her cheek, and she wiped it away, blasting me with a too-quick smile which didn’t reach her eyes. “Did you have a good day?” Smoke from the lit cigarette continued to cloud the air.
“Ugh. It smells awful in here, Mom.” I wrinkled my nose.
She hurriedly crammed the burning cancer stick into an emerald-green, half-full ashtray. “Sorry.” A sheepish grin replaced the fake smile. “I know I shouldn’t, especially in the house...”
I shrugged and turned to the table, swirling a finger between loose pictures. “You okay?”
