The interesting thing is that it’s not just her body anymore.It’s all of her.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
JAKE
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The weekend was bad.Twice I had to take off to find my father.One night it took me over an hour.He didn’t go to his usual joints, and by the time I found him, I was furious.
The hurt in Caylee’s eyes as I left was both frustrating and difficult as it nudged up against the rules of my family.Which is probably why, when I half carried the drunk asshole inside, I started yelling at my mom.
“I’m sick of this!Put a damn tracker on him or something.Don’t let him out of the house.”
“Don’t you use that voice with me, young man,” Mom yelled back.“You know this isn’t my fault.”
Fuck.
“Wown’t swpeak to yo mwotha like wthat,” Dad drawled, wiping the saliva on the arm of his shirt.
“Get in the shower.”I pushed him towards the stairs, hating my fucking life.I sighed, dropping my head, my hands planted on my hips.“Jesus fucking Christ.”
“Language, Jake,” Mom said, wrapping her arms around her dressing gown.
My head lifted.“Really, Mom?You’re worried about my language when I end up here at least three times a week dragging that excuse of a husband home filled with liquor.I’m surprised his liver is still functioning.”
“Can you blame him?”
“Yes.”
We both stared at one another, the memory of my sister flashing before us.How I never stopped Dad from driving that night, when I could have.
Should have.
How I lived.How she didn’t.
Can I blame him?No.No I can’t.Not when I was there, too.
