‘Credit card is for essentials and emergencies only. The phone is to make sure you check in with your mother every day, you hear me?’
Silent since she sat down on the bed, Mom stares around the plain room with wet eyes and I know what she’s thinking. It’s a long way from her beautiful home in Beaufort, with its fancy furnishings and wraparound porch and the jetty that stretches out over the water. I nod in agreement, slipping the card in my pocket and opening the phone to scroll up and down the LED screen. There are two numbers programmed into the contacts list, the home phone and my mom’s cell. He hasn’t even bothered to enter his own. Or my brother’s.
‘When do you meet with the coach?’ Dad asks.
‘Tomorrow morning,’ I reply, trying not to think about my daily run down the jetty, our two golden retrievers, Ralph and Biscuit, nipping at my heels. ‘Nine a.m.’
‘Good.’
He pauses for a moment and his hand hovers over my shoulder. Is he going to touch me? It would be the first time in months. His green eyes meet mine and I hold my breath.
‘Ethan?’
‘Dad?’
‘Don’t let us down.’
When he snatches his hand away, the breath I’m holding escapes as a sigh and I can tell from the look on his face he’s annoyed by my reaction.
‘I won’t,’ I say hurriedly, smoothing things over before he can explode. Mom doesn’t need that right now, neither of us do. ‘I won’t let either of you down.’
He scoffs.
‘First time for everything.’
‘You want me to make up the bed?’
Mom’s sweet gesture slices through the tension until my mind skips back to the unopened packet of sheets and pillowcases still on the top shelf of my closet at home. I forgot to pack them. What kind of idiot forgets his sheets? Times like these I think my dad could be right, maybe I am a total fuck-up.
‘Nah, I’m good. I’ll do it later,’ I tell her, still kicking myself. ‘Hey, why don’t we go check out the campus, get something to eat? I’m starving.’
I slap my empty stomach, and she looks like she’s about to agree, but Ethan Sr opens his mouth before she can get a word out.
‘No time.’ He sticks his hands into the pockets of his pants, heavy brows drawn together. ‘We have to get back to the airport.’
My head whips back to him but he simply stares past me.
‘You’re leaving already? You can’t stay for dinner?’
I hate knowing I look as disappointed as I sound and the old man looks away, displeased by an unacceptable display of emotion from his eldest. We only landed a few hours ago and even though it hadn’t been discussed, I figured they would at least stick around for a day or so, wait for me to get settled in. I know being here is a punishment, not a vacation, but I’m still their son.
‘Couldn’t get a direct flight tonight so we’re connecting through New York,’ Dad replies, his mouth twisting into something ugly. Mom just drops her head and stares at her shoes. ‘We have to get back to your brother.’
A familiar rush of guilt comes crashing in and my appetite vanishes, something that never happened before the accident but it’s hard to think about food when you had to watch your brother being fed through a tube. I consider asking them to wait for the next direct flight, maybe appeal directly to my mom, but my dad won’t go for it, and I don’t want to make her life more difficult. So, I drop my head and nod. Accept it, think of Chris, let them go.
Mom rises from the bed and rests a delicate hand on my solid shoulder, a conciliatory gesture.
‘This is going to be good for you, I can already tell,’ she says gently. ‘A new team to impress, new people to meet, and no one here knows about … your problems.’
‘And no one needs to know,’ my father adds. ‘So, straighten up, fly right and keep your mouth shut.’
‘Yes, sir.’
They could be right. There are upsides to being here. No Dad breathing down my neck, no more conversations cut off whenever I walk into a room, no more nosy neighbours peering over the fence. And since no one has my UK number, maybe I won’t feel so fucking horrible about the fact Breanna and allmy so-called friends are straight up pretending I don’t exist. That might be nice.
‘Ready, Jan?’
My mom looks at me then nods. Shipping me off to another country wasn’t her idea, or mine. She doesn’t want to leave, and I don’t want her to go but we both know there’s no debate to be had. It wasn’t a question, not really. They might as well be in the car, halfway back to London.
