Never Let You Go(48)

“For real? What kind of dog is he?” Her eyes are shining and it makes my stomach flip with relief. There isn’t anything I wouldn’t do to make her smile again.

“I’m not sure. He’s a mix. Maybe a Labrador or rottweiler crossed with shepherd.” I show her a few photos I’ve taken with my phone. “We can pick him up in the morning.”

“God, Mom. He’s a beast.”

“I know. Now I have Beauty and the Beast.”

She laughs, then her smile fades. “Did you get him for protection? You have the peace bond now. Are you still scared?” I was surprised at how easily Andrew had accepted the terms of the bond. I never thought he’d willingly sign anything that would keep him away from me. I want to be happy about this, but it’s just given me something else to worry about.

“Partly for protection, and with you going away to school I’m going to need company.”

“I’m being replaced by a big hairy monster!”

“He’s probably cleaner than you.”

She pretends to swat my arm. “Well, he better not sleep in my bed.”

“No guarantees.” I smile. “I’ll probably keep him in my room. He’ll help me sleep.”

She’s been scrolling through the photos of Angus on my phone, but now she pauses with a thoughtful expression on her face. “Do you still think it was my dad who was in the house?”

Alarm bells go off in my head, sudden and shrill. Why is she questioning this? And when did she start calling Andrew “my” dad? Maybe she’s always done it, maybe it doesn’t mean anything, but somehow it sounds possessive this time. It’s as though she’s claiming him.

“It was definitely him.”

“But sometimes you forget things. Like where you put your keys, or when you gave away that box of your books and then you thought I had them all.”

My keys. I stare at the side of her face. Does she remember it was one of the things Andrew was always after me about? No. She wouldn’t hurt me deliberately like that, but it scares me, this desperate grasping of hers. She still doesn’t want to accept the facts.

“It was him,” I say. “I know how he works.”

She meets my gaze. “Don’t you remember anything good about him?”

My breath catches in my throat. I lean over take the phone back from her and flip through the pictures of Angus while I try to think how to answer. “Yes,” I say. “But it doesn’t take away from all the horrible things he did and all the pain he caused me—and others.”

“It’s the anniversary of the accident soon.”

“I know.”

“Do you ever think about that night?”

“What do you mean?”

“If we hadn’t run away, he wouldn’t have been driving. It’s like the butterfly effect. You change one thing, it all changes. What would you do differently?”

I can see the pill bottle so clearly, the amber-colored plastic, the feel of those small blue pills in my hand. They should have felt heavier. They should have felt like the weight of the world.

“That’s an impossible question.” I stand up. “I’m really tired. I’m going to have a bath.” I know she’s watching me as I walk away and is probably confused by my abruptly ending the conversation, but I’m too close to tears, too close to telling her everything.

The butterfly effect.





CHAPTER NINETEEN


SOPHIE



Delaney drops me off at Andrew’s new place in the south end of town on Thursday. He’s making me dinner. He offered to pick me up at school, but I was worried about a teacher or someone who knows my mom seeing us together. Plus, it felt too strange. I hate lying to my mom (she thinks I’m at Delaney’s, celebrating winter break), but I have to give him a chance. Maybe she can’t forget what he did, but he never hurt me, and the more I think about it, the more I know she’s wrong about him breaking into our house. He never did tell me everything he did that week, but he doesn’t have to—I can feel the truth in my bones. It’s like some sort of genetic thing. If I tell Mom it’s not Andrew, she’ll know I’ve talked to him again. She’s so sure it’s him, she’s not even considering anyone else. I’ll have to be extra-careful with setting the alarm.

I tug my backpack higher onto my shoulder as I walk down his driveway. It’s below freezing and the top of last night’s snow crunches under my feet. The house is nice, way bigger than ours, but tucked in tight with all the neighbors like its shoulders are squished up. The front yard is decorated with a snowman and a few plastic reindeer with lights. They look a little lost, like they don’t belong there and aren’t sure where they should stand.

Christmas is in a few days. I wandered the mall at lunch on Tuesday, doing the last of my shopping for Mom, Uncle Chris and his girlfriend, and Delaney. I thought about what it would be like to shop for my father. What would I even get him? I always know what to get Mom. I know the brand of coffee she buys, books she likes, what colors she looks the best in (blue and lavender), her favorite bubble bath and lotions (anything from Lush cosmetics), and all her shows, like Outlander or Downton Abbey. But Andrew is a total mystery.

Last night, with Angus snoring at my feet, I stenciled designs on the wrapping paper, and thought about what it might be like in the future if my dad stuck around. I laugh at the idea of Mom having him over for Christmas dinner—as if that would ever happen.