My dad’s arms move beneath mine. The warmth disappears from my forehead, and I snap my eyes open. There’s space between us now. I can’t reach him anymore.
Ash steps in front of Rowe, speaking words I can’t hear. He’s blocking my view of him, and I shake my head, clawing at the hands on me. My voice is feral when I call for him. The scent of exhaust is growing, and the heat of it hits my legs.
“Get in the car, sweetheart. We’ll take care of Rowe.”
But it’s not enough. “Put him in the car, Dad! Why isn’t he coming?”
My back hits a cold leather seat, and I try and fail to inhale. Dad’s face is cracked open, revealing everything he isn’t saying. His hands land on my shoulders, but I can’t speak. Nothing comes out of my mouth. I know I need to breathe, but it’s like I don’t remember how. My vision is starting to grow spotty, and Dad’s voice hits my ears, his words unable to puncture the buzz I’m hearing.
I feel my head droop, then my body slips down the seat. And as the world turns black, I’m left with only one recurring thought.
Rowe isn’t coming.
39
PRESENT
TILLY
I don’t knowwhy I wind up at my parents’ house, but here I am.
The lights are on in the living room, casting a yellow light across the front yard. Mom’s always hated having the curtains open at night, but Dad loves it. It seems he won the argument today.
Standing on the bottom porch step, I tuck my hair behind my ears and hesitate to go any closer. The tug that led me here was too damn stubborn to deny, but now that I’m this close, I don’t know what I’m searching for. What closure is this place going to give me that I haven’t already found myself?
The flare of light grows dim as a shadow cuts through it. Slowly lifting my gaze, I find my mom staring out the window at me. She’s got her hair back in a low bun and is wearing the fluffy yellow robe that I sent her for Christmas last year. It was a pathetic gift. Something you could get any woman in her late fifties and know she’ll make use of it. The heated slippers I sent the year before were just as lame.
She purses her lips and waves at me to come inside. I hesitate, digging my heels into the wood like that’ll do me anygood. My mother is as stubborn as I am, which is obviously where I get it from. There’s no chance she’s letting me stay out here or turn around and walk away now that she’s seen me.
With a quick rise and fall of her shoulders, she turns out of view. A beat later, she’s opening the front door and stepping aside for me to enter.
“Come inside before you combust on the front lawn.”
I reluctantly do as she says. Each step I take feels jilted until I’m walking through the doorway. My anxiety slips from my shoulders once I’ve inhaled the scent of clean laundry. A wall of emotion smacks me square in the face. Its attack is ruthless, yet I manage to shove it to the side for now.
“What’s wrong, honey?” she asks after coming to terms with the fact that I’m not going to answer her previous statement.
I hardly manage a pathetic shrug. Dropping my eyes, I stare at my boots while tugging each one off. Leaving them on would have been best for a quick escape. Still, I move them against the wall and lift my head.
Mom’s worry is written all over her face. From the lines crinkling across her forehead and the slight tremble in the fingers that sweep back the loose hairs framing her face. There’s pain there too. One that I’ve felt every day for eleven years.
“Are you leaving?” she asks, her voice shaky.
I frown. “No.”
“Alright, sweetheart. Come with me.”
Her hand takes mine in a warm, steady hold. I squeeze her fingers and follow her through the halls. We pass the living room with that same wood panelling on the walls that Mom refuses to let Dad pull down, then the kitchen she did allow him to renovate. The back door isn’t latched properly and swings in the breeze, clattering softly. It’s dark outside, the sky so black I can only make out the shape of the trampoline that they still haven’t sold.
Mom releases my hand and wraps her arm across my back instead. It’s a comfort that I took for granted when I left. Her hugs were always the cure to everything when I was growing up. Between Ash and me, she probably thought we were just completely inept at soothing ourselves as children. It wasn’t that, though. There was just something special about having your mom there when it felt like the world was crumbling around you.
I’ve gone without that for so long that I think I’ve forgotten what it feels like.
“It’s late. You should be asleep,” I murmur.
“No, Tilly. This is exactly what I should be doing.”
I clear my throat when it grows thick with moisture. “Where’s Dad?”
