Текст книги "Torn Away"

Автор книги: Jennifer Brown

Соавторы: Jennifer Brown
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Текущая страница: 10 (всего у книги 15 страниц)

CHAPTER
NINETEEN

My half sisters were sitting on my couch, laughing.

“You look like an old lady,” I heard one of them say, but my mind was unable to make sense out of what exactly I was seeing.

They had Marin’s purse. It was open on Lexi’s lap, the contents bared to the world. Marin’s things. My things.

“What…?” I started, but then I noticed that both of them were chewing gum, the foils wadded up and tossed onto the couch, and they both had pink, lipstick-smeared mouths. Lexi was clutching Mom’s lipstick in her hand, rolled all the way to the top, the pretty slanted point ruined. Across the front of the purse they had written “COW” in Mom’s lipstick.

“You got some seriously messed-up taste in lipstick, Granny,” Lexi said, but she looked nervous as she said it, as if she knew they had crossed the line this time.

I reached out and snatched the lipstick out of her hand. “That was my mother’s,” I said, feeling a rage swelling so big inside me, I wasn’t sure how to contain it. I’d unclenched my teeth, and everything I’d been feeling in that car ride home—hell, everything I’d been feeling since the tornado—strained to get out of me. I felt bare and taut, an exposed nerve, a caged animal, a spring.

I’d lost everything at this point. I had nothing left but my memories—the ones that came from me, the ones I could trust—and they were trying to steal those, too. They couldn’t. I wouldn’t let them. If I let go of my memories, I might never recognize me again.

“Well, your mom has gross taste, then,” Meg said.

I reached down and picked up the purse, grabbed the foils they’d discarded on the couch, dropped everything inside, then hurriedly zipped the purse shut and hugged it to my shoulder, the lipstick they’d drawn on the outside smearing up against my skin.

“Hey,” Meg said, standing up, her nose a couple inches away from my chin. Lexi followed half a beat later but took a small step to the side, hanging back a little. Meg grabbed for the purse, but I clamped my elbow down on it. “Nobody said you could have that back.”

“It’s not yours to take,” I said.

“Anything in my house is mine to take,” she said. “And if I want to take your ugly-ass lipstick and your little gum stash, I will. And that goes for anything else you might have, Jersey Cow. Because you don’t get to say what goes on in this house. You don’t belong here and everyone knows it.”

“Meg,” Lexi said. I glanced over. Lexi was looking worriedly between her sister and me. “Come on, let’s go to Jeff’s party now.”

“What?” Meg said defensively. “It’s the truth. The only reason she’s here is nobody wants her.”

She had turned toward her sister, but my eyes were firmly planted on Meg. On her delicate little ear with the earrings snaking up the side. On her sharp, freckled cheekbone. On the corner of her hateful little mouth, where lipstick collected in a pink pool.

My mother’s face swam before my eyes, coming out of the bedroom, the pink lipstick making her skin look creamy and smooth. Marin’s voice echoed in my ears: It’s for special. I like it sharp.

And now the tip was blunt and ragged, ugly. It had been stretched across the lips of two horrid girls who had only worn it to be cruel, had been dragged across the face of Marin’s purse, no longer special, no longer new. That lipstick had probably been Marin’s most prized possession, and these two bitches had no right.

Before I knew what was happening, my hand reached out and grabbed Meg’s face, slapping up against her mouth as I dug my fingers in and clawed, trying to wipe the lipstick from her lips. She didn’t deserve it; she wasn’t special enough. These were my memories. Mine. And I would die before I would let anyone take them from me.

Meg gave a surprised little yelp, stumbling backward. Her heels caught the edge of the couch and she sprawled back onto the floor, her head knocking against the boards loudly. I followed her down, clawing and scratching at her face, mashing her lips against her teeth with my palms, dragging my hands across her mouth over and over again.

I was so intent on getting my sister’s lipstick back, I was only vaguely aware of the racket we were making. I was grunting, crying, repeating that she didn’t deserve to use my sister’s lipstick, that she wasn’t special enough, to give it back. Meg was screaming as much as she could through my fingers, her eyes wide and frightened, her hands flailing at my hair, my face, my chest. And in the background, I heard Lexi’s voice as she cried for help.

There was blood. I could see there was blood. Meg’s pink mouth had been replaced by a much larger red one. I didn’t care. I didn’t care about anything anymore. What did it matter? What did anything matter now? I was alone. I had no home, no family, nowhere that I belonged. In that moment, I finally and truly understood what it meant to have nothing to lose.

I kept after her until I was yanked to my feet roughly by two hands under my armpits. As soon as I was pulled off her, Meg curled up on one side, her arms flung over her mouth, her cries more like muffled shrieks.

I turned wildly, half ready to fight whoever had pulled me from her, but was surprised to see that it was Grandfather Harold. His fingers dug into my shoulders, his face a deep, wrinkled scowl. Lexi gaped at me over his shoulder, trembling, tears running down her cheeks.

“Let me go!” I shrieked, twisting violently out of his grasp.

“What the hell is going on?” Grandmother Billie said, bursting through the screen door, her nightgown swishing and swinging above her hairy ankles. She looked from Meg to Lexi to my grandfather to me, her head whipping around almost comically.

“She attacked Meg,” Lexi said. “She scratched her up bad.”

I turned my hands over and gazed at the blood on my fingers. I was still out of breath, so angry I could hear my pulse in my ears, but in a way what had just happened seemed impossible, like it had happened to someone else. Had my hands not been all bloody, I might even have tried to deny it.

Grandmother Billie hurried over to Meg and knelt next to her, trying to pry her arms away from her mouth so she could see the damage.

“They…” I said, then paused. How could I continue? They stole my sister’s lipstick. They stole my memories.

Grandfather Harold took a heavy step toward me. “These girls ain’t never been in a lick of trouble until you got here. Now I understand why Ronnie wanted to be rid of you.”

“I’ve never been in trouble, either!” I cried out. “You don’t have any idea what I’m like.”

“I shouldn’t have agreed to this, family or not,” Grandmother Billie said.

By this time, Terry had joined the crowd, staring out through the screen door, Jimmy perched on one hip, rubbing his eyes. She pushed Jimmy’s head against her shoulder with one palm and shushed him but didn’t say anything.

I gazed at her, feeling ashamed.

Grandfather Harold motioned to Lexi. “Help your grandmother clean up your sister. We’ll deal with you tomorrow,” he said to me. “I s’pose we should call Tonette and get her home.”

They all shuffled back into the house, Meg’s cries turning to wet snuffles, Lexi glaring at me over her shoulder through slitted eyes. Aunt Terry watched me for a second longer; then I heard the sound of the screen door lock clicking into place.

At first I stayed rooted to my spot near the couch, the covered barbecue grill behind me, a stack of broken plastic lawn chairs close by. I blinked in the darkness, wondering how I had gotten here. How I’d gone from reading in a cozy armchair in a real bookstore to scrabbling open the skin of my half sister’s mouth in the space of half an hour. Or how I’d gone from cooking dinner for my family to sleeping alone on a porch in little more than a month. It all seemed so surreal. My life no longer felt like mine.

We’ll deal with you tomorrow, Grandfather Harold had said, and though I didn’t know exactly what he’d meant by that, I knew it wasn’t going to be good. Worse, he’d planned to call Tonette, interrupt her night of barhopping to let her know that I’d beat up her precious little girl. I would be in huge trouble, because as angry as my grandparents had been, it wouldn’t be anything compared to how angry Clay and Tonette would be when they found out.

“Well, I’m not going to give you the chance,” I said aloud. I needed to get out of this place where truth and lies swirled and bled together and stole all that I had left of me. I dropped to my knees and felt around until my hands landed on my backpack, which had been stuffed far behind the sofa, probably when Lexi and Meg were looking for something to steal. I pulled it out. It had been unzipped, but it didn’t look like anything was gone. I quickly grabbed the blanket that lay folded up at the end of the couch, stuffed it inside, zipped it, and pounded through the screen door into the night.

I wasn’t sure where to go. I hadn’t wandered around enough to have more than a vague idea of what was beyond the cookie-cutter houses and the strip malls. I could see pastures behind the house, and a thicket of trees on one side. I could maybe find an old barn to sleep in, or a clearing under a tree. But what if a storm came? I hated that I now got panicky over something so silly, but I couldn’t help it. Every day that the tornado sank deeper into my soul, I became more and more afraid of it.

In the end I decided to go with what was familiar, and headed into town.

CHAPTER
TWENTY

Morning took a long time to come. I hadn’t slept at all, and I was exhausted from constantly looking over my shoulder, waiting for Clay or Harold or a cop to jump out at me.

I’d spent the night wandering around the main strip of Caster City. At first I’d hung around the back door of a boutique, sitting on smashed shipping boxes, playing cards until the stench from the Dumpster behind the Chinese restaurant next door overpowered me. I’d moved to a tiny grove of evergreens behind a fast-food place and stretched out on my back, studying Mom’s face in the photo on my phone and softly singing Marin’s bubble song until the mosquitoes drove me away.

I spent some time texting Jane, who was up watching movies with her cousin.

How’s life in Hickville? she’d asked.

I’m running away, I’d responded.

To where?

I don’t know yet.

I’d waited around, half-hoping she would extend an invitation to run to her, but she never did. Instead, she replied, I’ll keep you company.

While Jane and I texted, the passing cars got sparser and sparser, and soon there were none, and the stoplights began blinking yellow and even the gas station closed for the night. I felt alone, stranded, and somehow that felt right. I moved around to the front of the strip mall and window-shopped, as if this were something I often did at three o’clock in the morning.

But it was a long time before the sun came up, and I’d found myself wedged into the back doorway of a furniture store, using my backpack for a pillow, my eyes heavy and grainy from lack of sleep, my butt numb from the concrete.

I turned my hands over in my lap and studied them in the daylight. Somehow, the blood had been rubbed away from the skin, but there was still a ruddy brown color under my fingernails. I wanted to wash them—wash Meg off me forever—and ended up tucking my fingers under my thighs so I wouldn’t have to look at them.

In time, I heard the sounds of the world waking up. Truck brakes hissing and car doors slamming and the occasional horn or voice. I packed up my things and started walking again, pulling my cell phone out of my pocket. I dialed Kolby’s number first. I could confide in him. I could tell him how terrible it was down here. I could tell him I was running away and he would help me.

“Hello?” a hushed voice asked.

I paused. This was the second time Kolby wasn’t answering his own phone. “Um, hi? Is Kolby there?”

“Who is this?”

“This is Jersey. I was… I was hoping he could give me a ride somewhere?”

There was a sigh on the other end of the phone. “Oh, Jersey. This is his mom. How are you? I heard you’re living down south with your dad now.”

“Um, I was, but I’m not anymore. That’s kind of why I need a ride up to Elizabeth. Can Kolby come get me?”

“Honey, Kolby’s in the hospital.”

“Still? For the cut on his arm?”

A pause. Then, “Well, yes and no. The cut got infected. He’s got to… he’s going to be here awhile. I’m afraid he won’t be up to driving for a bit.”

I stopped walking, trying to make sense of it all. I’d never had a cut get infected but figured it was just a matter of getting some antibiotics and going home. Why was this taking so long? “Oh. Okay,” I said. “Just tell him I called.”

“I will, honey. It will mean a lot to him to hear from you.”

“I’ll come see him when I get back to Elizabeth.”

“Honey, maybe you should stay down there. Stay with your dad. I hate to see you get in a bad situation.”

“My dad’s house was a bad situation,” I said sourly. “I’ve got to go. I’ll see Kolby later, okay?”

I hung up before she could say any more. I understood why she would think it was best for me not to run away. But she had no idea what I was running away from. I resumed walking, scrolling through my address book and selecting Dani’s name.

“Hey,” she answered, sounding groggy, like she’d been asleep. “How’s it going?”

“Terrible. I ran away. Can you ask your mom to come get me?” I already knew the answer, but it was worth a shot to try again. Maybe when her mom saw how desperate I was, she would change her mind. She was the only hope I had at this point.

“Whoa. Wait. Slow down. You ran away?”

I proceeded to dump everything on Dani—what Clay had said about my mom keeping him away from me and how he’d given up on me long ago. I told her about finding Meg and Lexi with Marin’s purse, and about the fight that had ensued, all the way up to me gouging Meg’s face last night.

“I need someone to come get me,” I said. “I need to get home. Please ask your mom.”

“I already did. She said no.”

“Tell her I’ll get Ronnie to take me back. She can drop me off at the motel. Just… anything. Come on, Dani, please? I need to get out of here.”

“But you’re, like, three hours away.”

“I’ll wait.”

“Yeah, but my mom isn’t going to want to drive six hours today, especially since she’s already said she didn’t want to get involved. She’s going to say you need to give it more time. She’s going to say this is between you and Ronnie. Maybe you should go to the police or something.”

“Oh, right, the police. Since I’m a runaway and all.” I leaned against the scratchy wall. Suddenly the Chinese restaurant smelled really delicious. My stomach growled, and I was thirsty. “Please? Just ask. Please, Dani?”

Dani sighed, then said, “Hang on.” I could hear her cover the mouthpiece of her phone, and then some hushed mumbling as she talked to her mom. Their conversation seemed to go on forever and I prayed she was going to come back with good news. “My mom wants to know where you’re going to be waiting,” she said at last. Her voice sounded funny, monotone and flat.

I tipped my head back into the sun and smiled. “Thank you. Thank you thank you thank you. There’s a bench outside the bookstore in the strip mall on Water Street. I’ll be waiting for you there. I love you, Dani, you know that?”

“I love you, too, Jers,” she said, and again her voice sounded dull. “See you soon.”

I had to keep myself from running to the bookstore. I didn’t want to get too tired or thirsty and I definitely didn’t want to wait outside in the open for too long, just in case Clay and Tonette were looking for me. It would be hours before Dani and her mom got here. Long enough for me to figure out what I was going to do once I got back to Elizabeth. I recognized that if Dani’s mom didn’t want me there, and Ronnie didn’t want me with him, I was going to be just as homeless up there as I was down here, but at least I’d be homeless in a familiar place. I had far more options in Elizabeth.

I was pretty thirsty by the time I got to the bookstore, so I made a beeline for the water fountain. When Dani’s mom arrived, I hoped she’d get me something cold to drink. Maybe stop by a gas station for a slushy. And something to eat. And maybe I’d ask her to let me use her washer and dryer, take a shower, maybe take a nap on a real bed.

But as I straightened up, swallowing the cold water, I heard a deep voice behind me.

“Jersey.”

I froze. It was a voice I recognized.

I turned around.

“Ronnie? What are you doing here?”

“Come on,” he said, turning and stalking off toward the door, not even bothering to wait to see if I was following him.

We walked to the parking lot, where his truck sat filthy and ragtag right up front. I wondered if I had walked past it going into the bookstore, my mind so far away I hadn’t even noticed that the truck that had been parked in my driveway for six years was sitting right there in the parking lot.

We climbed in, and I pushed my backpack and purse onto the floorboard between my feet.

“What are you doing here?” I repeated as he pointed his truck toward the highway. I watched the lane turn into two lanes, and then four, my spirit soaring higher with each growing lane, with every mile between me and that awful house.

“Harold called me last night,” he said. “Told me you beat up one of their girls and I needed to come get you. Then your friend Dani’s mom called, said you’d run away and would be at the bookstore, in case I wanted to call the police to pick you up and send you back to the Camerons’ house.”

I was stunned into silence. All that low mumbling and the funny tone in Dani’s voice… her mom had told me yes just so I would be sitting somewhere long enough to let the cops come get me.

“I sent you down here to stay with Clay,” Ronnie grumbled, looking straight ahead, his dashboard rattling on the road. “But I know how headstrong you can be, and your mother would not want you being a runaway.” His mouth straightened into a tight line at the mention of my mom.

“Thank you,” I practically whispered. Something about being with Ronnie didn’t feel right, but it felt so much better than being with my father. I didn’t mention the things I’d wanted to say to him all this time. Why didn’t you ever call me back? Why didn’t you let me come home for the funerals? Why did you make me leave in the first place? I wanted to ask him if he had himself under control now, if his grief was still consuming him. Have you brushed your teeth? I wanted to ask him. Have you changed your clothes? Is the motel room a rotting mess of empty food containers and filthy sheets?

But instead I asked, “Can I get a Coke?”

He pulled over at the next fast-food restaurant we saw and bought me one, handing it across the seat, our fingers brushing. His fingernails were dirty. His hands were dry. Meg’s blood was still under my nails, but I didn’t care.

“Have you cleared out the house?” I asked when we got back on the road.

“Some,” he said, and I could tell he didn’t want to talk about it, but I pressed. It was my house, too, and I had a right to know.

“Did you find any of our stuff?”

“Some,” he said again.

“Anything worth keeping?”

He shook his head, took a deep breath. “Total loss.”

“You didn’t keep anything?”

Annoyance crept into his voice. “No, Jersey, it’s trash.”

I pondered that. Our whole lives, the lives of four people, tossed in a landfill with all the other garbage. Why do we spend so much time collecting stuff, anyway, if that’s what it comes down to in the end?

“So are you still living at the motel?” I asked.

“If you call it living, sure,” he answered.

“Is there power in Elizabeth yet?”

“Yes.”

I sipped my soda, feeling the cold sink down into my fingers and toes, the sugar and carbonation rushing to my head. I kicked off my shoes and held my feet under the floor vent, letting the air-conditioning dry my sweaty toes. I’d run out of things to ask him. He wasn’t going to give me answers—not real ones, anyway—so what was the point? We both slipped into silence. I leaned my head against the window and watched the lines being eaten up by the front of the truck, until my eyes were too heavy from watching and I fell asleep.

I awoke when my body sensed that we had stopped moving. I sat up straight, stretching my stiff neck, and looked around. We were in a parking lot, but not one I recognized. I peered out the window. We weren’t in Elizabeth, I could see that much. Ronnie had put the truck into park and was staring straight ahead through the windshield, his hands resting on the bottom loop of the steering wheel.

“Where are we?” I asked on a yawn. I grabbed my soda and took another sip. It had gotten warm and watery, but it still tasted like heaven. A sign on the side of a nearby building said WAVERLY PUBLIC LIBRARY.

“Waverly,” he said, as I made the connection. His voice was rough and scratchy. He was born in Waverly, Grandfather Harold had said of Clay. About an hour thataway.

“Waverly? Why?”

Waverly was about an hour southeast of Elizabeth. We’d driven through it once or twice on road trips, and Mom had always pointed out that she’d grown up there.

“Godforsaken hellhole,” she’d always say. “Hold your breath. You don’t want to breathe in judgment. Oppression is contagious.” And even though we had no idea what she was talking about, we’d always make a game of it—see who could hold their breath the longest. See if we could make it all the way through the town without taking a breath.

Ronnie picked at the steering wheel with his dirty thumbnails. “At the funeral…” he said, and then he paused so long, I wasn’t sure he’d ever finish. He reached up and wiped his jaw with his hand a few times, then went back to picking. “Some people showed up, Jersey.”

“I wanted to be there. I should have been.”

“I was trying to keep you from being hurt.”

“My mother died. It’s too late to keep me from being hurt. I should have been there.”

“Your mom’s parents came,” he said, leveling his eyes at me at last.

I sat back, stunned. I had never met my mom’s parents. Mom hadn’t seen or talked to her parents since before I was born. They’d told her that if she wanted to run off with that drunk troublemaker Clay Cameron, she no longer had a family to come home to, and Mom had taken them at their word. She had been glad to do so. She always talked about how they judged her, how she was never good enough for them, how they never understood her and forced her to be a perfect little princess when all she wanted was to be normal. When they disowned her, she was glad to be done with them. To hear her tell it, she had no idea where they lived, much less if they were alive or dead. I think in our hearts we all assumed they were dead.

But they were alive.

And she was the dead one.

Ronnie went back to picking, I think because it kept him from having to look at me. “They didn’t even know about Marin,” he said. “They knew about you because your mom was pregnant when she ran away. But they didn’t even know Marin existed.”

“She didn’t run away. They disowned her,” I said, not caring a bit. “That’s their own fault.”

“They live here in Waverly,” he said, as if I hadn’t spoken at all, and my insides started to turn cold as all the pieces fell into place. Mom growing up here, telling us to hold our breaths so we didn’t catch the oppression and judgment alive and well in Waverly. Ronnie was driving me to the very town where my grandparents lived. “They’ve always been right here. They still live in the same house your mom grew up in.”

“But they didn’t bother to come by until now?” I wanted to keep him talking, to turn the conversation around. Maybe I could stop what I knew was coming. Maybe if I made him understand how much Mom hated them, he wouldn’t do what he was about to do. Again. “They didn’t care enough to try to see us until after she was dead?”

Ronnie shrugged. “They said they tried. When you were a baby. But according to them, your mom called the police to have them escorted off her property. She told them she never wanted to see them or speak to them again. Of course, this was when she was still with Clay. They… gave up.”

“You don’t do that,” I said, and I realized that I wasn’t sure if I was talking about my grandparents or about Mom or about Ronnie himself. “You don’t give up on your family. You don’t just… leave… when your child… needs you.” My breath hitched every few words as tears and dread fell over me.

“I’m sorry, Jersey,” Ronnie said, letting his hands rest limply in his lap. “I called them this morning. They’re willing to take you in.”

“No,” I said. My nose dripped and soaked into my jeans. I clutched at his elbow. “Please, Ronnie. I want to go home. I’ll be good, I promise. I won’t cause any problems. Ever. I don’t know them, and Mom hated them. This isn’t fair. Why do you hate me so much? Why do you think it’s so bad to have me around?”

He shook his head and put the truck into drive. My hand slipped off his arm and landed in my lap in defeat. “I don’t hate you,” he said. “But I can’t take care of you. Every time I look at you, I see her. Every time I hear you talk, I think about how I let everyone down. I think about how I couldn’t save any of you. Not one.” He glanced at me as he turned down a side road, the street sign reading FLORA. The houses were tidy, landscaped, painted. Not big, but bigger than our old house. “What good am I to anyone if I can’t be there when it most matters?”

“But I’m still alive. You can still save me. It matters now.”

He pulled into a driveway. My tears slowed as I took in the white-and-brown Tudor-style house, flowers blooming in orderly raised beds surrounding the swept sidewalk. More flowers blooming in quaint window boxes. A saintly-looking statue on the front porch. The door opened slowly. I wiped my face with my palms.

“I know you don’t understand,” Ronnie said. “But you’ve got to make this work, Jersey. I’m selling the property, anyway. Going back east. I’ve already got the transfer okayed at work. You can’t come home. There’s not going to be one.”

I tore my eyes away from the pale hand that still clutched the door. The hand must have belonged to one of my grandparents, but the shadows kept me from seeing who.

“You’re not going to stay where they’re buried?”

“Every time I look at that neighborhood, at the house, at every business and building I pass, I’m reminded of how I failed them. I can’t live a life that way. I’ve got to go.”

“So you’re abandoning all of us,” I said, not a question, but a statement.

“I’m saving myself,” he said very quietly.

It dawned on me that on some level I had expected Ronnie to change his mind. To get a little distance, heal, see his mistake, want me back. In some ways, I was more aghast at the realization that he would never change his mind than I was at seeing Mom’s lipstick smeared across Meg’s and Lexi’s faces. I was more insulted by this than I’d been by Clay and Tonette insulting me and saying I didn’t belong. I was more shocked by Ronnie’s selfishness than I had been by the tornado itself. This wasn’t how it was supposed to be. Life wasn’t supposed to work this way. He wasn’t supposed to choose himself over us.

“You’re a coward.” But before I could say any more, a gray-haired man wearing a plaid shirt and a baseball cap knocked on Ronnie’s window. My mouth snapped shut. The man had a large, bulbous nose and huge eyebrows. But he also had wet, pouty lips that sort of reminded me of Marin’s, and out from his cap, several curly strands of hair snaked around his ears.

Ronnie rolled down the window.

“Thank you for this,” he said to the old man, and the anger returned. I wanted to punch Ronnie. For casting me out, for abandoning Mom and Marin, for being so dry-eyed and cavalier about the whole thing.

The old man nodded. “Not a problem. She got any bags?”

“Not really. Just a couple up here she can carry. We lost everything, as you saw.”

My jaw tensed. Ronnie had taken them to my house? To Mom’s house? How could he? Mom would have been furious. She’d kept them away on purpose.

“You get any word from FEMA yet?” the old man asked, and as Ronnie answered, I tuned him out, turning my gaze to the woman standing in the front doorway, wringing her hands, a melon-colored sweater hanging over a lighter melon-colored tunic. Even from the truck, I could see that she shared my knock knees, my rounded shoulders, my thick waist. All this time I’d been wondering who exactly I looked like, when the person I resembled most was right here in Waverly.

“Ready?” the old man said, and I realized he had been peering past Ronnie over to where I sat.

“Huh?”

“You ready?” Ronnie said.

I glared at him. “No. But I guess I don’t have a choice,” I said.

“No,” he said, “you don’t. You’ve got to make it work this time.”

He went back to his picking on the steering wheel, and the old man slowly maneuvered his way around to my side of the truck. I clutched the top handle of my backpack and pushed Marin’s purse tightly up my shoulder. My grandfather opened my door and I slid out.

“Have a nice life,” I said to my stepdad.

I knew I would never see him again.