Текст книги "Betwixt"

Автор книги: Melissa Pearl

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Текущая страница: 8 (всего у книги 14 страниц)

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

It's eight o'clock by the time I make my way back down to the kitchen. Dad is stacking the dishwasher, while Mom is wrapping the leftovers. There are a lot. I guess I wouldn't be able to eat either.

Mom opens her mouth a couple of times as if to speak, but then can't bring herself to do it.

And so the painful silence reigns.

Dad is just loading the last of the cutlery when the doorbell rings again.

Mom looks at Dad with a questioning frown. He shrugs and shuts the dish drawer.

I stay with Mom while he goes to answer the door.

"Hi." Dad sounds confused.

Is it the sheriff again? What other depressing news does he have? I walk towards the door then freeze.

"Hey Mr. Tepper. Do you mind if I come in?"

I recognize Dale's voice and shrink back against the wall. He walks meekly into the kitchen and gives my mom a soft smile.

"Hi Mrs. Tepper."

"Hi." She wipes her hands on a towel and moves around the counter to shake Dale's hand.

"Dale Finningan," he reminds her.

"That's right. You live just around the corner, don't you?"

"Yeah, you helped us find the house."

"I remember." She forces cheeriness into her voice.

"What can we do for you, Dale?" Dad pulls out a stool and offers Dale a seat.

Dale slides into the chair and looks around the kitchen.

I should let him know I'm here, but I can't. Words are stuck in my throat, clogging my airways, making it hard to breathe. What's he here to say?

"I..." He licks his lips and picks at the counter top. "I've been worried about Nicole. Do you guys have any more news?"

My parents look at each other, trying to have one of those wordless conversations, but I think they're a bit rusty.

Wait, no I see it.

They just had one!

Dad turns to Dale and with a broken voice admits, "We don't know what's happened to her."

"Have you heard from her?"

The hope in Mom's voice is hard to miss.

Dale shakes his head with a sad smile.

"You know you're the only one of her friends who's come to see if she's here. Are you two in some kind of relationship?"

I can sense my mother's struggle to ask. After what she discovered in the top drawer of my bedside table, I can understand why.

"No, ma'am." That smirk I love jumps onto his face. "No... uhh... she's not really into guys like me. I'm a little too outspoken and thoughtless for her tastes."

I move from my position in the doorway, my heart melting at his quiet words.

"So you're not friends?"

"I really want to be, but I guess I need to control my tongue first."

My parents look at each other in confusion.

"I'm just really sorry if I ever said anything to hurt her and I'll regret it forever if I don't get to see her again and tell her that."

I blink rapidly as tears blur my vision.

My father's brow dips with concern.

"Are you suggesting she ran away because you two had a fight?"

"No, sir." Dale sits up straight. "In fact," he pauses and takes a breath, "I'm wondering if she didn't run away at all."

"Why? Why are you saying that?"

I wince at the sharpness in my mother's voice.

It's impressive that Dale isn't shying away.

"I don't know, Mrs. Tepper, it's just a feeling... or a wondering. Has anyone considered the fact that she might not have skipped town?"

"The sheriff thinks she has." Mom's shoulders bunch with agitation.

"But is he right? I mean it's all just conjecture, isn't it?"

For some reason this is stressing my mother out more than the idea of me running away. Grabbing up the dishcloth, she squeezes it in her hands.

"So what does that make her? If she hasn't run away, where is she?"

Dale and I both see where this is going and I desperately want to intervene.

"I'm not sure; I'm just suggesting that maybe someone should start searching for her."

Dad places a tender hand on Mom's back and gives it a small rub. "I've sent a picture of her to the Sheriff. He's sending it to the L.A.P.D. for us."

Dale looks annoyed.

"Are they going to do more? Aren't they going to search the area? Pull together a party of people? I'll help."

He rises from the stool.

"Son, we have to admit that Nicole running away is the most likely answer to this."

"But it's not the only one." He rubs his face. "Mr. Tepper I think you should be going back to the sheriff and insisting he starts searching for her."

"We have this under control, Dale." Dad's voice is calm, but I can hear a small edge creeping into it.

"Sir, I don't think you do. She didn't run away."

"Dale." My mother slaps the counter. "Stop. We are doing what we can and I want you to go."

"I'm sorry, Mrs. Tepper, I didn't mean to upset you, I just..."

"Leave, please." Her voice breaks and wobbles as she turns away from him.

Dale repeats his apology one more time.

"Goodbye, Dale." Dad shoots him a pointed look and Dale has no rebuttal.

With a soft sigh, he shoves his hands in his pockets and walks to the door. He turns to scan the room one last time, his eyes alight with a hope that is swiftly dying. Dipping his head, he silently walks from the room.

His hand is on the doorknob when I reach him.

"Thank you," I whisper in his ear.

He goes statue still as his face washes with relief.

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry I said that stuff to you," he whispers.

"I know... but I guess I can kind of be an irritating bitch."

"You're not." Dale turns to me. "I wish I could turn back time and erase that whole conversation. It's just my nose was throbbing and I was annoyed about Adam and I was so humiliated that Trent decked me in front of you."

A laugh bursts from my lips before I can stop it.

With gentle fingers I touch his swollen nose.

"Oh that feels good." He closes his eyes. "Nice and cold."

My heart skips a beat as he raises his hand and places it on top of mine. He hovers above it making sure not to fall straight through my fingers. His eyes open and he gives me a long, steady gaze.

"Want to come home with me?"

I listen for sounds of my parents' conversation. It's getting heated, but that's not why I want to say yes.

I let go of his nose and reach for his hand. He senses what I'm doing and spreads his fingers.

"Let's go."

With a soft smile, he opens the door and we walk into the cool night air.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

When we reach his house, we climb the stairs in silence. Dale closes the door behind him and I take a seat on his bed.

"Where's Jester?"

"He's been banished for the day after peeing on Mom's Persian."

I chuckle and move further back on the bed as Dale lies down on his back. I lay down so my head is resting near his then roll onto my side so I can see him. He turns in my direction.

"I wish I could touch you right now."

"Why?"

For some reason that makes me nervous. Plenty of other boys have said that to me before and I've always given in. I don't want it to be like that with Dale. Not that I can actually sleep with him right now, but if I could and I did... would he speak to me in the morning?

My voice shakes as I ask, "What would you do?"

"Well," Dale smiles, "you know your long bangs, how they always fall forward and cover up your left eye?"

I nod.

Dale moves to his side, so we're lying face to face. "I'd tuck them behind your ear and make sure you were looking at me so I could tell you that I don't think you're horrible, I think you're amazing."

"No you don't." I scoff.

He grins at me.

"I think that's another reason why I was so annoyed this morning. All the people you choose to hang out with have no idea who you really are. They're spending too much time bringing out the worst in you to discover how awesome you can be."

"I'm not awesome, Dale."

"Yes you are. I asked around... talked to your old friends. One of them told me you used to write these amazing poems. Brody, the guy from your English class, said you used to invite everyone over for these movie marathons and your mom would cook enough popcorn to feed a country."

I smile as I remember the large bowls we used to fill to overflowing. Popcorn would be found for days afterwards, shoved behind couch cushions, hidden under the rug. Dad would get so riled and Mom would just giggle and shake her head... then Jody would start eating it.

"Lisa from your dance class said you guys would spend hours choreographing moves and performing these recitals for your parents. And Jake from Graphics said you used to read books and then redesign their covers. And-"

"That's enough Dale." Far out. Had he been playing reporter all day?

"Don't you see, Nicky? You're brilliant."

I think about all the covers I had spent hours designing on photoshop. It's what I wanted to do with my life, become a graphic designer and work for authors all over the globe. I used to spend hours in bookstores studying covers, pointing out things I liked and would have done differently to anyone who would listen. My mother used to accuse me of being obsessed. I used to pin my designs up all over my walls.

The summer after Jody died, I ripped them all down and threw them away.

I lick my lips and look to the ceiling.

Shaking my head, I sigh. "When Jody died my whole family shut down. We had nothing to say to each other."

I could hardly tell them the truth about that day. I swallow and shoot a nervous glance at Dale. Thankfully he can't see me.

"I didn't know what to do. I was so lost and when I got to high school, Brad Schuman noticed me. He thought I was cute... or vulnerable, I don't know. When he started flirting with me, I couldn't resist. He was the first person to talk to me and not follow it up with some sympathetic look or awkward hug. He pulled me into his life and just made me forget about everything. Once I slept with Chris all the girls thought I was cool and all the guys thought I was easy. It was a done deal after that." I grimace at the memories. “Before this happened, I would have sworn I'd be lost without them."

"Pretty big wake up call, huh?"

I turn back to look at him.

"Anything like yours?"

He wrinkles his nose.

"Come on. What were you like before the scars?"

Dale's laugh is cold and hard.

"Awful. I was a little shit." He swallows. "My mom was sixteen when she had my sister. It was pretty bad. Dad was a senior heading off to seminary and they made a mistake. Mom was whisked away to live with her grandparents and they never thought they'd see each other again. Ten years later they bumped into each other and got married before anyone could stop them... and then I came along.

“They had so much to prove. So many people against them. I think they were just afraid that if they weren't super strict that Rachel and I would make the same mistakes."

He sighs.

"Rachel didn't care, she was such a good kid and loved following the rules. I felt suffocated. When I turned thirteen I started hanging out with the bad kids at school, just to stress my mom out. They didn't know what to do with me."

He starts picking at a thread on the pocket of his jeans.

"I was thirteen when I started smoking, a few months later I picked up alcohol and then came the joy riding. We'd break into really nice cars and drive as fast as we could around the back roads. Then we'd ditch them in the woods and run home laughing. It was a rush. We nearly got caught by the cops a couple of times."

His face bunches with pain as he goes quiet.

"What?" I touch his frown lines, trying to smooth them away. He looks at me, his eyes filling with a sorrow he'll never fully be rid of. He closes his eyes and sighs.

"I wasn't driving the night of the accident. I was squished into the back seat with two other guys. I don't know what happened. We hit something and tumbled down a hill. The guy next to me went straight through the windshield. It took an hour for the driver to die and then another two before the guy next to him stopped moaning. I don't know when Hugh died. He was in the seat across from me and spent about an hour screaming that his leg hurt. I couldn't do anything. I was pinned. My face was caught on something sharp and nasty. Every time I tried to move, I thought I might rip my head off and my shoulder was just radiating pain. I didn't think I'd ever be able to use it again."

I blink at tears as I listen to his story. His voice is detached as he runs through the rest of the details.

"Eventually it got really, really quiet. I knew it was only a matter of time before I joined these guys and I knew I deserved to go to hell. I don't know why, but I just started talking out loud. I wanted to live, so I started pleading."

"With who?"

"God." A gentle smile crosses his face. "I told him if I survived this I would make it worth his while. I'd stop wasting the life he'd given me and start using it for good."

He looks serious as he nods.

"I think about it every day... and every day it motivates me."

I thought I liked him before this story, now he's moved up another few notches and all I want to do is be close to him. I shuffle to his side, wanting to curl into his arms, but knowing I can't. I rest my knee against his leg.

"Your parents don't seem so strict now."

"I wasn't the only one who needed to change. Mom quit work and home schooled me while I recovered. She helped me with my physical therapy and made me do all my exercises, kept telling me if I ever wanted to play the drums or be able to carry my wife across the threshold, I better get my shoulder working." He chuckles. "Dad gave up being a minister and we moved up here. They wanted to take me away from my old life, start afresh."

He glances at me.

"He took up counselling and mom decided to stay at home and care for me. We set some new ground rules and one of them was honesty. Every time I feel a little suffocated, I tell them and every time they think I'm slipping back they reel me in. It's been working okay so far... and ending home schooling probably averted World War Three."

"It must have been hard for you, coming into a school in your junior year, halfway through."

"It wasn't easy, but it was better than being home and telling my mother I was suffocating every day."

"I wish I could talk to my parents like that."

"Well, when you make it out of this, you should start."

"If I make it out."

He looks at me.

"You will. This will be your second chance... just like mine. All you have to decide now is what you want to do with it." He gives me a gentle smile. "What do you want?"

"I don't know," I whisper back.

Dale's smile is sad, but he nods anyway. Stretching out his arm, he beckons me to lie on his shoulder.

My hesitation is brief and I'm eventually snuggling into his firm chest. I run my hand over his shirt and he shivers. I wish I could feel him. I have to concentrate really hard to hover on his shoulder. Every time my mind starts wandering I feel my head melting into him.

We lie in silence for a while. Me concentrating. Dale dropping into a light slumber. The night has set in. I can feel an odd coldness creeping into my bones. I inch closer to him, wishing I was snuggled beneath the covers, wrapped in his arms. I glance at Dale. His eyes are closed. I wonder what it would be like to sleep next to him all night.

I'd never done that with a guy, lain beside him, just cuddling.

"Are you a virgin?"

Dale opens his eyes and sighs.

"I wish I could say yes."

"Me too."

The answer comes so swiftly, I know it must be true. I frown.

Dale clears his throat. "I've decided I'm not going do it again until I meet the girl I'm going to marry."

"What?" I turn my head on his shoulder. "But you're a guy?"

"So?"

"Don't you have certain needs?"

"Yeah." He nods. "I need to make love to my wife and not just screw any girl that comes along."

"I guess there is a difference... between making love and having sex."

"There most definitely is."

"I don't think I've ever made love before."

"Me neither."

I drape my arm across his chest.

"Do you think you'll be able to do it?"

Dale chuckles. "Wait for the right girl?"

"Uh-huh."

"Yeah... I just hope I meet her in college."

I laugh.

"She's a lucky one, whoever she is. Most guys don't think like you, they just take and walk away."

"That's only because you hang out with dickheads."

"Let's face it. It's what I deserve."

"No it's not," he whispers.

How does he know? I don't want to think about it anymore so instead bury my head in his neck.

"Can you feel that?"

"Yeah."

"What's it like?"

"It's like fine mist is resting on my skin."

"Does it feel nice?"

"Yeah, Nicky. It feels really nice."

Why does Nicky sound so sweet on his lips? The name was tainted after Jody screamed it before her death, but he makes it... hear-able again.

I look up and his eyes start to close. He has a contended smile on his lips as he drifts to sleep.

CHAPTER TWENTY

I want to stay and watch him as the night drifts away, but something compels me home. Sneaking into the house, I pad to my parents bedroom and find it empty. Frowning, I turn towards the kitchen. Mom is sitting at the counter steeping yet another cup of tea. She's in zombie mode again.

I watch her pull the teabag in and out of the cup of steaming water. Up-down, up-down, like a robot. She's staring into space looking empty and desolate.

"Where's Dad?"

Her only response is an eye blink.

I step away from the counter and head into the living room. With the darkness outside, I can't see the dreaded tree, but I can still picture it in my mind... a little girl is falling from a high branch and all I can do is watch in muted horror.

Shuddering, I close my eyes to ward off the image. I head for the stairwell. A light is on in my room.

I run up there to find my Dad sitting on my bed. Party photos are scattered around him and my diary is open. Bile burns my stomach as I step into the room. He looks like he's been hit by a tsunami and all I can do is stare at him.

The word sorry is resting on my lips, but I can't quite get it out, I'm too disgusted with myself to speak. I hate that they've found these. I hate that they know what I've been doing to myself.

"It hurts, doesn't it?"

I jump at my mother's voice. She stands there with her cup of tea, leaning against the doorframe, just like Dad had yesterday.

"I – I had no idea."

My mother takes in a shaky breath and blinks at tears.

Dad starts packing up the photos, piling them together with a pained expression creasing his face. He holds the edges as if he doesn't want to touch them. Running his hand over the open pages of my diary, he lets out a slow sigh. "Do you think that Finnigan kid might be right?"

"I don't want to think about it."

Dad glances out the window, his mouth set in a pinched line.

"Ignoring the issues doesn't make them go away, Tru."

Mom looks hurt by his statement, her expression is beginning to fracture, but she takes a breath and pulls it together... just.

"I don't know which is worse... her struggling out there on her own... or her dea-"

"DON'T say it, Mitchell." Her eyes are wild when he turns to meet them. "I can't lose them both."

My Dad's face cracks as his eyes fill with tears.

"We've already lost her."

He points to the pile of pictures.

"But at least if she's run away there's still a chance she'll come back."

Dad runs his fingers into his hair and grabs a fistful. "Why would she want to?"

I can feel my heart splintering as I watch Dad's mouth fight back a sob.

"You were right, Tru. We should have done better. We thought this freedom would help her deal with her pain."

"We didn't want her to feel any blame or responsibility for what happened. We didn't want to put any pressure on her."

"But she felt abandoned." Dad shoots up from the bed and thumps his hand on the wall. He leans his head on his fist and looks ready to smash something.

"She felt completely unprotected. I'm her father." He spins to face Mom. "I was supposed to look after her and instead I fed her to the wolves. Look at this."

He grabs the photos and throws them across the room, then reaches into my drawer and pulls out a packet of condoms I had hiding in there. They spray out of the box as it's flung towards the window.

"She was sleeping around. My little girl was having sex! What else was she doing? Was she into drugs?"

I shake my head. "Never," I whisper.

"Is she O.Ded somewhere... at some party where no one cares about who she is or where she's come from?"

Tears are streaming down my face as his shoulders slump. My mother is quietly sobbing into her tea.

"I love her." He drops to his knees. "She's my little girl. I love her so much and I'll never get to tell her."

Burying his head in his hands, he sobs. His whole body shakes as loud moans come out of his body.

Mom places her tea on the desk and kneels beside him, running a hand over his back and burying her head into his neck. They weep against each other and I can't help joining them.

Covering my mouth, I let the tears stream unchecked.

He loves me. My Dad actually loves me.

"I'm sorry," I cry. "I'm sorry, Daddy."

My head starts to sear with a sharp pain as my bed rushes towards me. I fall to my knees and cry out as the sobs and aches mingle together. I'm heading back to my body. Part of me wants it. I can't watch my father fall apart. Another part can't bear to leave.

I open my eyes as my room goes blurry, there's no stopping this now. A soft whistle plays in the back of my brain as I'm pulled back. It sounds familiar, but I can't think where I've heard it.

My parents fade and the whistling gets louder.