“Let me go.” I repeat again through clenched teeth.
“Are you going to stop acting like a crazed lunatic?” I give him a stiff nod and he releases me. “Jesus, Vance. Look at your hand.”
Blood trickles down my fingers, skin cut up and hanging off my knuckles. Still, it’s not enough. Nothing is enough to anesthetize the torment of watching my mother slowly disappear. Hoping beyond all hope that one day when I walk in, there will be some glimmer of recognition. That she’ll remember chasing after me on the beach or teaching me how to drive a stick shift, her patience always conquering my impatience.
I brace my arms against the wall, head hanging low. Sweat pours off my brow, trailing past my temple and mixing with the emotion rolling down my cheek. “I can’t fucking stand it, Julian. Seeing her like this… it’s… it’s….” I let out a shaky breath. “It’s fucking killing me.”
“I know, Vance. I know.” He lays a hand on my back, his forehead coming to rest against his hand.
“I’m scared,” I finally admit in a voice that no longer sounds like my own. “I’m so fucking scared. I’ve… been getting headaches.”
He wraps his big arm around my chest from behind, hugging me against his frame. “I didn’t know… but it doesn’t mean that—”
“I need to get out of here,” I cut in before he says the words I don’t want to hear. “I’ll come back when I can pull myself together.”
I’M LEANING AGAINST the car as Julian works on my hand. He cleans it with a cotton ball doused in peroxide then wraps it in gauze, all of which came from a first-aid kit in the glove compartment. “No wonder you were the perfect Boy Scout.”
“Lucky for you.” He smirks. “There.” He snips off the gauze with tiny scissors and seals it with medical tape. “It should hold for now. But that was a stupid thing to do. You could’ve broken your hand. I’m still tempted to demand you go to the emergency room.”
“Nah, I’m good.” He rounds the car to the driver’s side and I hesitate with one hand on the roof. “Hey.”
He lifts his head as he pulls the door open. “Yeah?”
“Thanks.”
He jerks his chin by way of acknowledgement. “Just consider it payback.”
I duck my head and slide onto the seat at the same time he does, my expression serious. “You don’t owe me shit. I love you, man.” I focus my attention out the window. “Now let’s get the fuck out of here.”
Julian chuckles and cranks the engine, making a left out of the parking lot and heading toward the interstate. I turn on the radio to drown out my thoughts and distract from the relentless throbbing of my hand. It’s not long until we come to a traffic light. He lowers the music, shifting his body toward me. Both hands rest on the steering wheel, his finger tapping relentlessly against it. “I need to ask you something.”
“Okay, shoot.”
He breathes out a sigh of what appears to be frustration. “Why did you lie the other night?”
I drag a hand through my hair, brows knitting together. “What are you talking about?”
“To Ember. When she asked about Mom and her painting?”
I squeeze my eyes shut briefly, exhaling my own frustration now. “Because I didn’t want her to know. Or Avery for that matter. It’s… private and we don’t really know them that well.”
He glances away then back to me. “I understand that. I do. It’s just that I think you’re doing a disservice to Mom by being dishonest. I don’t think she’d want you to hide her like that.”
The light turns green and I chew on his words for a while. Of course, Ember’s statement reverberates in my head—‘there’s something to be said for simple honesty.’ I feel like a fucking asshole all of a sudden. She pours her heart out to me about her brother. And how do I repay the favor? By lying to her about Mom.
Julian veers off the highway to get gas and I hop out of the car. I need junk food. “How much?”
“Just forty bucks.”
“Cool. You want anything?”
He steps out of the car and pops the gas cap. “No, I’m good.”
The bell jingles inside the small shop and the golden glow of a Twinkie package catches my eye immediately. It’s the last one, and I nab it before anyone else can, then get in line at the register. While I’m waiting, my gaze snags on a plastic snow globe tucked behind a stand of Blow Pops. Sitting inside of it is Mickey Mouse, his big hand waving hello. I huff out a silent laugh, shaking my head before walking over to pick it up. Tiny white flakes fly around his all too happy face. I shake my head again, this time at myself, and place it down on the counter.
“Forty on pump eight.” I hand the attendant two twenties then dig in my pocket for three one dollar bills to pay for the Twinkies.
“What took you so long?” Julian questions when I finally make it to the car.
I almost shake my head again but think better of it. I’m turning into one of those bobbleheads at this point.
“Nothing. Let’s go.”