“I am so, so sorry about that—”
“There’s nothing to be sorry for. She’s sick, Sunshine. I’m just sorry because I know it hurts you to see her like that.”
“She doesn’t paint a very pretty picture of me, does she?” I can’t let it go. Jude might be willing to look past it, but I can’t. I’ll never have her forgiveness or understanding. She’ll never truly know me as anything more than the addict I was.
He grabs my hand. “We can talk about it in the car, but for now let’s head home.”
Home? What is that? This should be as much my home as anywhere else. I belong nowhere. My grandmother should be in my home, but I have nothing left to root me in this earth but Max. A mother should offer a permanent shelter for her son than the leftovers of her mistakes.
Maggie has distracted Max with lots of candy and I have to stop him before he accidentally gives it to a diabetic patient.
“I’m sorry we drove all the way down here for nothing,” I say after we have Max in the car.
“Christ, Faith. Stop apologizing,” he barks. Instantly his face softens, “I’m sorry about that.”
By the time I climb into the passenger seat I’m barely holding back tears. My throat is tight with the effort of keeping them contained. We drive in silence for a while, leaving the small seaside town and heading back through the curving roads that lead to Port Townsend. Usually I find this part of the trip peaceful, but not today.
“My dad used to hit me,” Jude says out of nowhere. “It doesn’t really matter now. I made peace with it a long time ago. I guess I’m only telling you this because I know how much it hurts when the people who are supposed to love you don’t. At least your Nana has an excuse.”
“Jude,” I whisper his name, uncertain what to say.
“I don’t want your pity, Sunshine. I want you to know that you can talk to me. I know you’re hurting.”
I wish we weren’t in the car, so I could hold him, but right now all we have is words. Clasping his hand, I open a door I’ve kept closed to him.
“She wasn’t always bad,” I say in a trembling voice. “She tried, but it was hard. My sister and I, we got into lots of trouble.”
There’s a long pause. Jude glances over at me and I see a storm in his blue eyes. “You never talk about your sister.”
“You never talk about your dad,” I point out.
“That bad?” he asks.
“People don’t always have to hit you to hurt you. I loved her so much. She was my best friend, and watching her destroy herself destroyed me.”
“Where is she now?” His hand tightens on mine.
“I don’t know. That’s the truth. At some point I made the decision not to let her hurt me, and to do that meant letting her go entirely. She wouldn’t know where to find me if she wanted to,” I admit, and it sounds harsh coming out of my mouth. “It’s a truth I’ve kept bottled up for far too long, but trust me, she doesn’t want to find me.”
“Why do you think that?”
“Because she would have already. If she’d loved me like I love her, if she loved any of us like we love her, she’d find me.”
“Does she know about Max?” he asks.
“Yeah,” I answer in a hollow voice. “She knows about him.”
“Faith,” he starts, and then he pauses for a long moment. “You know you can tell me anything, right?”
“Yeah.” I look out the window and focus on the clouds moving swiftly across the sun. I wish that were true.
Chapter 15
Before
When the door opened well after midnight one Wednesday night, Grace should have grabbed the baseball bat or called the cops. Instead she walked slowly to the front door. They stared at one another for a long moment, neither of them speaking. Three years, and her face hadn’t changed. Or maybe it had. Maybe it had changed subtly like hers had. There were differences but they were slight: a silvery scar near Faith’s hairline, a body that hadn’t quite filled out. She was wearing a flowing top but it couldn’t hide the way her bones jutted from her skin. Neither of them broke eye contact. Did Faith notice that Grace’s hair was shorter? Or that she’d stopped wearing purple eye shadow? Did she just see herself? Grace lunged for her and wrapped her arms tightly around Faith’s shoulders.
“Where have you been?” The question leaked out of her before she would have liked to ask it. Faith was fragile, and God knows what had happened to her in her absence. Grace had flirted with the wrong people long enough to imagine. There was something fawn-like about her sister now. Her knees were knobby and her legs unsteady. It felt like at any moment she might dart away out of sight. Grace wouldn’t allow that to happen. “You don’t have to tell me.”
“I will,” Faith promised, “but right now I need to sleep. Can I stay here?”
As though Grace would let her leave. “Yes. You can have my bed.”
“Can we share it? Like when we were little?”