I didn’t respond. Instead, I stared at the Jag. Not in awe like earlier, but blankly—as if I hadn’t a care in the world for this car. All those weekend rides Papá and I’d taken together up the Delaware River? I didn’t want to remember them rightnow.
Instead, Ikickedthe car. My teeth gritted, I kicked the side of my father’s Jaguar like I was Everett during one of his soccer games, his team hoping to come from behind. I kicked it with everything I had, so hard that it felt like the wind had been knocked out of me. My foot, probably bound for infection, throbbed.
James winced.
“This is bullshit,” I said, hearing the waver in my voice. I gestured to the convertible. “I’m putting up with a bunch of bullshit—myfamilyis putting up with a bunch of bullshit, and we don’t even acknowledge it. I ask to see a therapist? Nope, request kindly denied! Why would I want to talk to someonewho doesn’t know me when I have him or Mamá? Meanwhile, Mamá is so obsessed with work and me getting off Princeton’s or Harvard’s or Yale’s waitlist and whatever else she has in her agenda book, she doesn’t even see that my father is cheating on her!” I forced myself to laugh. “I don’t even know if I should tell her.”
James took a step toward me. “Izzy.”
“I think I should, J,” I told him. “I shouldn’t keep my mouth shut when he’s lying about his Georgetown schedule and these business trips instead of working on his marriage and spending time with his daughter, who tries so hard to make him proud.”
“You do,” he said softly. “You try, Isa. You try your best every single day.” I felt him look at me, somehow an acknowledgment of my accomplishments. I thought of my name on honor roll again and again, my perfect ACT score, my acceptance to Brown, and the probability of me being named valedictorian in a few weeks. All my hard work. “It’s incredible,” James said. “You are—”
I kicked the car again—and god, it feltgood,even though my foot felt like a hospital trip waiting to happen.
“I am so sick of his lying,” I said. “I can’t stand him”—I adjusted my grip on my father’s golf club—“and I can’t stand thisfuckingcar!”
And then I swung the five iron and nailed the Jag. James whistled when I hit the windshield. The cracked glass looked like a delicate spiderweb. “That,” he commented, “is a work ofart.”
My eyes prickled. “Who do you care about?” I asked, and whacked the car again—the golf club left a deep cavity in the driver door. “Because it’s certainly not Mamá, not our family, not our life—and notme.” Ready, aim, fire. “You don’t care about us, but you care about this car.” I moved to hit the hood, skirting around the already destroyed bumper. “The only things you love are this car and that woman!”
I swung the five iron, again and again. James kept glancing over his shoulder, on guard for security.
“Wow,” I breathed when I finally stopped. Adrenaline surged through my veins, so quickly that I didn’t realize when I started sobbing. “I did some serious damage.”
“Damage?” James was flabbergasted. “Izzy, youslaughteredthe car.”
The leather interior had gone untouched, but the exterior? It looked like it had been attacked by a prowl of jaguars.
“Who cares?” I shrugged. “Because I honestly don’t. I’m over it, J. I’m done being Daddy’s little girl.” I wiped my tears to admire the ruined car. “And we’ll see what happens when I tell Mamá about the bottle blond tonight.”
James’s eyes widened. “You’re going to tell her?”
“Yes.” I nodded. “I am.”
Someone had to.
James ran a slow hand through his hair. “You’re going to have to tell her where you were today,” he said. “She’ll find out you were in Philly and not in school.”
“I don’t care,” I replied with a burst of confidence. “It’s worth it.”
He set down my father’s telescope and I raced forward to hug him. My feet left the concrete when he scooped me up in his arms, my heartbeat wild against his chest. “You’re just too good to be true,” he murmured.
I smiled as I slung my arms around his neck. “All right,” I whispered against his lips. “Let’s roll.”
Chapter 39
Everett
At some point, the Philadelphia skyline disappeared and so did the traffic. “Good riddance,” Grace joked, tossing her cowboy hat in the backseat and tousling her golden curls before putting on some Lana DelRey. Lana wasn’t my sisters’ favorite, but I knew enough from Grace. She also dug around in the center console for the SweeTart stash she usually kept on hand for me (I had Whoppers for her). Once my lips had turned blue from the blue raspberry flavor, Lana had officially lulled me to sleep. “I’m just going to rest my eyes…,” I mumbled, but was a complete goner. Grace squeezed my leg once, and then I was out like a light.
I didn’t wake up until she stopped short behind a minivan, probably forty minutes later. We were approaching our exit. “Hello there.” She smiled. “Have any dreams about me?”
I straightened up in my seat, eyes widening at the dashboard clock. “It’s five-fifty!” I exclaimed. “Grace, you only have ten minutes!”
We were fifteen away from her house.
She laughed and shook her head. “Remember? My parents are getting happy hour drinks with our new neighbors?”
