And then she turns away from me, her arms wrapped around her middle as she runs back toward the car, a curtain of rain cutting us off from each other. I watch her go, my sad little swan, while my lungs try to pull in enough air.
Then I push myself up the steps, two at a time. I think I hear Emmy call out to me. I think I hear Luca yell my name.
I know I hear someone choke on a sob.
I think that someone is me.
But I keep taking those stairs, two by two, until I can’t hear anything anymore.
The rain comes down in sheets as I pack. There’s not much. A lot of my stuff is still at Pete’s. I’m not sure what Mom’s planning to do about all that, but right now I can’t think about it. I can’t think about anything, about anyone; the only thing that distracts me is running through piano pieces in my head, and that only makes me think about what Mom said in the hospital.
After you graduate . . .
My finger pauses in mid-zip on my suitcase. She never really believed I’d go to New York. When my audition invitation letter came, it was still a far-off dream, too far away to be real for either one of us. I don’t know what she was thinking when she made those hostel reservations. Maybe it really was just a bribe to keep me from freaking out over moving to the lighthouse. Whatever it was, that excitement has long since fizzled out, replaced by a mourning girl and purple balloons and necklaces and a new start in Portland.
Because this is Maggie we’re talking about.
I sink onto the bed. Back in April, before she said anything about a girls’ trip to the city, I’m the one who asked her to go with me to New York. I begged her, never even considered taking Luca with me. Maybe deep down, I knew this would happen. I knew we’d never make it. Hell, I think I counted on it, too scared to actually make the decision to leave her. Too scared to risk reading not good enough in a rejection letter printed on college letterhead. It was self-sabotage at its finest.
The realization settles over me like one of those April snows we sometimes get. Surprising and expected all at once. Ice-cold when you’re ready for warmth. My fingers dig into my eyes, pressing so hard until I see fireworks of color. I let myself fall back onto the mattress. My phone buzzes loudly from inside my bag. Could be Mom. Could be Luca or Eva. Could be Jay-freaking-Lanier for all I know. Whoever it is, I’ve got nothing left for them.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
“GRACIE, LET’S GET MOVING.”
I blink.
Once.
Twice.
“Baby. Get up, now.”
The room comes into focus. It’s still dark out, the lobster lamp on the bedside table coating the faded room in a salmon glow. The cheap alarm clock flickers 4:13 a.m.
I sit up on the bed and push my hair out of my eyes. Mom whirs around the room, throwing the toothpaste into her toiletry bag and grabbing bras down from where they’re hanging on the shower curtain rod.
“Mom? Why are you home so early?”
“I’m fine. Just get moving.”
I swing my legs off the bed, still clad in my jeans from yesterday. Ugh, I feel like death. Probably look like death too. Mom doesn’t look like she’s got both feet in the land of the living either. She’s dressed in what I can only assume are her going-out clothes from last night—?a pair of black skinny jeans and a sparkly red tank top that’s now sporting a tear at the hem. Her arm is in a navy-blue brace, and she keeps muttering “fucking arm” under her breath.
“What happened with the cops?” I ask, digging my phone out of my bag. Eleven missed calls. All from Luca.
Except one.
I stare at her name, but then Mom’s voice cuts off my thoughts.
“Nothing. I mean, I have a court date for the ticket or whatever, but it’s not for weeks. I’ll come back for it.”
Ticket or whatever. Translation: DUI. Not like it’s her first.
“Gracie, we’ve got to go.” She brushes her hair out of her face, her usually messy ponytail messier than ever. “Get my suitcase out from under the bed, will you?”
I watch her for a few seconds. Usually, I’d say okay. Usually, I’d say yes. But this time, she’s asking me to leave the only town I’ve ever known. She’s asking me to leave Luca and Emmy. She’s asking me to finish high school in some strange new city, only to rope myself to retail jobs or waitressing for the rest of my life so she can steal my tips out of my Wizard of Oz jewelry box.
This time her whims are riding on the tails of a car accident that totaled our car and hurt my girlfriend, and her every movement right now has this tone of panic to it that’s setting me on edge. Or more on edge. I’m already hanging off a cliff here.
