Our Crooked Hearts(5)

“Don’t get soft, Rob. I’m sure she can think of a dozen ways to give you a heart attack.”

My mom stood in the basement doorway. We both startled; neither of us had heard her coming up. Her hair was down and the white of her left eye was stitched with fine red threads.

“Dana.” My dad took a step toward her. “What were you doing in the basement?”

She ignored him. “How’s the lip, Ivy?”

The ibuprofen hadn’t kicked in yet. It was killing me. “Fine.”

My mom stepped closer to inspect my injury. Too close. There was an odd scent coming off her skin. Sharp, almost herbal. But it was early for her to have been in the garden.

Her eyes refocused on mine. “You’re staying home today.”

“What? Why?”

“Because,” she said testingly, “you’re grounded.”

Her gaze flicked to my dad when she said it. She always deferred to him on parenting stuff, in this flat, ironical way. Like we were play kids in a play house that he insisted on taking seriously.

“I am?” I turned to my dad. “Am I?”

He looked uncertain. “If your mother says you are.”

“But … it’s summer break. I didn’t do anything.”

“Well. You got in a car with a drunk driver.”

“I didn’t know he was drunk!”

“Next time you’ll pay more attention,” my mom said, then pursed her lips. “Please tell me you dumped his ass.”

I felt flushed, irritated. And just the littlest bit triumphant. “Yeah. I dumped him.”

“Good girl,” she murmured, and started to leave the room.

“Hey.” Gently my dad clasped her shoulder, turned her back to face him. “Are you getting a migraine?”

His voice was oddly accusing. And he was right, now I could see it. It had been so long since she’d had one. I’d forgotten the way the headaches made her mouth slacken, made the muscles around her eyes twitch. “I’m fine,” she said. “It’s fine. I already called Fee.”

Fee was her best friend, basically her sister. Whenever my mom got one of her rare migraines, Aunt Fee brought over the gnarly vinegar brew they took instead of actual medicine.

“That’s not what I’m…” He cut himself off, stepping away from her. “You know what, never mind. You’ll do what you’re gonna do.”

He kissed the side of my head. “We’ll talk more later. I’m heading out for a ride.”

When the front door had shut behind him, I looked at her. “Is Dad mad at you?”

“Don’t worry about it,” she said shortly. “I’m heading upstairs.”

“Mom. Wait.”

I was getting greedy, I think. Having her wait up for me, punish me, give more than half a shit about my choice of boyfriend. It made me want more from her. I just wasn’t sure what.

“Last night, when I got in. You said you had a bad dream.”

She tipped her head. Not quite a nod.

I took a quick breath. “Was it about me?”

“Ivy.” Her voice was soft. Uncharacteristically so. “I shouldn’t have—it was just a dream.”

But I remembered how awake she’d looked last night, how nervy and alert, even before she’d seen my injury. “What was it about?”

She pinched the bridge of her nose, eyes fluttering shut. “Dark water, running water. And a…”

“A what?” My voice sounded faraway.

Her eyes snapped open. “Nothing.” She tried a smile. “Fee would tell me it means change. But for her that’s every dream.”

I didn’t smile back. I was seeing the girl in the woods again, crouching in the creek’s black water. “Hey, Mom,” I began, tentatively. “I—”

She shoved a finger into her eye socket. “Not now. Truly. I have to lie down.”

I let her go. Wondering like I always did what I could’ve said differently, to make her stay.





CHAPTER THREE



The suburbs

Right now

It was barely eleven and already the day was blistering bright, all the cars and mailboxes glittering in the sun. I sat on the front step, alternating sips of coffee and soupy June air. Billy Paxton’s car was still in his driveway. I’d seen it from the window. And if he happened to come out, I could thank him again. Do a better job this time.

My phone hummed in my back pocket. A text from Amina.

AHHHH check Nate’s feed IMMEDIATELY

“Oh no,” I whispered. Another text came through.

It’s not about you btw sorry!! Tell me when you’ve seen it Nate had posted less than ten minutes ago. There was his pretty, punchable face in closeup, lips parted and lids at half-mast. A piece of the Dairy Dream sign was visible over his shoulder. With its black-and-white filter the photo could’ve been a movie still.

His mouth was swollen, smeared with gunmetal blood. A bruise was rising over one eye. The caption read, You should see the other guy. The first comment was from his little brother, Luke. I hear the other guy was a parked mail truck.

I stared until my jaw started to ache. I unclenched.

Well? Did you see it?

Yeah, I texted back. I saw it.