Between These Lines (A Young Adult Novel) (16 page)

“Is
he good to you?” she asked.

Confused,
I stood next to her without answering.

“Shane?
Is he good to you?”

My
hand immediately flew up to my hair and I began to comb it over my cheek, even
though she still stared at her sleeve, lost in an unexplainable gloom.
Thankfully she didn’t give me time to answer. She didn’t give me time to lie.

“There
are men who will say you are everything to them . . . everything . . .” her
voice wavered, then faded for a moment. “Those are the ones you don’t trust,
Evie, even though your heart tells you otherwise.”

My
mom had never talked this way to me before. I’d never witnessed her deepest
thoughts, her fears, her worries. My mother was a woman who never revealed
anything, especially what hid inside. When she gave advice, it was to prove she
was right about a one-sided decision.

Usually
one she made for me. There was never room for negotiation. I was never given
the impression that I could choose what I wanted for myself, and have it
coupled with the possibility of actually having it.

But
this advice she was gave now felt like both a warning and a confession rolled
up into one. She spoke with a foreign softness through her tears, but the room
felt as if she had screamed at the top of her lungs. Every word pulsed, poised
tightly in the air.

My
mother rose with an awkward brittleness from her chair and stood in front of
me, red-eyed, red-nosed, looking desperate and fragile—much more like a
stranger to me than the woman I’d spent the last few months resenting.

“Those
are the ones you should never trust, but it’s always too late. By the time they
decide to pull the rug from under you, you’ve already invested so much.”

Was
she talking about Mr. Gracen? Is that why she looked this way tonight? He must
have
 
broken it off. He must have
broken her heart.
 

I
thought of my dinner with Dad, the way his sullen eyes looked at me from across
the table.

He
was trying to save our family. He was making up for the nights he spent away
from us, while my mother, self-absorbed, and so concerned of what others
thought, forced him there.

My
eyes drifted to a large bulky shape next to the door, and I lost focus.

“Whose
suitcases are those?” I asked.

She
pretended to avoid my question, fumbling for another tissue. Was she leaving my
dad for Mr. Gracen?

She’s
not answering me. She’s leaving us.

Why
hadn’t my dad said anything to me? Was that what he meant by
‘just the two
of us’
? I assumed he was talking about dinner. My mother’s words didn’t
match what was playing out between us tonight. It didn’t match her tears or the
sad, frenzied panic she had settled into. It didn’t match her warning against
who I gave my heart to.

“They’re
your father’s,” her voice hollow and detached.

Something
inside me snapped.

“This
is
your
fault! He’s leaving because of you! Now you won’t have to parade
around with Mr. Cuff Links in private anymore. Are you happy now?” Hatred
poured from my lips. There was no stopping it. I had never raised my voice to
her, I had always been too afraid, but this was different. My mother was
ripping our family apart.

“Evie,”
she intervened quietly, not enraged and raving like I was. She wasn’t going off
the deep end to defend herself. Instead, she let me vent until every last trace
of anger and alarm bled from me. Finally, I quieted down and gave her the
chance to speak.

“Your
father is the one having the affair.”

No.
No. No.
I shook my head. “But he . . .”

“The
late nights at the office, the dinners away from home—it’s been going on
for a while now.” Her tissue had thinned and shredded into pieces all over her
robe, and I watched as she continued to pull what was left of it apart between
her fingers. The only stability around here was that they were together, it
made everything else in my life seem tolerable.

“But,
I thought you meant Mr. Gracen when you were talking about not trusting.”

She
shook her head and reached into the pocket of her robe for a clean tissue, “You
thought

I
was having an affair with Marc? Evie, that’s almost laughable.”

“It
didn’t seem very funny to me.” I paused to think. “It seemed very possible.”

I
watched, mesmerized, as my mother found a way to smile after having been so
miserable
  
just a few minutes
ago.

“Well,
I’m sorry I gave you that impression, especially the other day. Marc’s quite a
charmer, but, unfortunately, I was talking about your dad.” She sighed heavily.
“Maybe I was the one who drove him away? I wanted so much for us.”

My
mom looked up at me. “I just wanted it all to be perfect. Now I can see that it
wasn’t, no matter how hard I made it look like it could be.”

“So,
all this,” I said with the wave of my hand, “the house, the school, the board
meetings, was to make
him
happy?”

“Ridiculous
isn’t it?”

All
this time, I thought she was the reason he was never home. It never crossed my
mind that she was the one trying to give him something to come home to.

“I
guess I went overboard trying to keep him. I just couldn’t let myself believe
it was over. Evie, your dad’s been moved out for nearly four months. We’ve both
been lying about his late hours to keep you from knowing the truth. I realize
now we should have told you long ago.”

Four
months . . .

“Mom,”
my stomach was somewhere on the floor. “I’m sorry for those awful things I
said.”

My
mom wiped her nose and shook her head. “I actually deserved everything you
said. It was what I made you believe. I guess I was so determined to make this
work that I went after it too hard. It made me look like a real bitch, didn’t
it?” she allowed a dry, husky laugh to escape her throat.

She
rose to her feet, wrapped her arms around me and gave me an unexpected squeeze.
She had always seemed too busy for hugs, but now, as I hugged back, I felt how
tiny she really was—and how much I missed her.

“I
tried to make everything in your life perfect because mine was falling apart,
hoping you wouldn’t notice. But I didn’t do such a good job, did I?”

“Mom,”
I started, but she placed her finger over my lips, hushing me.

“I
just wanted to say I’m sorry. I’m sorry for being too much of one type of
mother and not enough of the kind you need right now. And, I’m sorry about your
dad, because if I can be honest, I’ve driven you to favor him over me these
last few months. I just hope I haven’t done too much damage between us.”

I
hugged her back, although awkward, it felt right. She was so full of startling
honesty. It felt strange that she was willing to finally let me recognize she
was human and not perfect.

I
pulled myself away and walked over to the stove, taking the kettle to the sink.
The tea Chase’s aunt made me earlier had been comforting, and I knew my mom
needed something right now. I didn’t know what to say to her—words
between us, nice words, had been so hard to come by for so long now. But, I
could at least do this, no matter how small the gesture.

I
grabbed two mugs from the cupboard and set them on the counter, then pulled the
little tags from the tea bags before dropping one in each, letting the strings
hang over the sides. I heard the faint crumpling of another tissue being pulled
from her robe. The kettle would sing soon and we would sit, we would talk, and
maybe even cry again, but at least it was a start to getting to know each other
all over again, and somehow move forward with everything life had thrown at us.

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chase

It was
Friday. Eighth period. And I was avoiding Evie.

We
made an agreement not to speak to one another, today of all days, which
absolutely sucked. Based on her idea from last night, if things were to go
smoothly tonight, I would have to appear as insensitive and remote as Shane and
the others. Neither of us could afford to show what we shared last night.

But
today, it was all I could think of.

In
the five seconds our eyes met in the hallway on the way to first period, I
wondered if she was having as hard a time as I was. Did she wish she had never
touched my skin? My scars?

Did
she regret last night at all?

Last
night Evie haunted my mind. It made me realize after tonight, she would be the
only person that would matter to me.

I
sat at my desk tracing circles over the cover of my notebook with my stubby
pencil and forced myself to picture how tonight might play out. I would prove
Evie’s fears wrong. I would find some way to bring Shane down, prove I could
stand against him, and get the girl in the end.

It
wasn’t the movies, but, hey, it could happen.

Neighboring
conversations floated around me. Things were strangely normal today; last week kind
of normal. Like how I couldn’t talk to Evie as openly as I did yesterday, or
the day before that, when her eyes would meet mine before quickly turning away,
like she was trying to stop herself from thinking of acknowledging me.

Jake
stuck his head inside the doorframe and whistled softly to get my attention.
Poof. Normalcy was disrupted. “Mitman,” he waved me over.

I
looked up and stared at him as if someone else’s last name was Mitman. The
whispering behind me ceased. In fact, everything moving, shuffling, or
rustling, came to a stop to watch me reluctantly rise from my desk and make my
way over to the doorway.

“Change
of plans,” he whispered, and handed me a slip of paper.

I
took it, feeling eyes behind me.
Funny how everything begins with a note around
here
, I thought to myself.

“You’ve
got a GPS, right?” Jake asked me.

“Yeah,
of course,” I wondered where he was headed with this, but suddenly grateful I
had used my Christmas money to buy a Garmin. I bought it more for Aunt Claudie
than myself, but of course, I was the one who ended up using it most often.

“Well,
you should be able to find it then.” His eyes spanned the room behind me,
knowing each ear was strained and ready to devour anything that wafted over
toward them.
 
“My mom’s got the flu,
so the house is out tonight. I think the backup plan will work just fine
instead.”

I
stared down at the paper in my hand; felt it moisten the longer I held it. I
wanted to open it, but decided to wait—that would make tonight more real,
make it feel like it was coming faster.

Jake
turned and left without any further information about his cryptic invite, and
the walk back to my seat felt long—like everyone I walked past had the
ability to read what was concealed inside my hand before I could. Even after
placing it in my pocket, I could feel it there, heavy, reminding me the few
hours left of daylight would soon fade, and then I’d be forced to go along with
the plan. I felt the silent looks across the desks, and wondered, if I closed
my eyes and listened, would I be able to hear what they were thinking?

 
I had the gut feeling Shane was on to me
and I was being set up.

The
loudspeaker overhead sounded with echoing static: we would continue the rest of
the period in the auditorium for an impromptu assembly. With a unified groan,
we all rose to our feet, grabbed our belongings, and shuffled to the front of
the room while Mr. Shepherd tried to retain some semblance of order.

“No
pushing, people. You learned how to form a line in Kindergarten!” He yelled
over the ruckus. Oddly, he grumbled right along with the rest of us, clearly
not happy with the change in plans.

We
filed into the auditorium, which still smelled of new paint and upholstery
after last year’s remodeling. It was an impressive space, vast and elegant, and
we were soon seated in an orderly fashion that moments ago seemed impossible.
My class took up two rows, one behind the other, in the center of the
auditorium facing the stage. The blue velvet curtains hung in heavy folds over
the shiny stage floor, splitting softly where the two panels met. Beyond the
slice in the fabric were precisely arranged rows of metal stands and chairs
where the orchestra practiced for the yearly concert.

Around
me a sea of rounded heads bobbed and leaned toward one another. Everyone
wondered why we were assembled, and while the speculations were plenty, I
didn’t bother to pay attention to everyone else’s why’s and what if’s. I was
too busy scanning each and every blonde-haired head for Evie.

Headmaster
Whitley stood at the podium watching with firm, guarded eyes as the last of us
settled into our seats.
 
Our voices
hushed as we watched him adjust the height of the microphone, which made the
auditorium echo as he cleared his throat, testing the sound.