“Okay, so what should I talk about?”
Without missing a beat, she answered, “Memories of your mom.”
I felt a slight sting in my chest, like someone grazing my heart with the edge of a knife. I thought about my mom every day, but I hardly ever talked about her.
Lilah sensed my unease. “Do you remember the time she pulled us out of school and took us to the beach? I think we were ten or eleven at the time.”
I smiled at the memory. My mom had told our teachers we’d both had doctor's appointments and they hadn’t questioned her.
“She took us down to Port Aransas, but she hadn't realized how long it would take.”
Lilah laughed. “It was like a six hour car ride just to get there.”
“But the beach was deserted.”
“And the waves were really big.”
I nodded, recalling the buried memories. “That was such a fun day.”
“Do you remember how jealous our dads were when we told them about it?” She smiled, and we began a slow descent into memories. We told story after story about my mom and our childhood. It felt good to reminisce and I knew it was making Lilah happy. Her features relaxed and the demons that had haunted her all day seemed to have disappeared at the door. I watched her talk, loving the shape of her mouth and the words that slipped out of it. I almost told her how I felt; the declaration was on the tip of my tongue.
Lilah, I love you.
Instead, I scooted closer and whispered another story to her, her eyes focused on mine as she absorbed every word.
I wasn’t sure who fell asleep first, but I woke up in the middle of the night with her hand on my chest and my heart in her palm. With her and Harvey in bed with me, it felt like I had everything I ever wanted, even if it was just for a moment.
I stayed up and watched her for a little while, studying the slope of her cheekbones and the small pout of her lips. She had delicate features and when she slept, they relaxed into perfect symmetry.
Just before I drifted off, a thought spiraled through me, gripping hold of my mind until all hope for sleep wasted away.
The relationship I used to have with Lilah is gone. She isn’t my childhood friend any more, and if I lose her this time, it will be forever.
Chapter Forty-Nine
Chase
The sun beat down on the pitcher’s mound as I checked first base. The runner was anxious to edge farther from the bag, but he stayed put. I turned to the batter, reared back, and threw a curveball. The ball sped through the air, the batter swung and missed, and the ball slammed into the catcher’s mitt with a loud clap.
“OUT!”
The crowd went wild. I’d just pitched the best game of my life: 9 strikeouts and only one earned run. I slipped off my glove as my teammates rushed to meet me on the mound. I smiled and went through the motions, but I couldn’t ignore the fact that my dad wasn’t in the stands. He’d promised he’d be there. It was the last game before playoffs, and he’d sworn to me that he’d come out to watch it.
Lilah was there, just like she’d been at all the games since the start of the season. She didn’t sit with the Diamond Girls; she perched up at the top of the bleachers with her hat pulled low over her face. It was awkward giving a rose to Kimberly at the end of every game, but it wasn’t as if I had a choice. Every player gave a rose; it was tradition, and Kimberly was a good friend. She didn’t deserve to be ditched just because I loved Lilah.
I’d taken to buying a dozen roses at the supermarket before every game on the off chance Lilah stayed to talk to me after the game. I didn’t really blame her for leaving. The flowers were starting to pile up on the bench seat of my truck, dried out and wilting. The clerk who rang up my orders always eyed my uniform suspiciously, but I didn't pay him any mind. One day Lilah would stay and it would be worth the trouble.
I hopped into my truck, not bothering with a shower or a change of clothes. I pushed the roses to the passenger side and then drove straight to my dad’s house. There was no telling what kind of state he’d be in when I arrived, but I exhaled as I saw his car parked next to an old red Firebird I didn’t recognize.
At least he’s home.
I pulled up behind his car in the driveway and cut the engine, running through my mental rolodex of cars. I couldn’t place the Firebird—at least, no one came to mind. I tucked my keys into my pocket and moved to get out, but then the screen door creaked to life. I peered through the front window as a woman stumbled out of the front door looking like she had seen better days. Her hair was short and bleached, and her skin was tanned and leathery. The heels of her shoes sunk into the grass as she walked, so she held her arms out like a tightrope walker trying to steady herself.