Chasing Spring(9)

I didn't bother responding to any of them. Those people—my high school friends—didn’t seem to belong in the Calloways’ house. They weren’t part of my history, not like Lilah was. I needed five more minutes where I could recreate the image of her on her bed. Five more minutes to linger in the past.





Chapter Twelve


Lilah





Monday morning arrived with a crash of banging pots and another round of dog licks courtesy of Harvey. He hadn't left my side the day before, partly because I'd remained in bed the entire day, reading and napping, and partly because I’d let him have half of my dinner. Either way, I wasn't surprised to find him in my bed on Monday morning, hovering over me with wide eyes and an eternally wagging tail.

I groaned as I rolled out from under my covers and slid into a standard pair of loose jeans, Converse, and a long-sleeved black shirt. While I swiped on my eyeliner and mascara, I gave myself an internal pep talk. I had one semester of high school left. One semester of dealing with people I wanted to escape, one semester of pretending I belonged in a town that held nothing but sad memories.

Before I’d left for Austin, I'd been on the dance team and had hung out with Chase and the other popular kids. In those days, Chase had been the only person who really knew the unfiltered version of my life. Now, everyone knew my family’s crazy. No point trying to hide it any more.

My dad had tried to get me to go to therapy after my mom’s death, but the ones in Austin were too expensive. I knew how much stress he was already under, so I told him and my aunt I didn't need it. I told them therapy wouldn’t bring her back and “besides, I’m fine.” I believed I'd figure out how to move on and I promised to tell him if it ever got to the point where I needed help.

We hadn't talked about it since and I wasn’t sure whose fault that was.

…

When I walked downstairs after getting ready for school, I located the source of the banging pots that had originally jarred me awake. Chase was scrambling eggs and flipping pancakes, all while Harvey sat at his feet, hoping to get a sample of his creations.

I whistled for Harvey and he trotted over, drawing Chase’s attention as well.

“Hungry?” he asked.

I breathed in the sight of him. It was something I’d never get used to: that easy smile and his familiar hazel eyes. At least this time he was wearing a shirt.

The smell of maple syrup almost convinced me to give in, but I shook my head.

“I'm fine,” I said, moving to the fridge and reaching inside for a carton of orange juice. I poured myself a glass and took small sips as I tried to comprehend the extreme awkwardness of the situation. Chase was cooking breakfast in my kitchen. He was scrambling eggs and flipping pancakes like it was the most normal thing in the world.

“Lilah! Need a ride to school?” my dad asked, running out of his room in khakis and a white polo with “Blackwater Baseball” embroidered over the breast pocket. He was clearly in a rush.

“Nah, go ahead.”

He grabbed his baseball cap and tugged it on, already halfway out the door. “Okay. Be home for dinner later. I’ll whip up something to celebrate your first day back!”

The front door slammed shut behind him, shaking the front windows and highlighting the fact that Chase and I were now very alone in my house.

Out of the corner of my eye, I watched Chase turn off the stove, shovel eggs and pancakes onto two plates, and set them down on the kitchen table across from one another.

He chose the side facing me, sat down, and cut off my line of sight to the windows so that I had no choice but to meet his eyes or cave and look away.

“I made enough for the both of us,” he said as he doused his pancakes with what looked like two gallons of syrup.

“I don't normally eat breakfast.”

He arched a brow, scooped up a big bite of eggs, and then smiled at me while he chewed. I could not wrap my head around him. Didn't he understand how this situation was supposed to play out? We were meant to ignore each other's existence and go about business as usual.

We sat in uncomfortable silence as I sipped my juice and he finished off his breakfast. As I moved to wash out my cup, he hopped out of his seat and came to stand directly behind me so he could reach around and place his dish in the sink. His arm skimmed my waist and I tried to stay calm as his height eclipsed mine.

“I think we should ride to school together,” he said, finally taking a step back.

I released a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding.

“No thanks,” I answered simply.

He crossed his arms. “Lilah, it makes sense. We're both going to the same place.”

“I like to walk.”

“That was before you moved away. Now, I can give you a ride.”

He smiled and my thoughts slid away. The full extent of his smile was something that could only be processed in pieces. Matching dimples, straight teeth—it was the source of all of his power.

I shook away my momentary paralysis.

“I like walking. It clears my head,” I said, moving to put distance between us and retrieve my backpack from the kitchen doorway.

Just as I slung the strap over my shoulder, I heard metal clang against the kitchen table. When I turned, I saw his car keys sitting on top of the worn wood, directly over the spot where my mom had always sat.