‘During the week? I’d have to skip at least a day of classes, Reid – I don’t think that’s a good idea, so early in the semester.’
He groans. ‘How did I know you would be that academically conscientious type of student? Bet you got straight A’s in high school too.’
‘No, I didn’t.’ When he crooks an eyebrow, I admit, ‘I have to study incessantly to do well. Learning new things doesn’t come easy for me like it does for some people, and cramming doesn’t work, either. I did earn mostly A’s, but I got several B’s and two C’s.’
‘Oh, no!’ he mocks. ‘Two? We might have to break up. In what subjects did you make these abysmal grades?’
‘Pre-AP geometry and biology. Freshman year.’ After Colin dumped me and I had an abortion. When I could hardly stomach going to school and seeing him every day. When I sank into a depression so deep that only Deb was able to reach me.
His expression darkens. ‘Freshman year – spring semester.’
I nod, and he pulls me tighter.
It’s pre-dawn dark when Dad comes into my room bearing coffee. ‘Wake up, sleepyhead,’ he says, setting a mug on my night table and gently jostling my shoulder.
I grumble incoherently, having only had four hours of sleep after Reid dropped me off. He wanted to walk me to the door, but I asked him not to because it too closely recalled our final farewell – or so we thought – before my volunteer mission to Ecuador. Before Deb’s accident. Before I lost myself, dragged under by the implicit loss of my sister and my faith. I didn’t even begin to resurface until Reid found me.
We kissed goodbye in his car for half an hour before I could make myself go inside. I waved once before slipping inside the darkened house, and as soon as I shut the door, silent tears began skating down my face. Treading carefully up the staircase – the last thing I needed was for Mom to get a look at my dejected expression – I chided myself for being ridiculous. I would see him again in a week or two. Three at most.
Dad settles on the edge of my bed now and sips his coffee while I sit up and reach for mine.
‘Ready for a long, boring day on the road, followed by a million trips from a pint-sized rental truck to your new dorm room?’
‘Ugh. Dad, sometimes your propensity to tell the absolute truth is less welcome than other times.’
He chuckles. ‘You’ll find out soon enough, once we get on the 5. Hours and hours of the opposite of a scenic thoroughfare. Although you’re in luck – you’ll be treated to my witty company the whole way! If you’re truly fortunate, I’ll bounce my Sunday sermon ideas off you. I’m dithering between either the trials of Job or Hannah’s unceasing plea to God for a son.’
I crack an eye open. ‘Gosh, Dad. Gloomy much?’
He shrugs and says, ‘They both came to good in the end.’
‘Sure, after lifetimes of suffering and praying for favours that were unobtainable without a miracle.’ Without waiting for his response, I shift the subject to the one we’re avoiding. ‘So … Mom is driving the car, and I’m riding in the truck with you? She’s still that angry at me about Reid?’
He stares into his mug. ‘She’s not angry, Dori. She’s concerned.’
‘When I’m concerned about someone, I don’t stop talking to them,’ I counter.
He nods without replying, and I see that he agrees with me in this, at least. Giving up on me, even if he believes I’m making rotten choices, isn’t an option. I won’t push him further, though, because my parents seldom disagree, and I don’t want to be the cause of an argument between them. I just want to live my own life. Mom will either change her mind or she won’t. If anyone can change it, it’s my father.
REID
Me: Call me when you’re ready to tell me your news. Headed to an appointment with George.
Brooke: Give me 10 minutes.
Brooke wastes no time on pleasantries when I answer – not that we’ve actually been pleasant with each other even once in the past five years. ‘I saw the attorney yesterday.’
Ridiculously, I thought I’d braced myself well enough for this conversation. Wrong.
‘You’ve retained an attorney already? Jesus, Brooke, what are you doing?’
‘I’m applying to adopt him.’
I nearly rear-end the tiny classic convertible in front of me, the Ferrari’s brakes squealing and catching at the last possible second and whipping me forward in my seat. The driver turns and shoots me the finger. I grip the wheel with both hands to keep from shooting it back.
Whatever cracked idea I expected Brooke to disclose this morning, whatever I imagined her finding in Austin, whatever absurd course of action I dreaded she might try to take – this is miles beyond it.
‘Oh, my God, Brooke – why? You can’t be a mother to this kid –’
‘Why the hell not?’ she retorts. ‘I’m financially sound. I can provide whatever he needs. And by the way I am his mother.’
She’s lost her mind, though implying that probably won’t do any good.
Logic? Worth a shot. ‘Kids need more than a biological connection and money – they need attention. Two parents, preferably. A family. They need someone to be there full time.’
‘Oh, please – attention? A family – like you or I got? I have more parents than I can shake a stick at, and most of them sucked. And your parents were so clueless they let you nearly kill yourself on multiple occasions.’