32.
“I have come by the highway home,
And lo, it has ended.”
—“RELUCTANCE,” 1915
After miles and miles of darkness we crest the grade just below town, and the mountain skyline I’ve known as home all my life rises up in front of us, towering jagged and dark against a pink sunrise sky. In the past the sight of it has always been welcoming, but today it’s a sad reminder that I’m back where I began. Just before town we pass the billboard, where a single light still shines down on the smiling pictures of Shane and Julianna, and the sight of it is ironic in the worst possible way. My eyes fill up and I close them, wanting to push away the secret that sits heavy inside me along with the realization that this is it. The end of the road.
My house is the first stop, since it’s at the south end of town, and after seeing how many missed calls I had from my mom when Trevor gave me my phone back, I know I need to get home because she knows. Almost as soon as Trevor pulls into my driveway, the front door opens, and my mom steps out, looking haggard in her robe, and I know she didn’t sleep. Guilt and fear swirl around in my stomach.
“Good luck,” Trevor says, eyeing her nervously.
“Thanks.” I watch as she wraps her arms around herself tightly and starts down the steps. “I’ll need it.” I put my hand on the door handle and take a deep breath. “Thank you . . . for everything,” I say, and I wish I could say more, but my mom is making a beeline for my door. “And . . .”
Trevor glances over my shoulder, then back at me. “Sure,” he says.
The door opens behind me, and my mom’s voice is as cold as the air it rushes in on. “Get out of the car, Parker. Now.”
Kat sits up in the backseat at this. “Please, wait. You should know that this was all my idea, the whole thing. I made her take the trip. Please don’t blame Parker.”
My mom glances at Kat and then Trevor, who’s gone silent, but she doesn’t respond. She brings her eyes to mine, and in a low, controlled voice says, “Get out of the car now. We will talk about this inside.”
I do as I’m told, and as I follow her up my front steps I turn just in time to see Trevor backing out of my driveway. Kat’s in the front seat now, making a hand signal for me to call her, and he’s looking over his shoulder. I don’t even get a last look. My mom closes the door behind me before I get the chance.
Once we’re inside she stands there a moment without saying anything, letting me anticipate the weight of what’s about to come down on me. I brace myself.
“The school called yesterday afternoon,” she says, her voice taut. “Said you were part of the group of seniors who decided to ditch school. So I came home from work early. Waited for you to get home. And I called you, left a message. And I waited. And then I called you again. Then I thought maybe you’d gone to Kat’s, so I called there, and guess what? Her mom hadn’t seen the two of you either. But you already know that.”
Her words are sharp and well aimed, and I know better than to interrupt, so I just keep my mouth shut and my head down and let her get it out.
“So I called you again. And again. And still, no answer. I didn’t get angry, Parker, I got worried. So then do you know who I called? Your uncle, who got the rest of the department together, and they went out searching for you only to find your car in the high school parking lot. That’s right. You and Kat and that boy had the Summit Lakes Police Department out looking for you while you were off somewhere—” She doesn’t finish, but heaves a sigh of anger and frustration.
My stomach turns. I hadn’t counted on having a search party sent out after us. This makes things exponentially worse. I keep my head down, eyes on the floor. “I’m so sorry.”
My mom holds up a hand for me not to say anything more. She’s not finished. “So now what you’re going to do is call your uncle and tell him that you’re home, and safe, and that you’re very sorry for taking up the department’s valuable time by making a foolish choice to run off on some joy ride.”
“It wasn’t—”
“What were you thinking? Right before the scholarship dinner? How could you put that at risk? You know how fast word travels, and don’t you think for a second that the entire town, including the scholarship board, doesn’t know you were missing for a day.”
She stops for a breath. “It’s going to require an explanation. People are going to ask.”
I wince. This gets worse every second.
“So right now, what you’re going to do is go into your room and practice your speech until it’s flawless. Until you can deliver it well enough to make them forget about this whole fiasco. And later, when you can look me in the eye, you’re going to tell me what the hell you were doing.”
“Mom—”
She puts a hand up again. “Not right now. Go. I didn’t give you a choice.”
“You’ve never given me a choice.” I match her volume and force with the words, and it shocks us both. The few times I’ve actually been in trouble for something, I’ve never answered back like that. I’ve never argued, or tried to defend myself, or justify it, or stand up for a wrong choice I may have made. Ever since I was little, I’ve said sorry when she told me she was angry, hung my head if she was disappointed, and nodded like I deserved it when she doled out my consequences.
My mom laughs a humorless laugh. “And this situation right here is exactly why. Look where making your own choice has gotten you today, Parker.” She sighs and shakes her head. “I’ve spent your life trying to teach you about choices. To teach you how to make the right ones instead of romanticizing all of the wrong ones like your father. And right now I’m not so sure I’ve done a good job. You’ve been making bad decisions for the last few weeks, right when all your hard work is about to finally pay off.”
She pauses to step closer, her voice softening by the tiniest degree. “You are too young to see it, but every choice you make matters. Every choice has the power to affect your life later on in ways you can’t go back and change.”
Hurt over her words, and anger and disappointment over Julianna all rush at me, springing hot to my face, and I can’t contain it any longer.
“You’re right, Mom.” I spit the words at her. “I’m too young to see anything like that. I can’t see that you’re not happy with the choices you’ve made. Or that maybe Dad finally is. I can’t see that sometimes the people who deserve choices don’t get them, or that sometimes people who get them throw them away. I can’t see any of that. Because I’m too young.”
I keep my eyes on my mom’s, and when she looks away first I know I’ve wounded her. It’s silent. What’s left of the air in the room goes icy. “Go up to your room,” she says flatly. “We will deal with this after tomorrow.” Her voice has lost its bluster, but I haven’t.
“Fine. I will. I’ll go up to my room and do exactly what I’m supposed to do because that’s who I am. I don’t get a choice. Instead I have a plan that doesn’t even feel like mine anymore. Who needs a choice when someone else is willing to make it for you?”
I don’t wait for her to answer. I turn and plow up the stairs to my room, because tears are coming now, and I don’t want to give her the satisfaction of seeing me cry. She’d think I was crying about my speech, or how much trouble I’m in, but my tears have nothing to do with that. At all.