I sink down onto the bed while Mom flits throughout the room, unpacking her toiletries onto the chipped bathroom counter, humming like nothing even happened. She cracks open a beer, one of several she no doubt lifted from Pete’s fridge on the way out the door.
I’m not fine.
How can I leave her?
I’m not fine.
How can I leave her?
On the scratchy bedspread, I tap out Schumann’s Fantasie.
It seems fitting, this piano piece that probably could’ve landed me a scholarship but won’t. Because Mom will never change. And I’ll never feel okay about leaving her the way she is, so unstable, so lonely and desperate for . . . for what? I don’t even know anymore. The New York trip is just that—?a trip. And then we’ll come back home and go on with our lives.
“I need some air,” I say, standing up.
“Now?” Mom turns, glancing out the window. “It looks like rain.”
“I won’t melt.”
“I’d rather you stayed in today, baby.” She laces her fingers together, wringing them into a knot. “I’m so upset, I don’t know what to do with myself.”
I take a step toward her, because I don’t really know what to do with myself either.
“Oh, shit, Eva’s birthday.” She presses her hands to her cheeks. “I need to call her.” She grabs her ratty pleather purse and digs out her ancient flip phone.
I take a step back.
I’m already out the door by the time I hear her say Eva’s name into the phone.
By the time I reach the pier, the rain has soaked through my black Star Wars T-shirt. It’s one of Luca’s, and I think it used to be Macon’s. It’s so worn and thin, it feels like it might disintegrate against my skin.
I want to call him. I want my best friend with me, right here, right now. But I leave my phone in my pocket, turned off. Because he’ll just say I told you so, and, yeah, while he did tell me so, I don’t want to hear it.
Emmaline bobs on the water between several other boats, a little haven of safety. I step on board and open the compartment next to the steering wheel, finding the keys that open the door leading to the cabin below deck. I walk down the short set of stairs and into the darkened room. A strand of white lights encircles the space, hanging on thumbtacks, and I plug them in under the tiny two-seater table. A soft glow fills the cabin. There’s a set of bunk beds near the back, beds I’ve slept on so many times, I’ve lost count. I drag myself to the top bunk and collapse onto the mattress, still soaking wet. Underneath me, the navy-blue comforter is soft and well-used, and my fingers fly over its surface easily.
Tapping, tapping, tapping.
Tapping out my Fantasie.
Chapter Twenty-Five
THE MATTRESS SHAKES AND I JOLT AWAKE, SITTING UP and hitting my head on the low ceiling.
“Ow!” I yell, my hands flying to my head.
“God, I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to scare you.”
I rub my eyes once, twice, then crack them open to find Eva’s face peering over the edge of the bed. Her feet are propped on the lower bunk, hands holding on to the top mattress.
“Hey,” she says softly.
I release a breath and flop back down onto the bed, my head pounding. Outside the little window, the sky is ink-dark and starless, rain pattering softly on Emmaline’s roof.
“Grace,” Eva says, “I didn’t know about the party.”
“Is today really your birthday?”
A pause. A deep breath. “Yes.”
