Life In Reverse(23)

“That’s cool.” I cover my injured hand with my good one so she’ll stop glancing at it. “And what about you? What are you into?”

She flattens her palm, making circles as if she’s wiping a window. “Sculpting.”

“Oh yeah?” I shift my body toward her, resting my elbow on the back of the bench. “What do you sculpt?”

“Whatever comes to mind, really. Sometimes it’s people’s faces. Other times it might be parts of the body or an object. I typically just sit with the clay and get inspired. It’s actually really…,” her gaze reaches up to the sky, “therapeutic.”

I twist my earring around, studying her face. It’s a nervous habit that I’ve never been able to shake. Being around Ember doesn’t necessarily make me nervous. It unsettles me somehow. I’m not sure what to make of her. Though I can’t deny there is something about her that makes me want to talk, but also makes me feel inadequate. Perhaps it’s her brutal honesty. Guilt fastens itself to my chest and tugs hard. I know I need to tell her the truth about Mom, but the words seem to get lost on the way out. Books however, books I can talk about.

“I kind of feel that way about reading.” Her green eyes pop with interest and encourage me to continue. “It’s more like an escape for me, I think.”

She leans back on the arm of the bench, drawing her knees up to her chest and offering me her full attention. “What are you trying to escape from?”

“Life I suppose.” I answer honestly, my mind veering off to Mom and my reality. My shoulders stiffen and I roll my neck from left to right to ease the building tension.

“Ah, the dreaded life escape.” She presses her lips together on a half-smile. “So what got you into reading?”

“My mom, actually. I’m pretty sure she started reading to me when I was in the womb. Or at least that’s what she used to tell me. I remember she’d always ask me to play and I’d say, ‘no, read.’” My heart warms and I crack a smile. “Then when I learned how to read, that’s all I wanted to do.”

“That’s awesome. I’m not much of a reader,” she offers, winding her fingers down the weathered link chain holding up the swing. “But I can definitely appreciate why people do it. I think I was too into art so I went that way instead. That reminds me….” She hits the flat of her hand on her thigh. “I’d still really like to talk to your mom about her painting, if that’s okay.” My stomach sinks to the ground and I want to f*cking run. “Whenever I meet another artist, there’s just something about it. Like we’re kindred spirits.”

Emotion balls up in my throat, the need to be alone overwhelming. “I should go.” I stand abruptly, the swing rocking back from the force. “I’ve got… stuff to do.”

“O-okay.” She’s probably got whiplash from my sudden mood swing. Her eyes dart between mine—like if she could bypass me and dive into them—she could find the answers. The truth is, I don’t have any answers. I wish I did.

She follows me down the steps and to the sidewalk. I should have known she wouldn’t let me make a clean getaway. That’s not her style. She stops, fumbling with the edge of her pajama top, her stare unwavering. “Are you all right? Did I say something to upset you?”

I fist a hand on my hip, my next breath coming out louder than I’d intended. “No. You didn’t. It’s just that I…,” another pause, another big breath, “I’ve got some things I need to work out. But it’s not you,” I insist. “I….” My fingernails dig into my palms, the effort to smile exhausting. “I like… talking with you.”

“Man, that was hard.” She nudges my arm with her elbow. Without realizing it, I back up a step and her expression falters.

“What was?”

“Admitting that you like me.” The furrow between her brows indicates I might have offended her and I immediately want to set it right.

“Nah.” I gesture toward her pajamas with my chin. “What’s not to like? I already told you you’re a badass.” Her mouth pulls up at the side and she seems pleased with my assessment. Hopefully I’ve made up for my crappy mood swing. I walk away, shooting her what I hope looks like enthusiasm over my shoulder. “See you around, Mickey.”

She gives me a brisk wave of her hand. What a sight she is, standing near the road in her Mickey Mouse pajamas with her matted hair. Damn if an honest grin doesn’t spread clear across my face.





I’M QUIET AS I enter the house, shaking my new snow globe the entire way to my room. My lips still curled as I flick the light switch on the wall and place the globe on the dresser. Hopping on the bed, I stare at the thoughtful gift and ponder Vance Davenport.

He’s hiding something. Or maybe it’s not so much hiding as it is reluctance to talk about whatever is eating away at him—because something is definitely eating away at him. The fixer in me wants to know what it is because I’d like to help. Plus, he made things better for me the other day and it would be nice to return the favor. But I definitely don’t want to push him. If and when he’s ready to share, he will.

“Ems.”

“Oh my God, Troy.” I grab at my chest. “You scared the daylights out of me.” It takes a second to catch my breath. “How did you get in?”