Atone (Recovered Innocence #2)(19)

“I have soda and iced tea,” Mom offers. Water won’t cut it.

“A soda,” Cora says. “Beau?”

“A soda for me too.”

“I’ll be right back.” Mom hesitates, her gaze bouncing between her two children as though she can’t believe we’re real. And then she goes into the kitchen. “Ice?”

“Yes, please,” Cora and I say together.

Cora turns away and puts a hand over her mouth to hold back her laugh.

I nudge her with my elbow. “Dork.”

She bumps me in return. “You’re a dork.”

“Shut up, dork.”

“Don’t tell me to shut up, dork.”

Laughing, we shove each other like we did when we were kids and the insults fly.

“Knock it off,” Mom shouts from the kitchen.

We glance at each other in surprise, then dissolve into silent hysterics, gripping our stomachs. It’s so normal, this moment. It’s the most normal moment I’ve had in more than six years. By the time Mom returns we’ve got control of ourselves again and I’m feeling a lot less tense. She hands us our drinks and takes a seat in a new chair opposite us.

“Cora tells me you’re working at the agency with her,” Mom says.

I can tell from the tone of her voice that she doesn’t approve of either one of us working there.

“They’ve been very good to me. To both of us,” I add.

“I’m glad.” She turns to Cora. “When are you going to do something with your hair? You’re never going to get a boyfriend looking like that. I’m surprised people at your job take you seriously.”

“I have a boyfriend.”

Mom gets a disbelieving look on her face. “You do? Does he have a job?”

Cora’s been going out with Leo for months now. I shouldn’t be surprised she didn’t tell Mom about him, but I am.

“He’s in law school at UCLA.”

Mom turns to me. “Is this true?”

“Very.”

“You’ve met him?”

I nod. “He’s a good guy.”

Mom seems momentarily stunned by this. We sit in uncomfortable silence, sipping our drinks and avoiding looking at one another. I want to text Vera something stupid and random to take myself out of this moment. She’s the first person I think of in the morning and the last person I think of at night before I fall asleep. That’s not something I look too hard at. It’s nice to have something to occupy my mind other than the f*cked-up state of my life.

A panda. I’d text her a panda.

There’s a knock at the door. Mom gets up and smooths down her skirt. She glances at her reflection in the mirror next to the door before she opens it. Dad leans with a hand on the door frame. I stand and Cora does the same. When she moves in front of me again like she did at the front door, it hits me. She’s trying to shield me from our parents. It would be funny, except for the fact that she feels it’s necessary. As the big brother, I should be protecting her, not the other way around.

The changes in Mom were surprising, but the changes in Dad are shocking. He’s a lot grayer than he was six years ago. Smaller too. The chiseled lines of his face are crags now, carved by stress and drinking. His eyes—the same light blue as mine—are red rimmed and tired looking. He doesn’t see Cora or me. He doesn’t take his eyes off Mom. The look in them strikes a blow deep in my gut. I recognize the combination of grief and longing.

Mom looks him over, her lip curling. “You’ve been drinking.”

He holds up his fingers in a pinching motion. “Just a little. I’m not drunk.” His slurred words make a liar out of him.

Cora stiffens and reaches back for my hand.

“You’re going to see your son for the first time in how many years drunk?” Mom chastises him like it hasn’t been years since she’s seen me.

“I’m not drunk.”

“I can smell it on you. I told you I didn’t want to see you if you were drinking.” He tries to make a move around her, but she steps in front of him. “Do I need to call the police?”

I don’t recognize these people and the dance they’re doing. I don’t know how to respond. Cora squeezes my hand in reassurance.

“Aww, come on Evie. Let me in,” Dad pleads.

“I don’t like you when you’re like this.”

“You used to like me a lot.” Dad reaches a hand toward Mom to stroke her cheek. It’s an old familiar gesture. “Remember that time—”

Mom knocks his hand away. “You make me sick.”

She tries to shut the door, but Dad’s faster and catches it before she can close it on him.

His face morphs into a stranger’s. “And you’re a shriveled-up old cunt. I said let me in.”

In front of me, Cora is a statue, holding on to me like I’m an anchor keeping her from floating away. I don’t want to leave her, but I can’t let this go on anymore.

I walk up behind Mom and grab the edge of the door. “Don’t talk to her like that.”

Dad finally sees me, squinting up at me as though he doesn’t recognize me. “Beau?”

“Mom doesn’t want you here like this.”

“Go home, Reid,” Mom pleads.