NO FIGHTING
Somehow, those three rules had meant heaven. I looked around, remembering our last night there. Beyond the window, I could see the tree line, more sparse than I remembered it. I could almost make out the little dock on the creek, where we used to swing ourselves off and into the water. An image of Jason’s brother, Jeff’s floating body popped into my head uninvited. That’s when I knew it was time to go.
Managing to hold it together, I found Cyndi and Sharon outside and said, “I’ve had enough, I’m ready.”
We left Ohio and never spoke of my childhood again. Jase was long gone. I didn’t know where to look, and he hadn’t left me any clues, so I filed him away, like everything else. I thought I had gone back there to say good-bye to my mother and father and to find Jase, but none of those things happened. Instead, I said good-bye to Jase that day because he hadn’t come to find me like he said he would. It was the hardest thing I had ever done.
IT FELT LIKE ten minutes later, but it was morning when Cara shook me awake. “Did you finish the book?”
I yawned dramatically. “No, not even close.” Every page was sending me on a long emotional journey that felt both painful and necessary.
“Well, what are you waiting for? I want to take it to have him sign it.”
I grumbled, “Um, why?”
“Because I just want to,” she whined. “And I want you to go with me.”
“What time is the signing?”
Her face lit up. “Are you gonna go?”
“No. I just want to be able to give you the damn book so you can have it signed.”
“Come on.”
“I don’t think I’m going. If he wanted to see me, he would have contacted me by now,” I said.
“You. Read that.” She pointed to the book. “I’m going to play tennis. I’ll be back in an hour. The signing’s at three.” She looked at her watch. “You need to speed-read, but I’m pretty sure you can finish it in four hours.”
“Whatever, you can take it if I’m not done.”
“You guys grew up together and you obviously went through a lot. I’m not going to pretend I understand everything, Emi, but don’t you at least want to say hello?”
“We did go through a lot,” I said absently as I wondered again, for the hundredth time, why he hadn’t tried to get in touch with me.
“What part are you at?” she asked.
“When he comes to pick me up from the foster home.”
“It’s so weird to hear you say it like that.”
“Imagine how I feel reading my own thoughts that I didn’t write.”
“I could see how that would be strange. You must have shared a lot with him.”
“Everything.” It was true. In real life, we talked for hours at night while I was hiding up in that attic room of the foster home. I’d told him every detail like I was reading him a story.
“Well, get back to it,” Cara said, interrupting my thoughts.
Her ponytail bounced as she walked away. I knew it was my own issue, but her perkiness irritated me. I wasn’t ready to get back to the book, so I did the other thing I needed to do: I called Cyndi.
“Hello?”
“Hi, Aunt Cyndi.”
“How’s my girl?”
“I’m okay. So, um, I hate to spring this on you out of the blue, but . . . Jase wrote a book,” I said, coming down hard on that final consonant.
“Oh my goodness! Are you serious?” she said excitedly.
“Yeah. He wrote a freakin’ book about our childhood and got it published. And it’s a huge bestseller.”
“Oh dear god.” That was Cyndi’s expression for something catastrophic—she wasn’t even a smidge religious.
“Have you heard of All the Roads Between by J. Colby?”
“That book. Wow!” She cleared her throat. “I mean, yes, I’ve heard of it. It’s been criticized by some.” She always tried extremely hard to make me feel better in every situation. It was just one of the many things I loved about her.
“Oh, don’t give me that. Don’t think I haven’t googled every single article about this book. It got one bad national review. Otherwise, it’s a critical darling.”
I could hear Cyndi cover the mouthpiece and whisper-shout Sharon’s name. She came back on the line. “Okay, Emi, we’ll figure this out.”
I shook my head. “Hi, Sharon. I know you’re on the line.”
There was a pause, and then a “Hiiiii, sweetie. I’m so sorry you’re going through this, but try to think of it as a cathartic experience that you can use in your writing.” This was classic, sensible Sharon. “Have you read the book yet?”
“I’m reading it now. It’s basically a roman à clef, except that he wrote it from my point of view. Can you believe the nerve?”
I could hear them both sucking air through their teeth, and then there was more off-phone whispering. Cyndi came back on the line. “We’re taking tomorrow off. We’ll be in the car, on our way to you, in less than an hour. Expect us in the early evening. Our girl needs us.”