We drove home in silence, the two of us acting as if everything was fine, as if we were strangers sharing a ride home. As if the last twelve hours hadn’t happened. As if the last year hadn’t happened.
I should be so lucky, I thought.
For miles I watched the road, that anger that had been buried inside me growing as fast as the weeds in Mr. Harrison’s backyard. It got so big that my hands shook because I couldn’t keep it contained.
But I wasn’t ready. Not yet. So I gritted my teeth and squeezed my eyes shut, as if not seeing him would help. What a joke. Nothing helped, and nothing would ever be the same again.
By the time we rolled into our driveway, the sun was peeking up over the trees behind out house, and our five a.m. sprinklers were up and at ’em. Dad pulled his car as close to the garage as he could and cut the engine. Some country song was playing on the radio, and just as the guy was about to belt out the line about his cheating wife, the song was gone.
Kind of ironic, if you ask me.
And there it was. The big silence that I’d been dreading since we left the hospital. This silence was different from the one that had followed us back from Baton Rouge. This silence was full of heavy, dark things that would hurt, and as angry as I was with him, I just couldn’t do it. At least not right now.
Maybe it was because I needed to believe that my father wasn’t about to rip our family apart, at least for a little while longer. Or maybe it was because I was just too tired.
He cleared his throat, so I knew that I had maybe two seconds.
“I’m not doing this with you right now,” I said, opening the door and practically throwing myself out of the car. Like literally. If not for my dress catching on the edge of the door panel, I would have fallen on my butt. As it was, the seam split, but I didn’t care. I just wanted to get away from him.
“Get some sleep, Everly, and we’ll talk after I get back from service.”
The tears were already starting, so I didn’t look back. I ran across the wet grass and up the steps of the porch and didn’t stop until I fell into bed. Until I grabbed my pillow close and let everything out. And there was a lot to get out.
I cried for Trevor, because I knew he was freaking out. I cried for the fear and pain I’d seen in his parents’ eyes. I cried for my mom and for Isaac, because they had no idea what was coming their way. I even cried for my dad, because no matter how much I thought I hated him, I didn’t. If I hated him, I wouldn’t hurt so much.
But most of all, I cried for myself, because…well, just because. I had a year of stuff inside me, and it seemed like the only way to let it out was to soak my pillow with tears. That was hours ago, and my eyes were still puffy. Not even slices of cucumber had been able to make them look better.
I was in my bedroom, fresh out of the shower, and had just dragged on some clothes. My cell buzzed for, like, the twentieth time in the last half an hour. Hales had sent a ton of text messages and left me three voice mails. She was threatening to come over unless I told her what the hell was going on. She knew about Trevor, of course. They’d had to take a cab from the cottage in Springfield all the way to Baton Rouge to grab Link’s truck. But she also knew that something big was up, and I loved her for caring enough to threaten me. Even if there was no way she could take me down.
Hales: I will beat the crap out of you unless you spill.
Me: I’d like to see you try. Also I’m fine.
Hales: Okay I won’t beat you up, but call me asap. I’m worried.
I heard a car door slam, and my cell slipped from my fingers. I scooped it up and typed a quick reply.
Me: will do. ttyl
Me: have you heard from Trevor?
Hales: Link’s here and no. Call me when you can.
I heard our front door close and then my dad’s voice calling for me. This is it, I thought. My stomach was a mess, and I felt like crap and looked even worse. I pulled my hair up into a tangled ponytail, wiped my palms along the top of my legs, and headed for the stairs.
By the time I got to the bottom, all the anger that I’d bottled up this last year, well, that anger was in me. It was like a living thing, pulsing hard and fast, and I was out of breath by the time I found him.
He was waiting for me in the kitchen, standing just in front of the sink where the sun came in. Figures. He was about to tear my world apart, and yet here he was, bathed in sunlight, like a god or something.
“Do you want a cup of tea?”
“Really? We’re going to act like everything is okay? You’re going to be that guy?”
He looked shocked, and I guess I shouldn’t have been surprised. I’d hardly conversed with him this last year, and when I did, I’d always been polite. Detached but polite. I’m sure he put it all down to teenage female hormones or some other kind of crap, but he wasn’t used to this side of me.
God, it was cold. So, so cold. I shivered and shoved my hands into the front pockets of my jeans, wishing I’d grabbed a sweater instead of the thin T-shirt I had on.
Dad stirred his cup but didn’t drink, and I thought that maybe he just needed something to keep his hands busy. I had my pockets; he had his cup.
He sighed, this sort of, I don’t know, denial kind of sigh, if you can picture what that would sound like, and then he actually looked at me.
“Does your mother know you went to Baton Rouge with Trevor Lewis?”
For a moment I didn’t answer, because I was too pissed off that he wanted to talk about me instead of what he’d done. I guess he wanted to ease into the whole thing. Heck, I only had one lie to hide behind. He had hundreds, maybe thousands.
“Nope,” I answered.
“That’s all you have to say for yourself?”
Okay. That stomach thing was getting pretty bad (I felt like I was going to puke), but the anger inside me was so much stronger, and I didn’t care one bit that he saw it.
“You asked the question. I gave you an honest answer.” The fact that I stressed the word honest wasn’t lost on him. He flinched. Score one for Everly.
Dad set his mug on the kitchen table and ran his hands over the top of his head.
“This is serious, Everly.”
“Damn right, it’s serious.”
“Are you and he…well, are the two of you…”
Wow. He was going all in on this one. I considered adding one more lie to my short list, but in the end, I was just too damn tired and emotional to play games.
“I haven’t slept with Trevor Lewis, if that’s what you’re trying to ask me. And even if I had, it’s really none of your business. I’m almost eighteen.”
I moved to the other side of the kitchen table and leaned my hip against it, going for the calm and composed look, but the real truth was that I needed something between us. Something hard and solid. Because this right now? This conversation felt surreal.
“It was wrong of you to lie to your mother, Everly. Wrong of you to go away with a boy and not tell us. If anything had happened to you…how would we know?”
Okay, this wasn’t going at all the way I’d envisioned. Why were we talking about me? Did he think I’d just forget? That I wouldn’t ask the questions that were right there, hiding in my head?
I took a moment, a good long moment, and studied the man in front of me. The man who’d always been my rock. My hero. There’s something heartbreaking in knowing that the person you’ve idolized your entire life isn’t the Superman you’d always thought him to be. He’s not made of steel. He’s flesh and blood, and his Kryptonite is his humanity.
“Can I ask you a question now?” I asked softly, watching him closely.
Dad’s eyes got all shiny, the way mine did just before I was about to have one of those moments. You know, an ugly one. He dropped his head for a second, as if the stupid mug was going to somehow help him, and then he nodded.
“Sure,” he said, his voice so low I barely heard him. I think he knew what I was going to ask before I even opened my mouth.
“Why were you in Baton Rouge with Kirk Davies?”
Kirk Davies. The guy who’d been coming around our home since I could remember. He’d been at my birthday parties, at family gatherings, and he’d even spent a few Christmases with us. He was funny and charming and hot in a CW kind of way. He liked to draw, told funny stories, and had the most beautiful smile that you can imagine. He was my parents’ oldest friend, a guy they’d gone to college with, and he was totally, unequivocally, one hundred percent gay.
No one had ever said it out loud, but I knew.
Dad cleared his throat, took his time just like I had, but there was nowhere to run. No place to hide in this kitchen. There was the pantry, the fridge, and the table. There was the heavy silence full of dark and painful things.
There was him and me.
And now, finally, the truth.
“Kirk and I… We were there for the celebrations.”
Celebrations. Did he think I was stupid?
“I don’t believe you.” My heart was beating, fast and hard, but I didn’t waver. This was too important. Too hard. But I had to know.
Dad’s mouth tightened, and his gaze slid from mine, which spoke volumes to me.
“He lives in New Orleans, doesn’t he?” I asked. “Is that why you’re there all the time? Is he the reason you go?”
“What is this? I counsel a—”
“You’re lying!” Something broke apart inside me. My voice was shrill and loud, and that cliff I’d been standing on forever it seemed, was suddenly right there. My toes were over the edge, and I was going to fall, but I didn’t care anymore. “Can you just be honest with me? I know, Dad.” My voice broke, and dammit, there were those tears again. “I know.”
And I did. It was suddenly clear as day to me. His secret.
But my heart wasn’t breaking because of what he was going to tell me. It was breaking because I was afraid. Afraid because my family was already cracked, with gaping wounds that couldn’t be fixed, and when the dust settled, I wouldn’t have him anymore. Not like before. Not like I was supposed to have him.
“This is hard for me, Everly.” His voice was shaky, his hands fisted. That place inside me, the small soft spot where my heart was…that place expanded and then constricted so tight that I could barely breathe.
“It’s hard for me too,” I said hoarsely. “And for Mom.”
He made a weird noise when I said that and exhaled a long, shaky breath.
“I’ve never broken my marriage vows. I want you to know that. Never.”
I didn’t know what to say to that. I mean, it was so personal, and there was a part of me that couldn’t believe I was hearing this stuff.
“But I’m…” He cleared his throat again and leaned onto the table, his hands spread, his long elegant fingers thumping nervously. I swear it was the only thing keeping him on his feet. “Things between your mother and I haven’t been good for a long time.”
“And that gives you the right to lie to her? To us? For over a year? How is that dealing with a problem?”
“I was trying to protect…to…”
“How is lying protecting your family?” I butted in. “I’m seventeen, and I know that lies only make things worse. Just because it’s easier to lie doesn’t mean you should do it.” My voice was shrill. “You taught me that.”
He was silent for a few moments. “No. No, it doesn’t, and I’m sorry for that.”
“Are you gay?” I blurted before I could stop myself.
“What? No, I…”
But I saw the truth in his eyes.
“You’re lying,” I shouted. “This right here is going to change my life. Can’t you at least be honest with me now? There’s no one here but us.”
“It’s complicated,” he said carefully, eyes falling from mine.
But it was enough. I saw a truth that was quickly overshadowed by fear. I got that. Fear could make anyone do stupid things. But this was my life too, and he needed to own his shit. Not bury it.
“Are you gay?” I asked again, moving so that he had to look at me.
I didn’t think it was a sin or anything. I mean, I don’t think that I did, but staring across the table at my father, I couldn’t deny the fact that along with anger, disappointment, and fear, the only other emotion inside me right now was shame.
I loved this man. I hated this man. I was proud of him, and I was ashamed.
How screwed up is that?