Vincent didn’t even have to wait for me to tell him. He flipped on his blinker and turned onto a road that would lead to downtown Greenville. I pulled out my cell phone, opening it to find a slew of messages. I only looked at the messages, not the senders, and most of them could be summed up in one sentence: Call me back.
Without waiting for Vincent to finish his call with Jackson, I dialed Vesta. Our feud went out the window. She answered on the first ring. “Mollie had an asthma attack and didn’t have her inhaler,” she said by way of greeting, pulling in a breath. “Jackson called me once they got to the hospital because he didn’t know what her home number was. I called her parents—they’re here.”
“You’re at the hospital?” I asked, the panic causing my voice to tighten. “Is she okay? How serious was it?”
“We’re not allowed back to see her. Her mom came and said she was okay, though. I think Mr. Brooks talked them into keeping her overnight just to be safe.”
I pressed my hand to my forehead, trying to breathe.
I didn’t even know what to say. Why would Mollie be with Jackson? Sure, Mollie had mentioned Jackson, but I’d never gotten the impression that her opinion of him was favorable. Yeah, he asked her to the dance, but she said no. Didn’t she? She’d never mentioned it. Never mentioned that she went to the New Year’s Eve party, either. Vesta had never mentioned hanging out with Bryce and his friends outside of school. All of the secrets weighed on me again.
You never mentioned Vincent to them either, a voice whispered in my ear.
“Is it just you there?” I asked, shoving the voice and its words away.
“No, Bryce is with me.” Before I had a chance to think about that, Vesta continued, “Jackson’s here too, but he’s not sitting with us. He’s off in the corner of the waiting room by himself. I don’t think he wants Mr. and Mrs. Brooks to know he’s here for her.”
I seriously could’ve murdered that boy. He did exactly what I’d told him not to—he’d messed with Mollie, and now she’d ended up in the hospital. “Did you hear how it happened?”
“Mrs. Brooks said that Mollie went for a walk without her inhaler and the cold triggered an attack. She thinks someone just saw Mollie and took her to the hospital. They didn’t know it was Jackson.”
Knight in shining armor, that Jackson.
Vesta let out a breath. “We’ll probably head out soon, since she can’t have visitors.”
“I’ll keep my phone on me. Call me if you hear anything?”
In response to my words, Vincent let up on the gas.
“Of course,” Vesta answered, and hesitated before she spoke again. “I’m so, so sorry for everything, Addy.”
“I know.” I sighed, rubbing my hand over my mouth. “Me too.”
As soon as I hung up, Vincent turned to me. “You don’t want to go to the hospital?” he asked.
“If I go to the hospital, I might strangle Jackson.”
And if Mollie couldn’t have visitors and was okay, then being there, sitting in a chair, wouldn’t have been great. And, though I didn’t want to admit it out loud, the longer I thought about it, the more I really didn’t want to go to Greenville’s hospital. I’d faced enough memories today.
“Vesta said Mollie will be fine, so I didn’t need to come down. And it’s been a long day.”
In response, Vincent took the nearest road to head toward my house.
He never reached back over, and so my hands never ventured out of my lap to find his. That strange tension was broken between us, and it made it almost easier to breathe. But a small kernel of disappointment welled in me, and I couldn’t guess why.
Only the hum of the music kept us company the rest of the ride.
It was absolutely silent as I unlocked the door, the deadbolt flipping over seeming to echo in my ears. The darkness was so thick that it was almost tangible, and I shuffled inside as quietly as I could, stomping my feet to get any clumps of snow off my shoes before toeing them off. Simply slipping off my shoes had me sagging in relief—I couldn’t wait to get under the covers.
But as I stepped into the kitchen, all thoughts about my tired body fled my mind.
It was still dark, but there was no missing Mom’s outline at the breakfast bar, arms folded over the marble counter, body facing me. I switched on the lights, fearing her expression—and rightfully so. With the light on, I got full a view of Mom’s glorious amount of anger.
Her voice was deadly quiet. “Where have you been?”
Abort mission, my brain screamed at me, and I suddenly wanted nothing more than to go back outside and chase Vincent’s truck down the street. Anything to get away from here.
“What are you doing up?” I asked, trying to put off her question long enough to craft a believable answer. My brain was sluggish, slow to help me come up with a lie.
“Waiting for my teenage daughter, who is out during a blizzard, driving a car that’s not made for snow, to come home. Or to call. Or to text. Or to do anything to let me know she’s okay.”
I let out a sigh. Even though we were supposed to technically be in a fight, I couldn’t muster up enough anger to snap back at her. “Mom—”
“I called you several times. Where have you been?” Each word was enunciated.
“With Vesta.”
Her stone-etched expression didn’t change. “Vesta called the house looking for you, Addy. You weren’t with her. Try again. Maybe, in your answer, include whoever owned that truck that just dropped you off.”
I am so screwed. Why hadn’t I thought about Vesta calling the house? If she couldn’t reach me on my cell, of course she would’ve.
As a second passed, I considered telling Mom the truth. What would it hurt?
“I was out with a friend,” I said slowly, trying to hold her gaze with an unflinching look of my own. “We went to a coffeehouse in Hallow. There was a band playing tonight—we were just listening to music.”
“Your friend’s name?”
A face came to mind a second before I spoke. “Stella.” Well, there went telling the truth.
The interrogation wasn’t over. “And that was Stella’s truck outside, dropping you off?”
“It was her boyfriend’s truck,” I told her. “They saw how bad the snow was getting and offered me a ride. They’re going to take me to get the car tomorrow.”
Mom’s eyes narrowed at that. “And where is the convertible?”
“Stella’s house.” Each lie wrenched my stomach tighter and tighter, making me feel sick. “Are we done? I’m tired.”
Mom just watched me for a long, long moment, not wanting to give up my attention just yet. I could tell she was trying to figure out what to do, whether to punish me, how to respond. Our silence dragged on, and I considered telling her about what had happened today, that major breakthrough and breakdown. I even considered telling the truth about the night of the accident to her. She didn’t know how cruel I’d been to Dad, didn’t know I’d let him drive when he wasn’t supposed to. Vincent said it wasn’t my fault, but there would be no shaking that truth.
What would Mom say? Would she hold me? Would she repeat Vincent’s words? Would she storm off to the guest room, angrier with me than she’d ever been? I was so, so afraid to find out, so I didn’t open my mouth.
“You’re grounded,” she decided then, holding her hand out to me. “Your phone, please.”
I didn’t even fight it. Exhaustion had its claws too deep in me, and in some part of my brain, I knew I deserved this. I’d been pushing and pushing the curfew, and tonight, when the roads were bad, I never called.
I couldn’t imagine what Mom was feeling. From the look on her face, I wondered if she’d expected more shouting, refusals.
But without a word, I handed it over, and headed toward the stairs.
For the first time in the few weeks that we’d been home, I let myself lift my chin as I moved up the staircase, finally facing the family portraits on the wall, finally facing the memories I’d attempted to bury deep. One of the pictures was of Mom and Dad on their wedding day, both donning smiles that screamed of happiness. Mom clung to Dad, and even though they were supposed to be looking at the photographer, he was looking at her.
The next photos were a series of family vacations, and one of them was as recent as this past summer. We’d gone to a beach in Florida, lounged around and soaked up as much sun as we possibly could. I wasn’t smiling in the photo, probably because Dad was sipping on a margarita and Mom was already tipsy from her mimosa. Our last family trip together, last family photo, and I didn’t smile.
My pace quickened on the last few steps, and I sealed myself in my bedroom. Getting ready for bed kept me distracted if only for a few moments, as I brushed my teeth and changed into my pajamas. But once everything was done, my mind once more traveled down the rabbit hole, peering inside the box again.
And then I lay down on my bed and let it all out once more. This time, there was no one to hold me together, no one to tether me. After keeping the box sealed for so long, I wondered if there’d ever be a time where I wouldn’t fall apart after falling inside.
Maybe one day, but not tonight.
Despite being thoroughly exhausted, I didn’t sleep restfully at all. I had no trouble slipping into unconsciousness, but bad dreams quickly invaded.
I dreamed about Mollie dying, gasping for air.
I dreamed about Dad dying, amidst shattered glass.
I dreamed about Vincent dying.
Didn’t even know where that came from.
Mom had to pick up a shift at work today, a Saturday morning when it would’ve been her day off, so I was once more stuck in this house by myself. I definitely wasn’t one of those teenagers who needed their phone to survive, but as the morning dissolved into afternoon, I found that I was so. Freaking. Bored.
The silence, though, almost felt bearable today. It didn’t feel as crushing, probably because I wasn’t trying to escape it anymore. There was no desperation to be anywhere else. For the first time since we’d come home from Rickett Falls, I was content where I was.
The snow had stopped falling sometime last night, leaving an eight-inch blanket across the city. Our back deck was completely covered in snow, so much that even though the deck was off the ground, the way the snow had drifted made it impossible to tell where the deck ended and the ground began.
Once again, the urge to build a snowman was strong.
At noon, as I was thinking about going outside and caving to that desire, a car honk startled me. It sounded close. I pushed to my feet from the couch to go peer out the window, expecting to see an accident in front of my house or something.
Except when I went to inspect the sound, I found my red convertible sitting in the driveway, Vincent behind the wheel.
Everything in me jolted, mind going into overdrive as I did a mental check of my appearance. I hadn’t showered yet today—heck, I’d barely run a brush through my hair. My teeth were scrubbed, thank God, but that was as far as proper hygiene went for me. I didn’t even have a bra on.
I snatched a blanket up from the couch as I hurried toward the door, wrapping it around my shoulders. Be cool, I told myself. Everything in me trembled, especially as Vincent eased the car into the garage. Through the glass, I could see him, sunglass shielding his eyes. Be cool.
Once he killed the engine, Vincent hopped out, jingling the keys. “One shiny red convertible, at your service,” he said in greeting.
“You didn’t have to do this,” I said. “You shouldn’t have gotten out in this snow.”
“I was already out.” He jerked his thumb toward the road. “Harry’s coming behind me in my truck. Should be here any second.”
I nodded, pulling the blanket tighter around me as we fell into silence.
Vincent shifted on his feet, lifting his sunglasses to glance around the garage. “How’s Mollie?”
“She’ll be okay.” I didn’t have my cell so I couldn’t check on her personally, but her mom called the house this morning and left a message. “That must’ve been so scary, though.”
His eyes traced me up and down. “How are you? You look tired.”
“I didn’t sleep well,” I admitted, shrugging as if the admission wasn’t a big deal. “I haven’t been for a long time.”
He slipped his sunglasses along the collar of his shirt, processing my words. When he spoke, he kept his voice light. “Did you still want to come over sometime to watch the movie? I mean, I don’t know about you, but I’m eager to watch an evil baby…kill people.”
I grinned. “You’re excited about that, huh?”
His voice sounded flat, but I could see him struggle to conceal the amusement. “For sure.”
A part of me wanted to ask him what he was doing now—maybe I could just go inside and get ready, and we could go back to his house—but logic quickly interfered. I was still grounded. Harry was coming to pick up Vincent, which meant they’d been hanging out. And it wasn’t like watching Evil Killer Babies with Harry would’ve been a bad thing, but I just…I found myself wanting it to be just Vincent and me. I wanted to be able to see his expression, poke fun at the gory bits, hear him laugh.
It was almost weird how desperately I wanted to hear him laugh.
“What are you doing Monday after school?” I asked him, bringing the blanket to my chin. “Do you work?”
“Monday’s are our slow days,” he said, taking a step closer to me. “I’m sure they can survive without me.”
Vincent reached out and picked up my hand, which I’d pulled to my chest. His hands were so warm against my cold skin, almost shockingly so. Or maybe it was shocking that he’d picked my hand up so easily, so carelessly, as if it weren’t that big of a deal. It reminded me of the night before, with his hand on my knee and my hand on his, wanting nothing more than to take his fingers with my own. That heat filled my chest again, but it only lasted a moment.
He pressed my car keys into my palm. “Is this something we’ll need popcorn for?”
“Of course,” I said, putting on a playful tone to hide the shaking of my voice. “With extra butter.”
Harry pulled Vincent’s truck into my driveway then, the rumbling vehicle cutting into our conversation. I glanced at the truck with a sharp breath. I didn’t want him to leave yet. Instead, I found myself wishing he’d pick my hand back up.
Vincent, too, looked at the truck, taking a step back from me. “I’ll see you on Monday, then?”
“Yeah,” I said, disappointment welling, though I couldn’t really pinpoint why. “See you Monday.”
Vincent didn’t say anything as he walked back to his truck. Harry must’ve scooted over into the passenger’s seat, because Vincent climbed up into the driver’s seat with ease, closing the door behind him.
Even though he was gone, I could still feel the tingling pressure of his fingertips.