Underwater(26)

And then I hear her say, “She’s working through some problems. It could take a while.”

And right then, Evan’s eyes shoot up and meet mine. We lock on to each other for a split second until my mom turns her head to look at me, too.





chapter seventeen

I run to my room.

I slam the door.

I fall onto my stomach on top of my bed.

I bury my face in my pillow.

I sob.

Ben calls my name.

I can hear his feet racing down the hall toward our room.

My mom intercepts him.

She tells him everything is okay and to please go practice his spelling words.

A few seconds later, there’s a knock outside my room. My mom doesn’t wait for me to say come in or don’t. She just opens the door and lets herself inside.

She sits on the edge of my bed.

She places her hand on my back.

She rubs tiny, soothing circles.

“What’s wrong?” she asks.

Seriously? “You’re kidding, right?” I mumble into my pillow. “I didn’t think I had to worry about my mom convincing people not to hang out with me.”

She pauses for a second like she’s racking her brain. Like what she said didn’t happen only one minute ago. “Do you mean Evan? Is that what you think I told him? Not to hang out with you?”

“Um, yes. I heard you. You told him I was all messed up and too much trouble.”

“You know I didn’t say that.”

“I don’t remember your exact words, but that was pretty much your message.”

“Well, you didn’t hear me then. You didn’t hear me thank him.” She knocks her hip into mine to get me to scoot over so she can lie down next to me. “He’s good for you.”

I roll onto my side to face her, rubbing the tears and snot off my face. “What?”

“You’ve changed. It started when Evan moved in.”

“You really think so?”

“Yep. I’ve seen some of the old Morgan coming back.”

And of course I want to believe her. But now I can only think the opposite.

“But maybe I am too much work. I mean, Evan’s in high school. He should go be in high school. He doesn’t need all this.”

“Need all what?”

“This. Me. Come on, you don’t think my life is just a little bit messy?”

“I think you’re a girl who went through a horrible thing, something no mom ever wants to think about their kid going through. But I also think you’re smart and capable. I think you’re working hard to get better. I think you want to get better. I think you will get better.”

“When?”

“When you’re ready. I believe in you.” She runs her hand over the top of my head. She smooths the strands back that are stuck to my tears. “I saw you outside. You were on the welcome mat.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Do you do that now?”

“Sometimes. Brenda wanted to try it.”

“But you did it. And you feel okay about it?”

“Yeah. I mean, it’s not very far.”

“But it’s outside. It’s something.”

“Yeah.”

“Well, don’t stop.”

“I won’t.”

“Good.”

We lie on the bed there. My mom strokes my hair, and I listen to her breathe. She takes in slow, deep breaths. She seems exhausted. Like she could fall asleep right here.

“Who was on the phone?” I ask to keep her from drifting off. It’s too early to fall asleep.

“Your grandma,” she murmurs. “With an update.”

“Did she see Dad?”

“Something like that. They know where he is. For now.”

“Where?”

“San Diego. As we suspected.”

“Is he okay?”

My mom closes her eyes. Sighs. “He’s the same.”

I think of what that means. Of what my dad has become. He used to be dependable. He used to tell the best jokes and carve the best jack-o’-lanterns. He used to come to my swim meets and keep track of my split times in a tiny notebook he kept in his back pocket.

He used to love me.

I used to know he loved me.

But now, I don’t trust him. And I don’t want him in my life until he gives me a reason to find that trust again. But that doesn’t stop me from missing him. It only makes it worse.





chapter eighteen

A week passes, and on the last Thursday of April, after my mom and Ben leave for the day, the rain comes down like a last hurrah to April Showers. It pounds against the roof all morning. It slides down the windows and onto the ground. It glides down the front door and soaks the welcome mat. It smacks the surface of the swimming pool, making the water bounce up into the air.

Bam, bam, bam it goes.

I turn the TV up loud so I won’t hear it.

I don’t like the rain.

I don’t like the rain anymore.

I used to love it. I would walk in it. I would swim in it. I would spin around in it. I would let the cold of it spatter against my face and my eyelashes.

When I was five, I had pink-and-purple rain boots with cat ears and whiskers on them. I had a jacket to match. I had knobby knees covered in Hello Kitty Band-Aids. And hair that hung in fishtail braids. One Saturday afternoon, the rain pounded on the roof and slid down the windowpanes. My dad put on a raincoat, then helped me pull on my cat boots. He handed me an umbrella, took my hand, and led me out the door, giddy and grinning.