I wheel my chair back up against the bed. His voice has grown very quiet, so mine is, too. “You’re worried that if you hit me, you’d keep hitting me?”
“Or anyone.” He takes a breath. “When we went to Homecoming, everyone else made it look so easy. To have that kind of normal. But I’m so worried that one of these days I’m going to lose control. I don’t . . . I don’t know how it starts. And when it starts, I’m scared I won’t know how to stop it.”
Rev has never talked like this. When he does talk about his father or what he went through as a child, it’s always in the vein of making sure no one ever does that to him again. Never a worry of him committing any kind of abuse toward someone else.
Rev is kind. Gentle. Geoff and Kristin open their home and their hearts to children from all walks of life—and Rev does, too. I see it every day. I envy it.
“You’re not your father,” I say to him.
“You’re not yours, either.”
And right there, in the middle of his own crisis, Rev knows exactly what I need to hear. This is why he’s the perfect friend. And why I can’t wrap my head around him thinking he could ever hurt anyone.
“Have you talked to Geoff and Kristin about this?”
“No.” He rubs at his face again, and his eyes are damp. “I’m worried that they won’t want me to stay here if something happens. I don’t want to hurt any of the kids—”
“Rev. You will not hurt anyone. And they are your parents. They love you. Nothing is going to happen. I promise. Nothing.”
He’s quiet for a while, and I can see him rolling that around in his head. “But what if it does?”
Nothing is going to shake this loose right now. The thought has wormed its way into his brain and lodged there. I reach forward and hit his hand. “Then I’ll keep you out of trouble. Like you do for me.”
That seems to settle him. He looks across at me, then turns his hand to grasp mine, hard. “Deal.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
From: Cemetery Girl <[email protected]> To: The Dark <[email protected]>
Date: Tuesday, October 8 11:19:27 PM
Subject: What happened?
If I upset you, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to.
Please don’t stop talking to me.
The morning air bites through my clothes when I cross Rev’s yard into my own. The sun peeks between houses on the street, but frost glitters on the grass, the first hint of winter to come.
It’s before six, so I ease my key into the lock, then put my shoulder against the doorjamb to keep it from creaking too loudly.
I might as well not have bothered. Alan stands in the kitchen, stirring a cup of coffee.
His eyebrows go way up. His eyes flick to the clock above the sink and back to my face. “Where have you been?”
“I crashed at Rev’s.”
“You’ve been gone all night?”
“Yeah.” This conversation sounds like it’s going south in a hurry, so I turn away, heading for the stairs.
Alan dogs me out of the kitchen. “You didn’t tell anyone you were leaving?”
I keep right on walking.
He keeps right on following. “Declan.” He grits out my name. “You stop right there. I want to talk to you.”
I grab the bannister and swing myself onto the staircase—only to stop short when confronted with my mother coming down the stairs.
Now I’m trapped between them.
“Declan,” she says.
For some reason, when I found out she was pregnant, I imagined she’d balloon overnight and start wearing massive, tentlike shirts with lace ties and long skirts. But this morning, she’s in jeans and a pink T-shirt. Her hair is in a ponytail, and her skin is freshly washed.
My hand grips the staircase railing so hard that it’s vibrating under the strain.
I don’t know what to say to her. I swallow. My thoughts ricochet between the need to apologize for so, so much and the need to hear one from her.
My eyes flick over her form again. She’s never been tiny, but she’s not what you’d call fat, either. Mom-shaped, I guess. The shirt is loose, but not ridiculously so. If I hadn’t been arguing with Alan in the ER two nights ago, I wouldn’t believe she’s pregnant.
But as I stand here staring, I notice she’s a little more pale than usual. Instead of straining at the seams of her clothes, the jeans look a little looser than I’m used to.
“Are you okay?” I ask her.
She nods. Her mouth opens as if she’s going to say more, but she must change her mind, because nothing comes out.
“What?” I demand, and she shrinks back a little.
Shame coils in my chest. I think of Juliet in the front seat of my car, pressing her back against the door. You’re pretty confrontational.
“He was out all night,” Alan says from behind me. “If you’re not going to do something about this, Abby, then I will.”
“Yeah?” I whirl on him. “And what are you going to do?”
“I can take your car until you learn a little responsibility.”
He will have to knock me unconscious to get the keys. I struggle to keep my voice low and even so that doesn’t become a real possibility. “You are not taking my car.”
His arms are folded across his chest. “And maybe we can disconnect your phone, since you won’t be going anywhere.”
I hit the wall. The light fixture on the ceiling rattles. “I haven’t done anything wrong!”
His eyebrows go up. “You don’t think sneaking out all night is wrong?”
He says it like I was shooting heroin and gambling in South Baltimore. “I was at Rev’s! Ask Geoff and Kristin!”
“You can’t just walk out of here without telling anyone—”
I snort and move to shift past my mother. “Like you give a crap about me anyway.”
She puts a hand on my arm. “Declan. Stop. He’s not taking your car.”
“Why do you always do that?” Alan says sharply. “You keep allowing this to happen, Abby. He needs to learn.”
I ignore him. Her touch steals my strength. I stop on the staircase and look at her. My voice comes out rough and full of gravel. “Why didn’t you tell me?”