Never Let You Go(46)

“What do you mean?”

“Listen, I know your mom is angry at me, and she has good reason, okay? But maybe she also wants to make sure you stay mad at me.”

“She wouldn’t lie. Someone opened all her bills too. And there was a book beside her bathtub, with candles. She was really scared.”

He frowns, leans back in his chair with his head to the side like he’s thinking. His eyebrows are pulled together. It makes him look tough, mean. “It sounds like someone is messing around with her. I don’t like that, especially when you’re living there. She needs to get an alarm.”

“We have one. I forgot to set it.” Maybe it wasn’t him. Why would he tell us to get an alarm? I don’t know what to think anymore. Could it be one of her creepy clients? Or that girl who used to work for her? She quit because Mom was giving her a hard time about getting back together with her loser boyfriend and missing work.

“Does she think I want to hurt her?”

We’re holding gazes and I can feel the scone sticking in my throat and I have a gut cramp and want to run out the door and get far away from him. How can I look at him and say what I’m thinking? He doesn’t seem angry, though, more like he’s not really surprised. I don’t answer.

“Right.” He takes a breath and runs his hands through his wet hair. He has dark pouches under his eyes and I think he must be tired. “Did your mom ever tell you about my family?”

“A little.”

“Well, I have what they call abandonment issues.” He gives one of his sideways smiles and I think maybe I can understand why my mom loved him once. “Your mom was the most amazing thing that ever happened to me. She’s so beautiful—I couldn’t believe she was mine.”

My mom is beautiful. She has white-blond hair like one of the elf queens in Lord of the Rings, and her eyes are big and blue, her lashes so dark she doesn’t even have to wear mascara. She could date lots of guys if she wanted, but it took her a long time before she went out with Greg. I like how they are when they’re around each other—they laugh a lot and she always seems relaxed. I can tell he’s really into her, but I think maybe my mom is scared of that.

“You should have treated her better,” I say.

“I know. I had it all backwards. I was so scared she would leave me that I turned into a jealous jerk and pushed her away.”

“Why don’t you meet someone else? Lots of people do online dating.”

“Maybe someday, but right now I just want to get to know you again.”

“You have to go to court and agree to leave Mom alone.”

“I’ll sort it out right away, okay? As soon as we’re done here, I’ll talk to the cops.”

“You won’t fight it? It means we can’t talk about her either.”

“Listen, I get that it might be too late for your mom and me, but I don’t want it to be too late with you. You’re the only family I have left. If you don’t want to see me, okay. I’ll just have to hope you change your mind one day, but I’m not going to willingly give you up.”

His words make me sad and frightened but also kind of happy. He’s trying to get me to look at him—I can feel his gaze—but I’m staring into my coffee, studying the foam. It feels wrong to feel sad for him, like I’m betraying Mom, but it’s true. I’m all he has left.

“You have to stay away from Mom,” I say. “If anything else happens, that’s it.”

He reaches his hand across the table. “Deal.” As I shake his hand, I feel someone watching and glance around. Across the room I notice Jared with an older woman with black hair who kind of looks like him. His mom. I’ve seen her around town, driving a silver Lexus, always wearing sunglasses. He gives me a smile and a small wave. I look away.



The next day at school, Jared comes by my locker. “You still pissed at me for asking about your mom?” he says. “Sorry if I said something stupid.” He smiles. “Happens a lot.”

“I was just in a bad mood. Sorry.”

He leans against one of the lockers, his hands tucked into his pocket and his shoulders hunched like he’s cold, but then I think maybe it’s because he’s tall and he’s trying not to tower over me. He’s wearing black jeans, a maroon plaid scarf around his neck, and a gray T-shirt with a picture of Jimmy Hendrix on the front. Part of Jimmy’s face is faded off. I wonder if the shirt is vintage. He probably paid a hundred dollars for it or something crazy like that.

“You were having an intense conversation with your dad at the coffee shop,” he says.

Jesus. How long was he watching? “That was my uncle. He’s going through some stuff.”

He’s quiet for a moment, and I tense, worried that he’s going to ask a bunch of questions, but he just says, “You going anywhere for Christmas vacation?”

I laugh. In his world all his friends probably go skiing at their chalets or on expensive vacations to somewhere warm. “We’ve decided to vacation locally this year,” I say in my pretend rich-girl voice. “The ski hills are just so crowded with poor people, you know?”

He looks confused at first, then smiles as he realizes I’m making fun of him. “I’m having some friends over this weekend. You should come.”