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“It’s not like she’ll ever come out of her room.” I noticed a beer bottle cap sticking out from under the edge of my dresser. I walked over, kicked the cap underneath it, and leaned against the edge.
“Maybe not, but we’ll know she’s safe,” Dad said, frowning in the direction of the bottle cap.
“As safe as anyone can be from Jack.” I twisted the drawstrings hanging from the hood of my sweatshirt. “Did you and Em and Mike come to any conclusions about the way the rips are changing?”
“Just combined our observations.”
That was all I was going to get. Something else I couldn’t be trusted with.
“Switching topics.” He sat down on the end of my bed, smoothing out the wedding ring quilt. It had been passed down through my mother’s family and was mine since I was little. I loved the comfort and the weight, knowing generations of Walkers had slept under it. “Have you been taking your emotion control meds regularly?”
“Depends on what you mean by regularly.” I was. But alcohol definitely dulled the effects.
“Daily is preferable. I wondered if something was going on. I’ve noticed a … change between us.” It hurt him to say it. I wasn’t interested in making it easier for him.
“You were dead for six months. A lot of things changed.”
He flinched, as if I’d swung at him and barely missed. “Fair enough.”
“What are you getting at?” People not saying what they meant made me weary. Especially people I cared about. I could do with some complete honesty, but I’d never find it here. Not from Dad.
“You seem more emotional than you used to be. We don’t talk about your mom, you don’t visit her—”
“I don’t want to visit her.” I never went near her room. I was too afraid that if I did, I’d curl up beside her and never leave. I reached for one of the Atomic Fireballs on my bed and popped it in, welcoming the rush of heat.
“Your prerogative.” He didn’t try to hide his disappointment.
“You’ve changed, too.” I shoved my hands into the kangaroo pocket on the front of my shirt, stretching it toward my knees. “You and Michael have secrets. You didn’t … before.”
“I had other adults to depend on before.”
But I’m your son.
I wanted to say that out loud. Instead, I pushed the candy into my cheek, feeling the roundness of it stretching my skin. “You aren’t going to change your mind about the rest of us helping?”
“Not right now. It hasn’t even been twenty-four hours. Why don’t you have some faith in your dear old dad?”
“Maybe you should have some in us.” I said around the candy, exhaling to cool off my mouth and to distract myself from my own emotions. It didn’t work. Biting down hard, I broke the Fireball in half and traced the circles inside it with my tongue.
“It’s not a matter of faith in you. My interests lie strictly in keeping you safe.” He stood. “Consider this the end of the discussion. Understand?”
I didn’t answer him.
“I promised Thomas and Dru we’d help them finish up the move. We’ll leave for the Coles’ at five. I’ll meet you at the car.”
Em was moving in next door. A mile down the road to be exact, but she and her family would still be our closest neighbors.
Since Thomas was so slammed during Pumpkin Daze, Dad had offered the use of our combined muscle mass to help situate the furniture. Michael’s convertible already occupied one side of the driveway by the time we arrived. I hung back once Dad got out.
“All right,” I lectured my reflection in the rearview. “You will behave. You will not argue with anyone. Dru is pregnant, so you’ll think of helping her and not yourself, put her needs ahead of your own. You are sweetness and light. Human cotton candy.”
My laugh started as a snicker but ended up a snort.
I opened the Jeep door and stepped out onto the driveway. Into Lily Garcia.
“You really take vanity to a new level.” Her hands were on her hips. “Talking to yourself in the mirror, laughing at your own jokes …”
What had she heard? “Were you spying on me?”
