Put Me Back Together(94)

“You knew this was going to happen, didn’t you?” Em said, her tone hard as stone. “That night when you freaked out…you knew Brandon was coming for you.”

It was so hard to look her in the eye, but I did it. “There’s a lot I didn’t tell you. I know that’s hard to hear—”

“Mom and Dad are on the deck,” she said abruptly, then walked quickly through the kitchen and out the door to the backyard, letting it slam closed behind her.

I sighed hard and turned away from the bank of windows that took up most of the back wall of the kitchen. I could just make out my mother sitting in a patio chair. How was I going to face her?

Lucas put an arm around me and I leaned into his side. “Weak,” I said.

“Strong,” he said.

“Liar,” I said.

“Survivor,” he said.

“Unforgiveable,” I said.

“Loved,” he said, and kissed me on the top of the head.

It was like the break in a boxing match. With Lucas in my corner, I felt ready to face round two.



The scene on the back deck was exactly what I’d expected: my mother at the patio table under the umbrella, surrounded by case folders, cartons of documents piled beside her chair; my father lying in a reclining lawn chair in full sun beside her, a biography of Sherman sitting open on his stomach. It was still a little early in the season to be lounging on the deck—they were both wearing thick sweaters and holding steaming cups of coffee—but small concerns like the weather never stopped the Archers. The only difference from the usual scene was the fact that my father was gazing morosely at the yellow blooms of a forsythia bush instead of sleeping, and instead of taking diligent notes my mother’s pen was still capped. There was also Emily leaning tensely against the deck railing looking furious. Hanging out on the deck with Mom and Dad wasn’t exactly Emily’s style. I actually couldn’t remember the last time we’d all sat and had a conversation together, any kind of conversation. Well, our first try sure was going to be a doozy.

“Hi, Mom,” I said as we stepped onto the deck. My mother just stared at me. It was my father who leaped to his feet and gently cupped my cheeks, his long-fingered hands engulfing my face just as they had when I was little.


“No,” he said, and in that one word I heard his heart breaking. “No, no, no. Not your lovely face.”

“I’m okay, Dad,” I said, giving him a hug. Lucas’s arms were magic, but nothing could compare to a hug from my dad. “I got away.”

“Of course you did, my smart girl,” he said, holding me at arm’s length. His eyes were watery, but I was impressed to see he was holding back the tears. “We Archers are tough. We know how to fight.” This was amusing, given the fact that I didn’t think my bookish father had ever been in a fight in his life.

“Come let me see,” my mother commanded in her no-nonsense voice. I sat down in the chair next to hers and let her peel off the bandages and assess the wounds.

She didn’t speak for several moments and she didn’t try to hold me, but I could see her concern in the way she sighed and bit her lip and re-taped the gauze so carefully. Her dark eyes explored every inch of my face as though trying to reassure herself that there were no other wounds I was hiding. I wasn’t looking forward to breaking the news that my worst wounds weren’t on my face.

“You should take the bandages off completely when it’s scabbed over,” she said with the confidence of a mother. “Daddy can take you to see his plastic surgeon friend in the city in a few weeks about the scarring.”

I nodded to show I understood, but I wasn’t so sure about it. Sometimes scars were a good reminder of what you’d been through and what you would never do again.

They wanted to know all the details of Brandon’s attack and my escape and his arrest and I filled them in as best I could, much as it pained me. My father kept saying the words, “But he’s locked up now,” as if to reassure me—or himself—that the danger had passed, that I’d survived. Again. My mother listened very closely to my every word and I could see her lawyer’s brain going through the next steps, envisioning the upcoming court dates. I left it to her. Personally, I didn’t want to think about it, not until I had to.

Though I could see Emily trying not to cry when I described the moment when Brandon pulled out his knife, otherwise she didn’t react at all.

I’d almost forgotten Lucas was there when my mother suddenly said, “And who’s this young man who wandered outside with you? Did you hire yourself a bodyguard?”

“Not a bad idea,” I heard my father mutter. He didn’t seem to be kidding.

Lucas was leaning against the railing next to my sister, looking like he felt incredibly out of place. I shot out of my chair and took his arm, shooting him an apologetic look.

“Mom, Dad, this is Lucas,” I said, “my…boyfriend.” As Lucas shook their hands, calling them Mr. and Mrs. Archer, which really seemed to impress my father, I glanced at Emily, trying to gauge her reaction. But she was staring steadily out at the covered pool.

“Well, Lucas Matthews,” my mother began, emphasizing the last name she’d pried out of me weeks before on the phone, “where on earth were you when all this was happening?” She gestured at my face.