Things We Didn't Say

Chapter 44

Angel



Dylan lines up a ball at the pool table in the downstairs rec room. He says to me, “Do you think that was true? About Jewel?”

I look up the stairway. Jewel is upstairs helping Grandma make cookies still, so it’s safe to talk. “I don’t know. She says weird stuff when she’s like that.”

“I’m an idiot,” Dylan says, missing the shot. The three-ball bounces out of the corner. He says it without emotion, like he’s just reporting the news. I also notice he hasn’t stuttered at all since we walked into Grandma and Grandpa’s house.

“You’re not an idiot,” I tell him. “At least, not all the time.”

“I should’ve known better.”

I chalk up the pool cue. Dylan rolls his eyes. I always use too much chalk. I don’t really like pool, even, but it’s something to do. I blow the dust off and try to line up a shot.

I miss the cue ball entirely when Dylan says, “Why did you read her diary?”

I stand the cue on the floor and lean on it. “I didn’t know it was a diary at first. It was just some random notebook. But then when she wrote that I was acting like a bitch . . .”

“You probably were.”

“Hey!”

“Be real. You’re hard to live with.”

“Oh, and you’re all perfect, running away and starting all this.”

He turns away from me, leaning on the pool table with his back to me. In the dim light from the lamp above the table, I can’t see his face. “I already said I was an idiot.”

“It wasn’t just that, anyway. She was writing about this other guy, and how she wanted a drink so bad. Dad didn’t know that stuff, and he was supposed to marry her. What was I supposed to do?”

“Not tell Mom.”

“Shut up.”

“Well? Doesn’t that seem like a bad idea now?”

“She was seeming okay. And she kept asking me about Casey, and what she was acting like around the house. She seemed concerned for us. And look, Casey loves you, always listening to your practices, so of course you’ll defend her.”

“Mom’s not that concerned for us. She just hates Casey.”

“Well, whatever, it’s all out there now.”

Dylan turns around. “It’s your shot.”

I line up a shot and sink the cue ball. Dylan picks it up and walks around the table, choosing his shot.

“What’s going to happen?” I ask.

“I dunno. We might have to go to court if Mom presses charges against Dad for supposedly hitting her.”

“Oh, God. He didn’t do it, and you saw her do it to herself.”

“Totally. But what if she says we made it up to take his side?”

“Shit. You know, I think she got Casey drunk on purpose.”

“She’s like a puppetmaster or something.” Dylan finds his shot, sinks the ball, starts to line up another.

“She was talking about us coming to live with her again.”

“In that dinky apartment? Great.”

“No, in a big swanky house in Forest Hills.”

“And how’s she gonna manage that?”

I shrug, not having thought that deeply about it. “I’m sure not sure that’s such a good idea, anyway.”

“Duh. But you said that’s what she wants? She’s going to try and get us back?”

“That’s what she said.”

Dylan looks up from where he’s stretched out across the table. “We could run away.”

“Ha. Smartass.”

Dylan sinks another shot. “It would help if Casey came back.”

I cross my arms and glare at him. “How does that help? And, hello? She thinks I’m a bitch?”

“Which you are. Sometimes, anyway. Dad just lost his job, did you hear that? And he’s dealing with all this crazy stuff. He’ll do better if he’s not alone.”

“He’s got us.”

“Not the same.”

Dylan’s winning anyway, so I go sink into one of the leather chairs at the edge of the room. “She probably hates me forever now, anyway.”

He shrugs. “Bet she won’t, though.”

“How would you know?”

“Because as we found out, she’s not exactly perfect herself. Not much room to judge.”

I let him go ahead and sink all the rest of the balls and stare off into the dark outside the lamplight. For months I’ve been annoyed by Casey looking like a kid, butting into my life, sucking away my dad’s attention, and then all weekend I’ve been stinging over that bitch thing . . .

I close my eyes and remember Casey, on the floor, saving Jewel from choking while my mom stood there and gaped like, well, like she was stoned. What if I’d managed to run Casey off earlier?

And then I think of my mom trying to get my dad arrested and tearing apart our living room.

“I’m going upstairs,” I tell Dylan. “I’ve gotta talk to Dad.”