Where the Staircase Ends(13)

I managed to pull The Bee over just in time for Sunny to open the passenger door and puke the bazillion shots she’d consumed onto the pavement, the contents of her stomach splashing in a heavy stream against the highway.

“I think I’m gonna be sick,” she said when she finished, leaning against the frame of the car door to steady herself.

“You just were.” I couldn’t keep the hard edge of impatience from my voice. I was pissed beyond belief. I hated when she did this. Not just because I suspected it was all for attention, but because she was forcing me to drive on the highway knowing full and well that it terrified me. It was my mom’s fault—her complete lack of faith in me meant she rarely let me borrow her car, and on the rare occasions she did, I was forbidden from driving anywhere interesting. As a result I was a terrible, under-practiced driver.

“I’m sorry I ruined your big night.” She slid back into the passenger seat and let out an alcohol-fueled burp. I ignored her and rolled down my window to dispel the scent of vomit and cigarettes that clung to her hair. “Please don’t hate me. You can’t hate me. You’re my only real friend.”

“Please, you have plenty of friends. Don’t be so dramatic.” I concentrated on the black and white lines of the highway, attempting to keep the car steady while my hands clung desperately to the steering wheel. The horrific smell of puke filling the interior of the car made it nearly impossible to think.

“He won’t even look at me,” she whispered, turning her head toward the window so she could stare up at the half-circle of the moon like it held the answers. “He says I look just like her. But he hates her. Do you think that means he hates me too?”

She was talking about her father, and I sucked in a breath. Sunny rarely talked about her father.

“No, he doesn’t hate you, Sunny. He’s just still sad about your mom leaving.”

“Do you think I look like her?” She angled her face toward mine so I could get a better look.

“Yes,” I answered honestly. It was a long time ago, but my memory of Sunny’s mother was as crisp as a photograph: long coppery hair, wide smiling mouth, skin that glowed from the inside out. She was a sun and everyone else was meant to orbit around her. Sunny was her mother in every way.

“I haven’t heard from her in three years,” Sunny said quietly. “Not even on my birthday. It’s like she disappeared.” She made a choked sound, as though the next word got stuck on its way out of her mouth. When she turned back to look at me her face was somber. “Promise me you won’t leave me, too.” She grabbed my hand and gave it a squeeze. “I know I can be a real bitch sometimes, but I don’t mean it. I don’t want to lose you, too.”

I swallowed thickly, trying to push back my anger from the evening’s events.

“I promise.” It was so like Sunny to find a way to eclipse my anger.

“Can we swing by my house so I can walk Miss Violet Beauregard? She gets lonely, and I’m the only one who looks after her. She needs me.”

“She’ll be fine. It’s only one night.” My voice was tight and filled with warning. As it was, my mother would be pissed because I didn’t call to let her know we were heading home, and I wasn’t about to release a hand from the steering wheel for fear of veering off the road. Besides, that dog was a cockroach. Between the doggy door and automated food and water dispensers littering the house, she could survive Armageddon without ever needing another human. In fact, she looked like she already had—she was easily the ugliest, meanest creature I had ever met. I never understood what it was Sunny loved so much about that dog.

“You can walk her in the morning,” I added so Sunny wouldn’t protest further.

My mom was ready to launch into a lecture when I walked through the front door. Her hands were perched on her hips and a familiar scowl deepened the line between her eyebrows.

She opened her mouth to say something, but closed it once she caught sight of Sunny’s unsteady eyes and barf-covered shirt.

“Oh, you poor dear. I’ll get you some water,” she said to Sunny, watching as I struggled to get her into the house. Then she leaned in and whispered to me, “Why don’t you soak her shirt in the sink so we can wash it in the morning?” Like she didn’t want to hurt Sunny’s feelings by telling her how disgusting she looked.

I tried not to let my mom see my irritation, focusing instead on getting Sunny up the stairs without breaking something. If I came home drunk and puke-covered, I’d never get a sympathetic oh, you poor dear from my mom, let alone a glass of water. But when it came to perfect Sunny, all was forgiven. Sometimes I wondered if my mom ended up with the wrong daughter.

“I’m really sorry about tonight,” Sunny muttered after I’d finally gotten her cleaned up and under the covers of my trundle bed. “I’ll make it up to you, I swear. Will you forgive me?”

She shifted her weight, letting the creak of bedsprings cut through the darkness. I had already forgiven her, the way that I always did, but I kept my lips pressed together and turned toward the wall.

I didn’t remember what I dreamed about that night, but for the first time in months I didn’t wake up thinking about Justin Cobb.

Instead, I woke up thinking about Logan.





CHAPTER SIX