CHAPTER Twenty
It’s five in the morning, and Rollins has parked his car in our driveway. I stare at the house, dreading going inside. Ever since I found out that Lydia had my mother’s picture, I feel like I’m starring in some freaky reality show. If she has the power to slide, she could pop in at any moment and observe me. It’s beyond unsettling.
“I don’t want to go in,” I moan.
Rollins squeezes my hand. “You’d better, if you want to be there when everyone wakes up. I’ll be back around seven forty-five to pick you up for school.”
Almost three hours. I can go back to sleep for a bit, then shower, grab a Pop-Tart, and it’ll be time to leave again. That’s doable, isn’t it? I might not even see Lydia.
“Okay,” I say, “but not a second later, promise?”
“I’ll be here.”
Shyly, I lean in for a kiss. It’s funny how quickly things can change. Last fall, if you had asked me how I felt about Rollins, I would have said he was like my brother. I would have been somewhat lying, of course. Every once in a while there’d be a little spark between us, but we were both too chicken to do anything about it. But now. Now, when I press my lips against his, it’s like I can’t get enough. I don’t want him to leave, not even for a second, but I know it’s for the best. My dad will freak if he wakes up and I’m gone.
“See you soon,” Rollins says softly.
I unbuckle my seat belt and open the door. The air is brisk, and the earth as I cross the lawn is muddy from the storm the night before. My slippers sink with every step.
All seems quiet when I open the door. But when I cross the foyer to tiptoe up the stairs, a voice startles me.
“It’s about time.”
I turn to see my father and Aunt Lydia sitting at the dining room table, each with a mug of coffee. My father has dark circles beneath his eyes, and I know with sudden certainty that he didn’t sleep last night—just like I am positive that I am in deep shit.
Defeated, I slump into the dining room and fall into one of the chairs, avoiding eye contact with both of them. How can I explain my whereabouts last night? Especially when the woman who might have been responsible for my disappearance is sitting right here?
“A little past your curfew, young lady,” my father says.
“I don’t have a curfew,” I say.
“Well, if you did, it certainly wouldn’t be five o’clock in the morning,” my father says, his voice rising to a near-shout. I notice Lydia discreetly reach out and touch his arm, and he immediately becomes subdued. The intimate gesture infuriates me.
“It happened again,” I say, looking straight at Lydia, a challenge in my eyes. “I blacked out, and when I woke up, I found myself in the cemetery in the middle of a thunderstorm. Rollins happened to be driving by, and he rescued me.”
While my father takes this in, I stare at Lydia, although I’m not exactly sure what I’m looking for. Shame? If she was the one who trotted me out to the cemetery and abandoned me there during a rainstorm, would she look guilty about it? Do I detect a slight wince to reveal her involvement?
I can’t be sure, but I think she leans back just slightly, as if my revelation impacted her physically. She looks away from me and then, maybe to cover her reaction, lifts her cup and takes a long sip.
“Rollins just happened to be driving by, huh?” my father says. “Forgive me, Vee, but I’m not sure I buy that.”
I shrug. “Buy it or not, that’s what happened. I didn’t want to wake everyone up, so I just crashed at his place.”
My dad shakes his head. “You know, I’ve always liked Rollins, but this is the second time in two weeks you’ve been out until all hours of the night.”
I look at Lydia. She won’t meet my eyes. “I’m sorry, Sylvia. I think your father has a right to know what you’ve been up to.”
My father lets out an exasperated sigh. “Vee, I’ve always thought of you as the responsible one. Now you’re lying to me, not coming home at night. What’s next? Are you drinking? Doing drugs?”
“It’s not what you think, Dad,” I say, but it’s no use.
He’s already going on, deaf to my protests. “The only solution, I think, is to ground you. If I have to keep you here to make sure you’re safe, so be it.”
“But—”
“No buts, young lady. You should have thought of that before you betrayed my trust. I’m beginning to think Rollins is a bad influence on you. I want you to take a break from him. I have to work, but Lydia can drive you to school and pick you up. Is that all right with you, Lydia?”
Lydia shoots me a look that is almost remorseful. If I didn’t know better, I’d think she actually regretted tattling on me. But she turns to my father and says, “Yes, of course. It’s the least I can do.”
“It’s all set then,” my father says, rising from his chair. “I have to get dressed.”
“Are you sure you can’t call in sick?” Lydia asks. “You’ve been up all night.”
My father tilts his head back, clearly exhausted. “I can’t cancel surgery just because my teenage daughter decided to stay out all night with her boyfriend.” His words sting like a slap. I feel guilty for making him worry when he has life-and-death matters to be thinking about, but then I remember this isn’t entirely my fault. Someone slid into me and led me to my mother’s grave last night.
I glare at Lydia.
My father walks slowly up the stairs.
“How could you?” I ask when he’s out of earshot.
Lydia’s brows knit together, and she reaches out as if to grab my hand across the table. I snatch it away. “I told you, Sylvia. I was your age once. I know what it’s like. Sometimes you have to let the older, wiser ones make decisions for you. Don’t worry. Your punishment won’t last forever. Perhaps I can speak with your father, soften him up a bit . . .”
I stand up quickly, knocking my chair onto the floor. The implication that she is close enough with my father to convince him to lessen my sentence enrages me. What exactly have they been up to when Mattie and I haven’t been around? Is it that easy for her to forget the fiancé she left behind in California?
“Don’t do me any favors,” I mumble, picking up the chair and setting it right. Trembling, I head upstairs, determined to take a long, hot shower and wash away the mental image of Lydia “softening my father up.”
Just as I’m texting Rollins to tell him not to bother coming by and that I’ll talk to him at school, there’s a knock on my door. I pause, thinking it might be Lydia, but then Mattie’s muffled voice says, “It’s me.” I let her inside and close the door behind her, not wanting Lydia to pass by and eavesdrop on our conversation.
Remembering that Mattie shared my private business with Lydia, I cross my arms over my chest. “What exactly did you tell Lydia about Scotch?”
Mattie looks unsure. “Just . . . what happened at the dance. We were looking at an old yearbook, and I was telling her about everyone at school. When we came to a picture of Scotch, I got kind of quiet. She knew there was something off about him. She kept asking until I told her. Vee, she was furious about what he did to you. Her face got all pale, and she kept clenching her fists. She cares about you.”
“I can’t believe you told her about that,” I say.
“I—I didn’t think you’d be so upset,” Mattie responds. “I know you don’t like Lydia, but I really think she could help us if we told her what happened.”
The irony is astounding. Mattie thinks that Lydia can get us out of a mess that, in all probability, she created.
“Look,” I say after taking a deep breath. “Don’t tell her anything more. Just give me today to think about what we should do.”
Mattie nods after a moment. “I heard Scotch is still alive. That’s good, right?”
“Yeah, it’s good. Except when he wakes up, he’ll probably tell everyone he was with Regina before he fell. And then she’ll crumble and spill everything.”
Mattie’s face clouds, as if she hadn’t thought of this complication. She crosses the room and sits on the bed, letting her head fall into her hands.
She looks so miserable that I regret yelling at her. I sit down next to her and rub her back. “Don’t worry. I’ll fix everything.”
I don’t know how.
But I will.
On the way to school, I stare out the window of Lydia’s lemon-yellow Toyota. Mattie is in the front, and I am in the back, trying to ignore the way Lydia keeps attempting to make eye contact with me in the rearview mirror.
“So, guys, isn’t prom coming up pretty soon?” Lydia asks, flipping the radio dial until she finds some cheesy pop station. She sways her head with the beat.
I roll my eyes.
“Yep,” Mattie says. “In a couple of weeks.”
“Has anyone asked you yet?” Lydia puts on her turn signal and drives past McDonald’s. She directs the question to Mattie, probably realizing that it wouldn’t matter if Johnny freaking Depp asked me, because I’m grounded.
“No, but there is this guy I’ve been talking to. Russ. He’s a senior, but he’s actually Vee’s age. We’re supposed to go to the movies with Rollins and Vee on Friday.”
I can sense Lydia throwing a questioning look in my direction, but I don’t give her the satisfaction of meeting her gaze. “Really?” she finally says.
“Yeah,” Mattie replies. “Hey, Vee, did you ask Dad about that yet?”
I clench my teeth. “Not yet.”
Lydia pulls into the school parking lot and shifts the car into park.
“Thanks for the ride, Lydia. I’ve got practice after school, so I’ll probably just catch a ride with Samantha or someone.”
“All right. Have a good day, honey.” Lydia calling Mattie honey strikes me as ingenuous, the way a salesgirl at a department store might address you when goading you into trying on some expensive perfume. But Mattie doesn’t seem to notice. She just waves and slams the door.
I make a move to exit the vehicle, but Lydia turns around to face me. “Wait a second, Vee. I want to talk to you.”
“What?”
“I don’t want you to hate me,” she says.
“Um, then why did you get me grounded?”
A silence hangs between us for a moment, and it seems that she’s on the verge of confessing something. My breath quickens, and I wonder if she’s about to reveal her sliding ability. But then her face changes, and I know she’s not going to come clean.
“Everything I’m doing is for your own good. I wish you’d believe that.”
“Okay, I believe it. Now let me go to school. I’m going to be late for first period.”
She nods. “Okay,” she says weakly. “I’ll be here at three thirty.”
Without another word, I scramble out of the car and slam the door behind me.