Everything You Are(58)

“I’m staying.”

“Honey, you’re soaking wet.”

“I’m fine.”

“You’re not. You’re shivering. Listen, your mother would want you to be warm and dry and safe. And Celestine is never going to let me leave you here. Let me walk you to your car, okay?”

Somewhere in these words is the magic key Phee’s been looking for. Allie’s defiance melts. Her shoulders soften, her back curves, and a sob escapes her and settles directly into Phee’s already wide-open heart.

Allie nods acquiescence, though she says nothing, and Phee nods back.

“One sec, I need to leave my flowers.”

Phee opens the gym bag and pulls out two last bouquets. One for Trey. One for Lilian. “I’m so sorry,” she whispers, so Allie won’t hear. Just before she straightens, she catches a glimpse of white under the edge of a sheaf of lilies on Lilian’s grave. Glancing over her shoulder, she sees that Allie’s back is turned, and she nudges the flowers aside to find an envelope, the ink of a single word rapidly blurring from the rain.

Mom.

Not your business, Phee tells herself, even as she gently folds the envelope into her pocket.

“Where’s your car, then?” she asks, stuffing down her guilty conscience over the pilfered letter.

“Sorry?”

“Your car. Where are you parked? We’ll walk you there.” She starts to walk, relieved when Allie falls into step beside her, one hand resting on the big dog’s back.

“I don’t . . . My father confiscated it. I took a bus.”

“I’ll give you a ride. Don’t worry, I’m safe. The worst thing you have to worry about is dog slobber, and you’re already awash in that.”

“I don’t want to bother you.”

“No bother. Besides, Celestine likes you. Here we are. Right over there.”

“Does Celestine even fit in there?” Allie asks when she sees the VW Bug. “If you don’t have room, I can take a bus.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. Celestine can ride in the back.”

“I can’t go home,” Allie says. “He thinks I’m at school. Can you drop me somewhere else?”

“Like where?” Phee asks, buying time to think. She does not want to get between Allie and Braden, but she feels the precariousness of this girl’s trust, and she owes her, besides.

“I dunno. The mall, I guess.”

“Um.” Phee gives her an exaggerated once-over. “You look like a zombie. And your clothes are soaking.”

“There’s nowhere else.”

“In fact, there is. I have the perfect place.”

Fifteen minutes later, the three of them stand dripping inside the door of Phee’s parents’ house. At least, Phee and Allie stand there. Celestine dashes into the center of the room and promptly shakes himself, sending a spray of water over everything.

“You!” Bridgette orders. “Into the laundry room at once. You’ll stay there until you’re good and dry.”

Celestine gives Phee one rueful, pleading look, but she just shakes her head at him. “I’d obey forthwith if I were you.”

“As for the two of you, take off your shoes and socks and stay right there,” Bridgette orders, vanishing down the hallway with Celestine.

Allie doesn’t question the directive, and when Bridgette returns with two large bath towels, they are both barefoot.

Phee wills her mother to get this right, and Bridgette doesn’t disappoint. Tossing her daughter a towel, Bridgette takes it upon herself to dry Allie’s face and blot the water from her hair. “I have some dry clothes I think might fit you. Come with me.” She wraps both the towel and her arm around Allie’s shoulders, and leads her down the hallway without asking a single question.

Phee betakes herself downstairs to her old bedroom, where she finds a faded pair of jeans and a sweatshirt neatly folded in the bureau as if her mother knew she’d be needing them. Which, given Bridgette’s uncanny ability to prepare for every eventuality, maybe she did. She carefully extracts the envelope from the pocket of her soaking jeans and peels out the damp but still legible paper.

Dear Mom,

You were right. About Dad and the music and everything. I need to tell you what happened and that I’m sorry and that I wish I could go back and change everything, but I can’t.

I’ve been lying to you for a year. Maybe you know that, already. Maybe you see everything and understand, in which case, I wish you could talk to me because I don’t understand anything. Anyway, here’s the truth.

I never meant to go to medical school. I know you wanted it for me, but all I ever wanted was to be a musician like Dad. So I let you think I was going into premed so you’d help me with my application and stuff. And then I applied on my own to the music school and got an audition. That’s where I was when you died. That’s why I didn’t pick up Trey and why I ignored you when you tried to reach me.

So you were right about the music, that it’s a curse. And you were right about Dad, like I said. I wanted him to be there, at my audition. I thought he’d be proud of me. So I found him last year, on Facebook. And we messaged and stuff, and he agreed to meet me that morning, only he didn’t show up.

I’d even learned the C Minor, pretty much the way he played it. Mr. Blair helped me. He said I was an extraordinary talent, truly my father’s daughter. I wanted to believe him, but I blew the audition, I think, so even that wasn’t true.