I move toward him, but Mama flies to intercept me and I scream. The lightning cracks across the sky. The thunder drowns out any other noise.
And then I’m sitting up in my bed. A real storm outside rattles the windows. I’m sweating and panting and my heart feels like it may never slow down again. Grabbing the water bottle off my table, I take a deep drink and just try to make everything in my body calm the freak down.
I’ve had awful dreams about Daddy, but this is the first one about Mama—at least where she wasn’t a victim—and it’s left me thoroughly traumatized. I pick up a magazine and spend the rest of the night flipping through it instead of trying to sleep. Every time I start to drift off, a picture of Jordan bleeding fills my mind and I jerk myself back awake. I’d rather be totally exhausted all day Saturday than risk going back to anything remotely like that.
*
With so little sleep, Saturday has already been a long day. If I hadn’t fallen asleep on the couch while I was trying to read through my notebook this afternoon, I probably wouldn’t be able to function right now. We only have twelve days left—twelve. The countdown itself is suffocating me slowly. If it continues like this, it feels like I could die before we ever get to Daddy’s execution date.
It’s after eight o’clock at night when I arrive at the park. I’m a few minutes late and Jordan is already waiting for me. He has a wide smile when he sees me pull in. I’m a little surprised because he hadn’t been exactly happy with me when we’d left Polunsky yesterday. He’d said he wasn’t mad, but he definitely wasn’t normal.
I think about bringing the notebooks out with me. That is what we’re meeting to discuss, after all. We’re running out of avenues we can look into ourselves, and I need his help finding a new plan to pursue next. But I figure we might want to stay under the parking lot light or in the car anyway. It will be fully dark soon, and I don’t see us trying to read our notebooks on the grass in the dark.
I open my car door and climb out. His white teeth are a stark contrast to his olive skin, and I feel my cheeks burn slightly thinking about his lips against my wrist two nights ago. It takes all of my energy to keep from kicking myself. I will not act like some swoony, ridiculous girl, whether or not Jordan makes me feel like one.
I don’t know what we have going on between us at this point. The only thing that matters is that he makes me happy at a time when I shouldn’t be. Summers are usually an improvement over the school year, but with everything going on in the last few weeks, this one would have been a nightmare without Jordan’s help.
“How was your day?” I ask casually as I lead the way over to the swings. In the blood-red light pouring off the gorgeous sunset, both of us look a little flushed. Then I wonder if it’s actually from the sunset at all.
He chuckles as he follows me. “Neighborhood football again—does that answer your question?”
I throw a tentative look at him over my shoulder. “If you really used to like it, maybe you should go back someday?”
“Fine, maybe I will—if you promise to come see a game.” His brown eyes spark with the challenge he knows I might not accept.
I groan, but then have to admit that deep, deep down, I would kind of like to see Jordan play. “Fine. One game is all I’ll commit to, and I can wear a hoodie and big dark sunglasses so no one recognizes me.”
“Deal. I’d hate to ruin your rep.” He grins wide. “At least it wasn’t as bad tonight. I dropped two passes, but I actually had fun. Our end of the street won.”
When we get to the swings, he takes a seat.
“Do you always drop passes? Maybe you shouldn’t go back after all,” I half tease.
“No. If I dropped passes all the time, I wouldn’t have been on the team, let alone a starter.” His eyes drift back to the sunset before us. “I was just distracted today.”
“Oh.” I try to decide whether I feel bad that helping me may be what’s affecting Jordan’s playing, but he interrupts me.
“How’s your mom doing?” he asks, giving me a concerned look.
“Improving, and she has an interview for a good job lined up on Monday. That should help. Thank you for yester—actually thank you for everything these last—”
He doesn’t even let me finish. “No need to thank me. I’m just glad she’s okay. Are you?”
I try to think of a response, but just end up shrugging. I really don’t know what the right answer to that question would be. He seems to understand, because he doesn’t press me. We swing in silence, watching the sunset together, and I realize this might be the most at peace I’ve felt in a very long time.
I let my swing twist back and forth a bit, and something falls out of my jacket pocket. Before I get a chance to grab it, Jordan reaches out and picks up the paper I forgot I’d put in there.
“What is this?” He unfolds it and gets too good of a look before I jump up from the swing and rip it from his hands.