When we got to the ranch, Adrian walked me to the door and popped inside to say good night to Joe—who’d waited up for me—before driving home. I wondered, not for the first time, how he got back over every night, and how he got past the locked front door. He couldn’t dare take the truck, because Rachel and Joe would be able to see it from their bedroom window. Did he walk? It was a mile each way. Which really wasn’t that far for someone like him, but still, it was every night in the snow and the dark.
I didn’t wonder long, though, because I was asleep the moment my head hit the pillow. When I woke up, Adrian was just kicking his shoes off to climb into bed. I sat up to give him enough room, then realized I hadn’t set my alarm for the next day. Unfortunately, I’d left a half-full mug of coffee on my nightstand right next to my phone, and when I groped blindly for it, I knocked the mug over. It crashed to the floor, spilling coffee all over my pillows—and Adrian’s white shirt.
It was a mark of how distracted he was that his first thought was to take care of the stain—instead of listen and see whether anyone else had heard the noise.
He’d just pulled his shirt over his head when the door burst open and the light flipped on. Norah stood there with a fireplace hatchet and a sleepy look on her face.
“I heard a—”
But she stopped dead when she saw Adrian sitting next to me in bed, half-naked.
We all froze in a moment of mutually stunned silence.
And then, of course, Joe came in behind Norah.
“What’s going on?” he asked, eyes still adjusting to the light as he squinted into the room. It didn’t take him long, however, to notice who was in bed with me.
Without a word, Joe took the hatchet from his daughter’s hand.
“Norah, go back to bed.”
Shit. That was Joe’s serious voice.
Norah slunk off immediately, although I would’ve bet money she had her ear pressed to the door. I’m pretty sure she had rushed in here with the hatchet to protect me from whatever it was she’d thought had been attacking, but Joe looked like he wanted to use it for other purposes.
And then Rachel walked in.
It took her a split second longer to take in and process the scene before her.
I knew I should speak up and explain what was really going on, but—how? For once, Adrian was just as tongue-tied as I was—and probably just as scared.
Joe finally pointed at Adrian with the hatchet. “You—out.”
Adrian pulled his still-damp shirt back over his head and stood, grabbing his shoes.
Joe didn’t move, so Adrian had to shuffle sideways to get through the door. Joe and Rachel shared a look before Joe followed Adrian, and Rachel stepped into my room, closing the door behind her.
“Would you like to tell me anything about what just happened?” Rachel asked. I could see a vein beating in her temple.
I didn’t say anything. Honestly, what could I say that she would believe? There was no way to defend myself.
“I’m disappointed,” Rachel continued after I didn’t speak. “You told me earlier tonight that you and Adrian weren’t … together. You lied to me.”
I could feel my face burning, not in embarrassment, but in anger. This was unfair. She didn’t know it was unfair, but it was still unfair, and it made me really, really angry. I already knew what was coming next.
“Consider yourself grounded until further notice,” Rachel said. “Joe and I will discuss this with you in the morning.” She turned to leave and then stopped, looking back over her shoulder. She opened her mouth, as if to speak, then closed it again. Finally, she left, turning off the light behind her.
In the darkness, I sat very still. If I moved, all of the rage would leak out somewhere, and I’d do something rash, like yell, or slam my door, or run out in the night to go scream and throw rocks at birds. I stayed still until I started shaking, and then I lay down and stared blankly at the wall, and didn’t fall asleep until dawn.
*
I wasn’t allowed to see Adrian anymore. Rachel drove me to school every morning, and picked me up every afternoon, as if afraid I’d make a run for it.
They couldn’t keep me from seeing Adrian on campus, but that hardly mattered—he seemed to be punishing me as well, though for what, I had no idea, because he refused to talk to me. At lunch, he’d walk me to the picnic tables and even sit next to me, but he wouldn’t speak or make eye contact unless someone started acting suspicious. If necessary, he’d put his arm around my shoulders mechanically or kiss my hair.