Never Let You Go(33)

CHAPTER TWELVE


SOPHIE

DECEMBER 2016

I’m in the cafeteria, drawing in my sketchbook. Delaney has gone back to her locker already, but I’m holding off going to my next class. I’m trying to get the wings right on a crow—I keep messing up the feathers because I’m thinking about my dad. I’m scared I’ve opened a door to something and now I can’t close it. He was asking so many questions about my mom. What if that’s why he really wanted to meet me? What if Mom finds out I’ve been lying to her?

Jared McDowell sits down beside me. I keep working on my crow. I can feel him watching me, like he’s waiting for me to look up or say something, but I’m not going to stop just because one of the popular kids is sitting beside me. He probably wants help with his homework or thinks I’m a dope dealer because I have purple hair. Least, that’s my best guess based on nothing. We’ve never talked before, but I used to check him out sometimes when we had the same class last semester. There’s something about his face that’s interesting. His nose is long, and his lips are too big for his face, but he has nice eyes. Shiny black, almost like a crow’s. Not that it matters. I’d never hook up with him. I don’t think he’s a jerk, but we don’t hang out with the same kids or have anything in common. His family has a lot of money, a big house on the ocean, and he has a car. My mom cleans for his parents. So, there’s that.

When I still haven’t spoken for a couple of moments, he leans a little closer to me.

“I heard your mom had something creepy happen this weekend,” he says. Some of the kids at the table next to ours turn around and look at us. I stare at them until they look away.

I meet his eyes. “How do you know about that?”

“She told my mom. She wanted to make sure someone was home when she was cleaning. Do the police know who it was yet? Does she think she’s being followed or something?”

I don’t know what to say. Mom didn’t tell me she was nervous to go to work alone or that she was warning her clients. Did she tell them about my dad? Would she lose jobs?

“What do you care?”

He frowns. “What’s your problem? I just wanted know if she’s all right.”

“She’s fine,” I say, too loud. It had to have been a robber who broke into Mrs. Carlson’s house, not my dad, but I hate thinking about my mom being scared. Jared’s holding a Starbucks coffee cup, his hands wrapped around it loosely. His nails are smooth and clean-looking, and he’s wearing a silver thumb ring with this cool stitched pattern. I want to see it closer, but then I think about my dad’s rough hands and how he was wearing his wedding ring. Mom told me that he tried to choke her once. How could he do that? I stare down at my drawing.

“You okay?” Jared says.

“I have to finish this before class.” I shift my body to the side so my shoulder blocks his view of my face, and start working on the wings again, smudging them with my fingertip.

He’s quiet for a moment. “Sorry I bothered you.” He gets up from the table, gathers his books, and walks out of the cafeteria. I keep working on the crow, but my face is hot. I take my pen and drag lines over and over the crow until it’s obliterated. Problem solved.



Sunday afternoon Andrew and I are near the edge of the river. I’m still getting used to calling him Andrew. It feels awkward, like calling a teacher by their first name or something. He’s been showing me how to cast, and I lost a couple of the lures, but he didn’t seem to mind. He’s made sandwiches. The bread is moist as though he took it out of the freezer that morning, and thick, with sliced roast beef and cheddar cheese. I’m pretty much a vegetarian (I’ll eat fish and eggs), but I can tell it’s important to him that I like mine. He keeps sneaking peeks at me. I choke one back, wash it down with the Dr Pepper he brought because he said he remembered I liked it. That was nice too. I don’t tell him that I haven’t drunk a Dr Pepper since I was probably thirteen.

“I’m still learning to cook,” he says.

“They’re good.”

“Not really,” he says with a laugh, and I smile. “The meat is dry. Your mom made the best roast beef.”

He’s circling back around again. Always back to her. I stare down at my sandwich.

“I wasn’t sure if you would still meet me today,” he says.

“Why not?” I glance at him, dancing my feet a little to keep warm. He’s built a fire on the beach and we’re sitting on a blanket on the log, but I’m still cold.

“Your mom was pretty pissed that I’m moving here.” He gives me a look. “I didn’t tell her we had coffee. I kind of got the idea she didn’t know.”

My legs stop moving. “What are you talking about?”

“She didn’t tell you I saw her outside the bank on Wednesday? I was going to tell you the good news about my job today, but I thought maybe she already said something.”

“You’re moving here? Like you’re going to be here all the time?” I don’t know how I feel. I wanted to get to know him again, but what if we don’t like each other? My mom must be so upset. I think back over the last couple of days. She has seemed stressed, but I thought it was because of her business. I was happy that she was distracted. Now I feel horrible.