A Midsummer's Nightmare(65)

“Wow,” he said. “Seriously—wow. I mean, what are the odds that of all the people Dad might marry, the chick’s son is someone you’ve—”

“Trace!”

“Sorry. Okay, advice… hmm.”

I waited through his thoughtful pause, half expecting him to tell me that the best plan would be to just end things with Nathan. Logically, that probably seemed like the solution, but I couldn’t. And I shouldn’t have to.

I guess Trace knew that, because he said, “Really, Whitley, all you can do is try to talk to Dad again.”

“About what?”

“About how you feel,” Trace said. “You should talk to him and to Mom. You clearly have issues with both of them, and who knows? Maybe just telling them how you feel could fix things. Or at least improve them a little.”

“I doubt it.”

“Well, I don’t know what else to tell you,” he said. “I’m sorry. I hate that you’re having to deal with this.”

“Yeah, it sucks.”

“You’ll figure it out,” Trace said. “Just do whatever will make you happy. That’s what’s important. Don’t forget that, okay?”

“Whatever.”

Everyone said that to me. That they wanted me to be happy. That it was the most important thing. But just when I started to figure out what I wanted—what would make me happy—it was squashed.

Talk about goddamn mixed messages.

“Hey, don’t ‘whatever’ me,” he said. “I mean it. I’m sorry my advice is unoriginal, but I’ll do whatever I can to help. I could call Dad if you want. Make him listen to me. Or Mom. If you can’t talk to them, I can.”

“No.” I sighed. “That’s okay. You don’t have to.”

There was a short silence before Trace said, “I’m sorry, Whitley. I know you’ve been having a horrible summer, and I haven’t been there for you as much as I should have. I’ve just been so—”

“Busy,” I said. “I know. It’s fine. You have a family to worry about now.”

“You are my family,” he said.

The tears almost started up again. Those four little words meant so much to me—which was stupid, really. They were just words. But they were words I’d been wanting to hear, wanting to believe. You are my family.

“You sure you don’t want me to call Dad?” Trace asked.

“I’m sure,” I said. “Really. I don’t think there’s anything anyone can do.”

“Okay,” he said. “But call me if you need me. I’ll be here.”

As I hung up the phone, I tried to comfort myself with that thought. Trace would be there. He wouldn’t judge me or abandon me. Even if I lost Dad. Even if I never fixed things with Mom. Even if my relationship with Nathan didn’t work out and I screwed things up with the Caulfields, I had Trace. He was my family.

But I wasn’t sure that would be enough.





29


Not even a week had passed since I’d finally put my clothes into the drawers of the oak dresser, and here I was, already packing them up again. The thought did cross my mind, how much easier this would’ve been if I’d just left all of my stuff in the duffel bag. If I’d never unpacked. If I’d never let this place become my home.

Bailey sat at the foot of my bed, watching as I moved sluggishly around the room, my hands clutching one personal belonging or another. She and Sylvia had gotten back home about an hour after my fight with Dad. When Bailey had come upstairs to show me her shoes, she found me still half in tears after my phone call with Trace.

I told her everything. Well, not everything. I left out the part about my would-be one-night-stand with Nathan earlier this summer. She was too young to hear that shit. So I started by telling her that we were seeing each other, then worked my way up to this morning in the kitchen with Dad.

She didn’t cry, but I could tell she wanted to.

“You know,” she said with a weak, forced smile, “I knew there was something going on with you and Nathan.”

“Yeah,” I said, my laugh sounding strangled and pathetic. “Yeah, you did. Good guess.”

“I didn’t have to guess,” she mumbled, toying with a loose thread in the comforter. “It was pretty obvious.”

I shoved a few wrinkled T-shirts into my duffel bag, trying not to think about what I was doing. I focused on Bailey. On what she was saying. On anything but the fact that I was leaving tomorrow afternoon. Because when I thought about how long it might be before I saw her again, it felt like someone was twisting a knife in my gut.

Would Dad let me come to the wedding next month after all of this?

Two months ago, I would have done anything to leave this house. Now, I would have done anything to stay.

The next words Bailey said came out in a half-sobbed whisper: “What about my birthday?”

The knife plunged deeper.

“I’m sorry,” I said. “I’m sorry, Bailey. This is my fault. I shouldn’t have said… Anyway, I’m sure Harrison will take you shopping.”

Harrison. Christ, I needed to call him. To tell him why I was going to vanish a week and a half early. But the idea of saying good-bye to him made my eyes sting again. Goddamn it, I wasn’t supposed to be a crier, but I’d cried so freaking much this summer.