Regretting You(32)

I let out a half-hearted laugh. I still have tears on my cheeks that haven’t even dried, and he’s asking me if I’ll be okay?

I haven’t been okay for a week. I’m not okay now. But I shrug and say, “I’ll survive.”

He hesitates like he wants to say more. But he doesn’t. He walks back to his car, and I close my front door.

“What was that about?”

I spin around to find Clara standing at the entrance to the hallway. “Nothing,” I say, almost too quickly.

“Is he okay?”

“Yeah, he just . . . he’s struggling. Raising Elijah on his own. He had questions.”

I’m not the good liar in this family, but that technically wasn’t a lie. I’m sure Jonah is struggling. It’s his first child. He just lost Jenny. I remember when Clara was a baby and Chris was a full-time student and worked all the days he didn’t have class. I know how hard it is to do everything on your own. I’ve been there.

Granted, Elijah is an easier baby than Clara. They look like they could be twins, but their personalities are nothing alike.

“Who has Elijah?” Clara asks.

I hear that question come from Clara, but I can’t answer it because my thoughts aren’t moving forward. They’re stuck on the last thing that went through my head.

They look like they could be twins.

I grip the wall after being hit by what feels like a ten-thousand-pound realization.

“Why did you leave the house with Jonah?” Clara asks. “Where did y’all go?”

Elijah doesn’t look anything like Jonah. He looks just like Clara.

“Mom,” Clara says with more emphasis, trying to get a response from me.

And Clara looks just like Chris.

The walls in front of me begin to pulsate. I wave Clara off because I know what a terrible liar I am, and I feel like she can see right through me. “You’re still grounded. Go back to your room.”

“I’m grounded from the living room?” she asks, puzzled.

“Clara, go,” I say firmly, needing her to leave the room before I completely break down right in front of her.

Clara storms off.

I rush to my own bedroom and slam the door.

As if their deaths weren’t enough, the blows just keep coming, and they’re getting more and more severe.





CHAPTER EIGHT





CLARA


I left the house as soon as my mother went to her bedroom and slammed her door. I’m not supposed to leave, so I’m sure this will extend however long I’m grounded for, but at this point, I don’t care. I can’t be cooped up inside that house for another minute. Everything reminds me of my father. And every time I look at my mother, she’s sitting quietly in random spots, staring at nothing.

Or snapping at me.

I know she’s hurting, but she’s not the only one. All I did was ask her where Elijah was and why she left the house with Jonah, but she completely overreacted.

Will this be how it is from now on? My father is gone, so now she feels she has to compensate for his absence and be even stricter on me? Who gets grounded from their own living room?

I’m grounded from my phone, so my mother won’t be able to see where I am. I was afraid she’d call the police, so before I left, I wrote her a note that said, “I’m really hurting. I’m going to Lexie’s for a couple of hours, but I’ll be home by ten.” I knew if I threw in the “hurting” part that maybe she wouldn’t be so angry. Grief is a beast, but it’s also a great excuse.

I drove to Lexie’s house after leaving my own, hoping she’d be home, but she wasn’t.

Now I’m sitting in the parking lot of the movie theater, staring at Miller’s truck.

I pulled in because I was thinking how nice it would be to sit in the dark theater for an hour and a half and forget the outside world even exists. But now that I know Miller is working tonight, I’m not sure I want to go in. It’ll seem like I came here on purpose, seeking him out.

Maybe I did? I don’t even know.

Either way, I’m not going to stop going to the movies anytime he’s working, simply because he’s got a girlfriend. I’m also not going to stop going just because I’m worried it’ll be awkward.

I mean, the guy bought me drugs. Can’t get much more awkward than that.

The outdoor ticket counter window is closed, but Miller is inside. I watch him through the glass doors for a moment. He’s wiping down the concession stand counters while Steven, the guy who sold him the weed, sweeps up random spills of popcorn.

The lobby of the theater is quiet when I walk inside, so both of them look up when they hear the door open.

Miller shoots me a small smile and stops cleaning when he sees me. I’m suddenly more nervous than I anticipated I’d be.

He presses his palms onto the counter and leans forward as I approach him. “I figured you’d be grounded.”

I shrug. “I am. She took my phone and banished me to my bedroom.” I look at the menu over his head. “I escaped.”

He laughs. “Final showings started between thirty and forty-five minutes ago, but you can take your pick. Theater four is the emptiest.”

“What’s playing in four?”