I don’t correct her. I feel exactly the same way.
I jerk my eyes away and push her hand off my forehead. “I’m going to get out of these wet clothes.”
She lets me go without protest, and the most microscopic part of me wants her to hang on. Instead, I’m halfway up the stairs before I even chance a glance at her.
I expected her to be fiddling with the remote controls, but instead, she’s watching me.
I clear my throat and keep my voice down, because the last thing I want to do is wake Alan. “Do you want me to bring you a blanket?”
She smiles, and there’s something uncertain about it. “That would be very nice. Thank you.”
By the time I return downstairs with the white fleece throw from the guest room, she’s stretched out on the couch, watching HGTV.
“Do you remember this?” she says. “We used to watch all the decorating shows together during your summer vacation.”
Yes, I remember. We always did that while folding laundry. It was the worst kind of torture.
I think about her hand on my forehead. Maybe not the worst kind of torture.
I spread the blanket over my mother. “Do you want anything else?”
“No. Thank you, Declan.”
I hesitate, and she looks up at me. “I’ll be fine.” She reaches out and takes my hand in her small one, then shakes it a bit. “Don’t you worry about me.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
From: The Dark <[email protected]>
To: Cemetery Girl <[email protected]>
Date: Saturday, October 5 01:06:47 AM
Subject: Tonight
I’m sorry I was late tonight. I had to drop a friend off first. He was flipping out about curfew. By the time I got to your car, I saw someone else had stopped. I didn’t want to make it awkward.
I’m glad you’re okay.
And if I’m being totally honest, I’m glad we haven’t met yet.
By morning, the rain moved out, leaving even colder temperatures. I dig a sweater out of my dresser and pull knee-high boots over my jeans. Comfort clothes, which seem so necessary after my evening with Declan Murphy. I still feel a bit raw.
My father finds me eating cereal in the kitchen, and he stops dead in the doorway. “You’re . . . up early.”
I’m always up before he is, but I’m not usually home on Saturday mornings. I glance up from the magazine I’ve been flipping through. “Is that all right?”
“Of course.” He moves to the counter and stops again. “You made coffee, too?”
“I needed a cup.”
He fetches a mug from the cabinet and pours himself some. I flip another page in the magazine.
“How was the dance?” he asks. “I would have waited up if I’d known you were coming back here.”
I lift a spoonful of cornflakes to my mouth and shrug. “It was fine. Rowan was having a good time with Brandon Cho, so I didn’t want to be a third wheel.”
Rowan had sent me a flurry of worried texts around midnight, when she must have plugged in her phone. I told her someone stopped to help and that I’d made it home without a problem.
I haven’t mentioned Declan Murphy yet. I’m still trying to figure that out on my own.
Dad eases into the chair across from me. He’s freshly showered and clean-shaven, wearing a polo shirt and jeans. He looks more alert than I’ve seen him in weeks.
“Are you going somewhere?” I ask.
“I was going to head to Home Depot to get covers for the outdoor furniture. Then I was going to tackle the leaves.” He pauses. “Feel like helping me?”
“Helping you rake leaves?”
He smiles, but it seems tentative. “I’m taking it that’s a no.”
I shake my head and take another spoonful of cornflakes. “I’ll help. You shouldn’t have to do it alone.”
“Okay.”
“Okay.”
We sit there in silence for the longest time. He unfolds the morning paper and starts reading the business section. I see him glance my way several times, but he doesn’t say a word. The perfume ads in the magazine are giving me a headache, but if I close it, I’ll be forced to talk to him, and I have no idea what to say.
When he gets up for a second cup of coffee, he clears his throat. His voice is very careful. “You didn’t feel like going to the cemetery this morning?”
“I can’t.” More cereal. “My car needs a new battery.”
He turns and looks at me. “Since when?”
“Since . . . I don’t know. A few weeks. It broke down last night.”
“You broke down?” He looks appalled. “And you didn’t call?”
“I did. You were already in bed.”
“Jules, I’m sorry.” He sits back at the table. “I wish you’d said something.”
He hasn’t called me by my nickname since before Mom died. It throws me for a second, and my mouth freezes around my words. I have to swallow before speaking. “It was okay. A friend from school jumped it and followed me home. I just don’t want to take a chance with it anywhere else.”
“I’ll call the shop and see if they can take care of it today. You’re sure it’s the battery?”
“Um. No.” I can feel myself blushing. I don’t know what that’s about. “My friend said the tires are bald, too. He had to change one.”
“I’ll call now. Home Depot can wait.”
He calls and sets up an appointment for later this morning. I shift in my seat uncomfortably. The agreement when I got the car was that I would pay for all the maintenance and fuel myself. That was back when I’d planned to get a job over the summer, instead of blowing through my modest savings driving back and forth to the cemetery and school.
“Do you know how much all this will cost?” I say when he hangs up.
He hesitates. “A new battery and four new tires? A lot.”
My heart sinks. “Maybe we can ask them if the tires are really that bad.”
“If you need them, you need them. I don’t want you driving if it’s not safe.”
“Okay.” I do some mental calculations, trying to remember how much I have left in my savings account. It’s not a whole lot. “Can you give me a ballpark guess on how much?”