She hesitates for so long that I turn to look at her. There’s a slight twist to her mouth that gives her away. Before she can change the subject or try to lie, I say, “Tell me the truth.”
“He’s just driving around.”
“At midnight?”
“We’re not eighty years old, Tilly.”
A weighted realization drops on my chest. “He’s checking on the campsite, isn’t he?”
“Don’t blame him for it. The last time the group of you were here . . .”
“The night ended with red and blue sirens,” I finish when her voice stalls.
She stops walking, tightening her arm around my back when we reach the closed door of my old bedroom. I hold myself perfectly still and wait for her to twist the handle. Despite being back here only a few weeks ago, the space still feels alien to me.
“How about we just sit together for a bit. Talk to me about what’s upsetting you. I assume that’s why you came, right? If anything bad had happened, you wouldn’t be so calm.”
I take a seat on the edge of the bed, feeling the memory foam sink beneath my weight. The same floral scent of laundry soap Mom’s always used wafts up from the comforter, and I inhale deeply. It’s painful to look around at the brightly painted walls and see that everything is still the same.
The mattress dips again when she joins me, staring straight ahead at the tall dresser and the gold-framed photo resting on it. It’s one of Ash and me from our high school graduation. Our grins are wide as we stare at where Rowe stood behind the disposable camera.
I remember that day too clearly for it to be healthy. He wore a black suit with his cowboy boots and hat, while Ash chose a deep blue and shiny loafers. I had my corsage that Dad forced Ash to buy me on my wrist, and I wished so damn badly that it had come from Rowe instead.
We all went escort-less, and thank God for that, because if he’d brought a date with him, I’d have dunked her head into the prom punch bowl and made her choke on it.
“I wasn’t expecting to fall in love with him again, Mom.” The admission falls from my lips before I can stifle it.
Mom’s immediate shock is short-lived. From the corner of my eye, I catch her running a nail along the underside of her chin before pressing three fingers to her jaw. She turns at the waist, facing me. The gleam of guilt in her eyes wasn’t what I was expecting to see.
“I need to show you something,” she whispers. I hold my breath, watching as she stands and pauses. “I’ve always known that you were my brave girl, Tilly. You didn’t ever need anyone to take care of you, but as your mother, it hasn’t always been possible to sit back and watch you handle life all on your own. Not when you were at your happiest, and not when I held you in this very room and witnessed you at your lowest.”
I fist my hands in my lap, scratching the back of a knuckle. “Why does this sound like you’re about to tell me something terrible?”
She’s reaching for me now, stroking the side of my face like she used to when I was little. Her shoulders roll back slightly before she retreats and taps her thigh.
“I’ll be right back.”
I watch her retreating figure with a handful of stones sinking into my gut. The silence is loud enough to make my ears ache as I wait, avoiding staring at the graduation photo. There are dozens of other things to focus on in here, but I don’t let myself look at the black horse figurine on the nightstand or the wicker basket still overflowing with teen magazines either. Instead, I glance up at the ceiling.
Soft footfalls signal her return. I drop my head and see her in the doorway, hesitating to enter. The yellowing, wrinkled envelope pinched between her fingertips sends a cold rush running down my spine.
“You should know that I’ve never opened this. When it arrived, I saw his name and tucked it away. It was always my plan to give it to you, but it never felt like the right time. You were starting a new life for yourself, and I didn’t want whatever this said to suck you back into the hurt you’d escaped from.”
I push to my feet and rip the envelope from her hands. It’s cruel the way I turn away from her and stalk over to the window beside my bed. I can’t care about that. Right now, nothing matters besides tearing through the top of it and pulling free the crinkled, ink-smeared letter trapped inside.
A sob sticks in my throat when I struggle to unfold the paper. The corner catches beneath my nail, leaving behind a slight sting and a droplet of blood that soaks into it. I ignore it and stare at the first word on the paper that’s been scrawled in the same charcoal as all the others were.
September 3rd
Hellcat,
Fuck. It’s been months since I’ve written that name. I haven’t stopped thinking it, though. Or saying it. I’ve been repeating those two syllables to myself every single day so I don’t forget what they sound like. Maybe that’s stupid, considering it belongs to you, and I’ll never forget you.
I do wish I could forget what I’d said to you in my last letter. The lies I wrote haunt me when the lights go out and I’m left here on this shitty fucking mattress all alone with nothing better to do than hate myself. Not to say I don’t deserve it, because I do.
If there’s one thing I’ve always known, it’s that I’d hunt down and make every single person who’s ever hurt you pay for it. Each tear you’ve shed, every broken nail you’ve lost punching some jackass who couldn’t keep his mouth shut, has made this part at the very core of me demand retribution. It was always easier to convince myself that was just me looking out for Ash’s sister. You’re his family, but you’re mine, too.
That was a shitty fucking lie.
