Chapter Four

Meg

Stupid boy.

His kiss tasted like chocolate.

Stupid me for enjoying it. Even worse? I couldn’t stop thinking about it. The kiss should’ve felt forced but it hadn’t. It had taken some effort on my part to pull away. Then, I just stood there, embarrassingly breathless as I held onto Luke for support. I thought he would gloat, but he looked as surprised as I felt. Eventually I regained my senses, but the damage had been done. The kiss was permanently etched into my memory.

After meeting with Luke, I’d gone for a jog through the park at the edge of town. Unlike most days, it did little to calm me.

“I’ve gotten myself into such a mess,” I told Lady as I finished brushing out my shower dampened hair.

She was flopped on her side at the foot of my bed, too tired from our run to give me much notice. Her stubby tail gave a half-hearted wiggle. I plopped down on the edge of my bed, scratching behind her ears.

Mom had read an article about the healing power of pet companions. Within the week she had scoured every animal shelter in a hundred-mile radius. She’d found Lady, a surrendered cocker spaniel whose original owner had gone into a nursing home.

For the last few months of her life, Sydney had barely been able to get out of bed. Her damaged heart couldn’t handle the strain. Lady had been a comfort to her. It was hard to look at the dog now and not think of my sister.

I would never forget the countless number of days I’d curled up in bed next to her as we watched classic movies. Or the days I’d spent studying my homework while she doodled in her ever-present sketchpad. I nudged the memory away when I felt my eyes begin to burn.

Now that Sydney was gone, Lady had become my responsibility. I didn’t mind.

What I did mind was Luke’s nosiness.

What right did he have to ask me about the clothes I wore? Only my best friends had realized I’d started wearing black the day of Sydney’s funeral and simply never stopped. Francesca thought it was morbid. But I knew there were cultures who wore black for years to show they were in mourning after a death. I didn’t find it that odd. But that was something I would never share with him.

I glanced around my room. Sydney’s drawings were dotted all over my sloping walls. The pictures were like having a little piece of my sister with me. Feeling her presence calmed me, made me feel closer to her.

After Sydney got sick, Mom decided to quit her job to care for her. Between the loss of her paycheck and the addition of Sydney’s medical expenses, my parents felt their only choice was to downsize.

I never minded. If a terminal illness was good for one thing, it was readjusting a person’s priorities.

Now we lived in a small, antiquated house a few blocks from downtown. Our neighbors were so close that it was easy to unintentionally eavesdrop if windows were left open. Sydney had been given the only bedroom on the ground floor. Climbing stairs had been too taxing on her body. My parents and I had rooms at the top of a narrow staircase. Our rooms were cut short by the slanted ceiling of the low roof. My bedroom in this house was barely bigger than my walk-in closet in our old house. But we had been happy enough.

Or we had been in the beginning, when Sydney had been doing okay. When she started to slip, everything changed.

Now happy and normal were distant memories.

During my run, I’d realized hopping onto Luke’s blackmail bandwagon really was in my best interest. The last thing my parents needed was to find out their remaining child was a criminal.

Dad was stressed enough having to deal with Mom.

As for Mom, she wasn’t even able to cope with life as it was.

I was reminded of this yet again as I tiptoed down the staircase.

The pleading tone in Dad’s voice made me cringe. “Marion, you have got to snap out of this. You need to get out of the house. Go to lunch with your friends. Get a massage. Hell, meet with a therapist. Just do something.”

His plea was met by silence.

“You are not the only one who lost a daughter. Why can’t you understand that?”

“I’m sorry, Rick. Today was hard.” Mom sounded worn, beaten. As if she didn’t have any emotion left to give.

“I’m sure it was.” Dad sounded just as beaten. “My day wasn’t so great, either. I had a general contractor try to back out of an order. Problem was, I’d already mixed the forty-five gallons of paint he’d ordered for a new hotel he’s working on. I had to threaten to take him to court. I’ve been working fifty, sixty hour weeks. The medical bills are rolling in, and I don’t know how we’ll ever pay them all.” He sighed. “I’m struggling, too. When I come home after a ten-hour day, is it too much to hope that we could sit down and have a conversation? Is it too much to ask that we have a meal together?”

“You just…” She paused a moment to find the right words. “You don’t understand. I put everything into caring for Sydney. Everything. I feel like I don’t have anything left to give right now.”

“And I didn’t help care for her?” Dad’s tone was careful, measured.

“Not the way I did. I was with her night and day. I never left her side,” Mom said. “Now that she’s gone, I feel like a piece of me has been ripped away.”

I bit my lip and thought the words Dad spoke aloud. “And you don’t think Meg and I feel that way, too?”

I edged into the kitchen.

Mom tried to tug a hand through her auburn hair. It was a tangled mess, and she quickly gave up. “You don’t understand.”

Dad blew out a frustrated breath. Those words seemed to be her mantra.

I had walked in on conversations similar to this countless times. No matter how many times it happened, I would never get used to the helpless way it made me feel. I offered the only distraction I could think of. “I’ll make dinner.”

“Meg.” Dad grimaced as he finally focused on me. “I didn’t realize you were home.”

I moved to the fridge, sending up a silent prayer that I could find something to throw together. Half the battle of cooking dinner was finding something to make. The fridge and cupboards were pretty bare these days because Mom avoided shopping.

“No, there’s nothing in the cupboards anyway. We’ll go out.” Dad turned to me. “What are you hungry for?”

“Anything.”

“If I never eat another bite of pizza in my life,” Dad grumbled, “I would be okay with that.”

Having a pizza delivered had become our go-to method of making dinner. In the beginning we had ordered the standard pepperoni, maybe an occasional sausage. As the months dragged by we’d switched it up to Hawaiian, Mexican, chicken Alfredo. But pizza was still pizza, and it all got old after a while.

Fifteen minutes later, Dad and I parked in front of Maebelle’s. The familiar vinyl lettering in the window proclaimed “old fashioned home cooking.” It was why Dad usually chose this place.

I dropped into a booth toward the back. This table was on the opposite side from where Luke and I sat only hours earlier. Thankfully, a new set of waitresses was on duty.

The small changes made me feel better. I didn’t want to have to explain that awkwardness.

After our meals were ordered—a meatloaf dinner for Dad, lasagna for me—Dad seemed to deflate in front of my eyes.

“Look, Meg, I’m sorry you had to hear all of that.”

“It’s fine.”

He shook his head. I realized then how much he’d aged in the past year. How had I not noticed it before? His dark hair was thinner, grayer. Deep lines bracketed the edges of his brown eyes. He didn’t look as weary as Mom, but he sure didn’t look good.

“No, it’s not fine,” he corrected. “I’m at a point where I don’t know what to do anymore. Your mother seems to be getting worse rather than better. I’m worried about her. That’s why something has got to change. I’ve given her space. I’ve coddled her. I’ve let her fill up on those damn anti-depressants. I’ve tried everything I can think of to get her through this. The only thing I haven’t tried is a hefty dose of tough love. And frankly,” he said on a weary sigh, “tough love is about the only type of love I have left for her right now.”

“What are you saying?”

“I’m saying I can’t go on like this.” He scraped his hands over his face.

“So, you’re abandoning her?” I tried to keep the edge of accusation out of my tone. On a deeper level, I understood where he was coming from. But on an emotional level, I didn’t understand it at all. Our family was already broken. Why was he determined to shatter it completely?

My appetite had faded into an aching hollowness.

Dad looked hurt. “I’m not abandoning her. I’m trying to give her a reason to want to change. I’m burning myself right out and sometimes, I’m not even sure why. It’s not as if your mother appreciates it.”

My jaw reflexively clenched, and I had to look away from him.

“Before you judge me, you have no idea how much it pains me to say that. I lost a daughter the same day she did. I also lost my wife that day. I want her back.”

His voice cracked, and now he was the one looking away. He blinked hard, and the shimmer in his eyes did not go unnoticed by me.

“If you can think of another way to make that happen, tell me now,” he said.

I had no answers for him.

“I want you to know that if I move out, I have every intention of taking you with me.”

“Move out?” My voice was edged with panic.

“Yes,” he said quietly. “It’s been on my mind for some time now. I’m so sorry it’s come to this, but I’m at my wits’ end.”

Our waitress appeared with two steaming plates. Her presence saved me from having to come up with a response. I was grateful because really, what could I possibly say?

…

I had texted Francesca and Kylie before school asking them to meet me in the parking lot. Luke had also been waiting. He grinned when he saw me, and then frowned as I darted into Francesca’s vehicle. Our imaginary romance was not getting off to a stellar start. Feeling inexplicably guilty, I had tossed him what I hoped was a flirtatious smile and wave before nearly yanking Francesca’s door off the hinges.

Now, less than five minutes later, I had caught them up on the melodrama that had become my life. Or at least the melodrama regarding Luke. I couldn’t bring myself to talk about my parents this morning. They said nothing during my entire monologue. Now they stared at me as if a stranger had tumbled into the front seat.

Francesca shook her head with a scowl. “Luke Prescott in a fake relationship.”

Kylie pinched the bridge of her nose as she poked her head between the seats. “I’m sorry…I’m still stuck on the fact that you’re the one that painted the school.”

“What am I going to do?” I lamented.

“Sounds like you have no choice other than to go along with it.” Francesca’s tone was matter-of-fact.

“My head is still spinning,” Kylie said, “but we better go or we’ll be late.”

She was right. The parking lot had emptied out. Luke was gone. Knowing this made it easier to crawl out of the security of Francesca’s vehicle.

My feeling of relief was short-lived.

Luke was resting against my locker. He was tapping away on his phone. A moment later my cell vibrated in my back pocket. It didn’t matter that I chose to ignore it. I could ignore my phone, but I couldn’t ignore him. He felt the weight of my gaze. His eyes met mine across the sea of people.

He did not look happy. And an unhappy Luke, I knew, had the potential to lead to an incarcerated Meg.

I had to do some damage control.

I swerved my way through the crowd as I squeezed a smile onto my face.

“Luke,” I said softly, “I didn’t know you’d be waiting for me.” I wanted to tack on It wasn’t covered in the rules.

“Why wouldn’t I be?” He moved toward me and tossed his arm around my shoulders. “It would’ve been nice of you to at least say hi this morning.” There was an edge to his tone, warning me I had better make time for him tomorrow morning. “Meet me in the parking lot after school?”

I agreed, and he released me. I felt oddly pleased that his tone implied it was a request, not a command.

“Good. See you then.” He gave my shoulder a final squeeze before disappearing into the crowd.

By lunchtime the school was buzzing with news that made my knees quake.

“Did you hear there’s a reward?” Francesca leaned across our lunch table. “I heard Mrs. Dahlberg talking to Mr. Thomas. So far the Parent Teacher Association has put together a thousand dollars for any information leading to the vandal.”

“I really messed up,” I said in a low voice.

She scowled. “Do you think he’ll tell?”

I shot a quick glance toward Luke’s table. He was listening to his friends’ banter as he attacked his cheeseburger. He didn’t look my way, and I quickly returned my attention to Francesca.

I shook my head. “No. It’s not like he needs the money. He really wants to play out this dating charade. I think it means more to him than a thousand dollars ever would.”

“So as long as you do what he says, your secret is safe.”

Was a single hour going to pass by when I was not reminded of the enormous hole I’d dug myself into?

Francesca leaned back in her seat. Her smile turned mischievous. “You’re lucky I’m such a good friend. I could sure use a thousand bucks.”

My eyebrows puckered together. “That’s not funny.”

Her grin broadened. “It’s at least a little bit funny.”