Wanted You More, page 5
People see us differently now.
When Dad’s self-isolation and depression got worse, people treated all of us like we were weirdos. He doesn’t get as many job opportunities at the university that he and Mom worked at for the better part of the last two decades because of how much his behavior changed. His tenure is the only thing that saved him from being fired, but he barely works the minimum number of classes to stay employed full time. If it hadn’t been for my grandparents on my mother’s side, who passed away before their daughter’s unfortunate death, buying the house here in Cherry Cove for my family, we probably would have had to move.
There are times I hate the people here for their silent judgments of us. How can we be the outcasts when we were the victims first? It’s like they expect bad luck to follow us all because of that one night. It just proves that anybody has the ability to be bad, whether they act weird or not around you.
I’m only halfway up Main Street when I hear, “You need a lift?”
It’s a girl with a southern accent who asks the question. Probably a few years older than me, based on the NYU T-shirt she’s wearing. A college girl, most likely here with family or friends on vacation. Which means she doesn’t know why everybody else is looking the other way rather than asking if I need help.
“Maybe,” I reply, stopping and studying the polished Escalade. “That’s a pretty big vehicle for one person.”
The girl grins. “It’s Daddy’s,” she tells me. That’s definitely a southern drawl. “I’ve got four brothers who are all mammoths, so we’ve always needed bigger vehicles to fit them and their sports gear into.”
My head cocks. “Football?”
“Hockey.” She all but groans. “We’re from Georgia, but we’ve always been huge on the NHL. My brother Hunter plays for a minor league team in North Carolina now, but he’s hoping to get signed with one of the national teams soon.”
“Are all southerners this talkative to strangers? My parents always warned me about stranger danger and all that. They made us watch a video and everything. I’m not allowed to take candy from people I don’t know.”
It’s nice to talk about my parents as if they’re as normal as hers. As if they’re both still alive. It lets me be someone I’m not for a little while before I have to let reality back in.
“I’m Lynly Marie, but you can just call me Lyn. As in Loretta.” When I stare absently at the reference, she snickers. “Not a country music fan, huh? Well, I’m Lyn. Just Lyn. If you tell me your name, we won’t be strangers and you can put your bike in the back so I can drive you to wherever you need to go. No candy offering necessary.”
It takes me a second or two before lifting my shoulders and saying, “I’m Austen. As in Jane.” This time, she looks lost. “Not a literature fan, huh?”
Her laugh is light as she hits a button that lifts the back hatch of the Escalade. “I like you Austen. There should be plenty of room back there for your bike.”
Once it’s inside, I make my way to the passenger side and climb in. “I live a few minutes up the road. Just go straight until you see Olympia and turn onto it. I’ll tell you when to stop. I’m just a few houses up.”
She starts driving, country music crooning on low over the speakers, and glances over in my direction. “So, are you a local, or do you live here seasonally? Daddy said he’d never be able to live in Cherry Cove year-round because he’s heard the winters are brutal.”
We’ve had our fair share of crappy winters being so close to the Canadian border, but it’s my favorite time of year because of how quiet it is. “Yeah, I’m a local. The winters aren’t always awful, but they can be rough. You have to find stuff to do, or you’ll be miserable.”
“What? Like ice fishing or something?”
Snorting, I look out the window. “I guess some people do that, but I was talking more about skiing or snowboarding. Ever been?”
Her scrunched face tells me the answer before she confirms it. “No. One of my classmates back in high school broke his leg snowboarding. He crashed into a tree.”
“Yeah, that happens sometimes.”
She gapes at me, making me laugh.
I turn down the music because I don’t feel like listening to some depressed alcoholic singing about his girlfriend leaving him for his best friend and taking the dog. “Are you here for the summer or on vacation?”
The vehicle slows down when we approach my street. “We’re here for another couple of weeks. Daddy rented one of the houses near the water because Mama wanted to get away.”
They must come from money because those houses aren’t cheap. I point toward my own personal jail, painted in a pretty pale yellow and looking as welcoming as the other houses surrounding it. “This is me.”
She turns into the driveway and puts the car in park. “Hey, this may be weird since we just met and all, but there’s this thing next week that I was invited to. You should come.”
My hand pauses on the door handle. “Like a party?” I ask, surprised the bubbly blonde is inviting me anywhere. She either makes friends easily or likes to crash things.
Her smile never disappears. “It’s more of a get together from what I hear. But I can pick you up if you’re interested.”
I should probably get Dad’s permission, but I decide he’d be happy I’m making friends with someone other than Marybelle. “I’ll go with you.”
Her face brightens up. “Awesome! I’ll come get you at three.”
It seems like a weird time, but I shrug it off because it beats sitting around the house trying to get convinced to family bond. “Thanks for the ride.”
After grabbing my bike and waving her off, I head inside to see Wolfe in the living room, watching TV by himself. I beeline for him, messing up his hair from behind until he smacks my hand away. “I see you were far too busy to ask Dad to come get me and my bike,” I tell him, half teasingly. “You would have felt bad if I was kidnapped and sold into sex slavery, you know.”
He doesn’t say anything, but his lips twitch downward at the corners, which tells me he’d care a lot if something happened to me despite the silent treatment.
“I’m going upstairs and taking a nap,” I inform him. “Wake me up when it’s dinnertime?”
He will, but only because Dad will ask him to. Then he’ll go back to the same cold shoulder he’s been giving me since he stormed out of my bedroom.
Ignoring his protests, I peck his cheek and back up toward the stairs, saying, “Love you, nerd. Even when you’re being mean to me.”
He tries hiding the smile.
But not before I see it.
* * *
Saturday morning, I’m doing my hair when I see Dad in the corner of my eye. Turning, I smile at him, where he stands in the doorway of my bathroom. “Morning,” I greet, setting down my curling iron on the counter and running my fingers through the styled strands.
He studies my hair. “Your mother always liked doing her hair that way too. She’d spend at least an hour making it perfect.”
I know, I want to tell him. I remember all the times I’d sit on the closed toilet seat watching her do it. “What’s up?” I ask him, knowing he’s not here to talk about Mom’s hair habits.
His hands go to the pockets of his worn jeans as he stares at the tiled floor. He looks uncomfortable, which isn’t necessarily unusual for Dad. Any type of conversation leads to him toying with the hem of his button-down shirts or rocking on his feet as if he’d rather be anywhere else than talking to me.
“This friend of yours…” Clearing his throat, he leans his arm against the doorjamb. “I would be more comfortable if I knew where you were going with her.”
When I told him I had plans, he’d been skeptical until he found out it was with Lyn, not Marybelle. “I’m not totally sure. She just said it’s a get together. But she’s nice and I doubt we could get into any trouble. We’re hanging out in the middle of the day. Plus, she’s southern. They’re all about hospitality and all that.”
That point seems to land right where I need it to, getting him to nod in agreement. “All right, well…” Again, he grows quiet for a second or two. “I think it’s good that you’re making new friends. Even if she’ll only be around for a little while.”
Now, if only Wolfe could make some friends instead of blaming me for not having any. “When I get back later, maybe we can do a game night like we used to when Wolfe and I were younger. I saw the board games stacked in the closet the other day when I was cleaning.”
His eyes widen at the suggestion. Or maybe he’s surprised I cleaned like he’d asked me to. Truthfully, I mostly did it so he’d let me go out today. “I’d like that, pumpkin.”
My heart squeezes at the nickname I haven’t heard in a long time. That’s what he leaves me with before going back to whatever he was doing before. So, I finish getting ready, go downstairs, and wait for Lyn to pick me up.
It isn’t until we’re five minutes into the drive, with some popular pop hit blasting on the radio, when I turn to the driver singing along. Her sleek blond hair is down today, and she’s wearing minimal makeup. People will probably think we intentionally matched because of our similar denim cutoffs and tank top.
“Where are we going anyway?” I ask, knowing I should have pressed her on this long before we were on the road. “I’m assuming you’re not a serial killer because you seem way too bubbly for that.”
She wiggles her eyebrows. “Maybe that’s how I get my victims. I lure them in with my southern charm and then BOOM. Axe murdered.”
I give her a once-over. “No offense, but I don’t think you have the strength for that.” Her arms are scrawnier than mine. “Did you play any sports growing up?”
Her nose twitches. “Nah. Mama wanted me to join cheerleading like her, but I was never the rah-rah type. Plus, my brother Tommy told me I have the talent of tripping over painted lines, so I don’t think they’d want me out there doing flips or trying to hold people up. What about you? You don’t seem like the sporty type.”
With the exception of the few times I’d been snowboarding, I was never in the right headspace to play any sports. I played soccer when I was seven, but only for one season before deciding I hated it. One of the coaches at the high school wanted me to try out for softball once because they needed more players, but I wasn’t going to waste my time because my arm wouldn’t survive the tryout practice.
“I wouldn’t consider myself a team player,” is my reply. “None of my family invested much time in sports. I think my dad watched the Superbowl once, but it was mostly for the commercials.”
“And your mom?” she asks, merging onto the busy main drag.
I’m grateful her eyes are on the road so she doesn’t see my shoulders tightening. “She’s always been more of a bookworm type. You know, reading about sports rather than playing them.”
Lyn hums before perking up and turning the radio dial. “Oh! I love this song!”
I keep my eyes focused on the window and passing scenery as she sings along with her southern drawl, giving the song a little bit of a country edge. It reminds me of Sunday drives with the family when Mom and Dad would sing along to the ’80s rock ballads that would come on no matter how much Wolfe and I begged them to stop.
The longer I think about then, the more my bad arm starts to hurt.
Twenty minutes later, we’re pulling into some plaza that has a ton of people gathered in the parking lot. Across the street is a big building that looks like it has a sign saying City Hall, and my heart jumps a little.
My brows pinch when I try to see the stuff the people are holding, but their backs are to us. All I can see are a lot of big, bold red letters on the posters and angry expressions on their faces.
“Hey,” I say hesitantly, turning toward the southern belle. “Are we in the right place? This looks like a protest.”
I’ve only seen a few in real life. Mostly a small group of people holding up pro-life signs at the local Planned Parenthood. I felt bad for the women walking in and out of the building getting yelled at by the crowd.
Lyn finds a parking spot at the end of the lot and puts the Escalade in park. “We’re in the right place,” she tells me. Turning to me, she offers a sheepish smile. “Look, don’t hate me. You seem cool, but we had to get you here somehow. Daddy said it would help the cause.”
What cause? “What are you talking about, Lyn?”
Lyn turns the car off. “I know that your mother isn’t alive, so you can stop pretending with me. I’m really sorry, Austen. I am. What happened to you and your family, to all those families at the park, was horrible. My cousin died from gun violence, and a friend of a friend was part of a college shooting that happened years ago. There needs to be more legislation passed. You can make sure other mothers aren’t taken from their families like yours was taken away from you and your little brother.”
I pale, realizing what’s happening. “You knew who I was this whole time.” And here I thought I’d made a friend. Typical. “This is a new low from people like you. I’m not participating in whatever this is.”
“This,” she cuts in, grabbing my arm and squeezing once, “is a rally for gun control put together by CSGV—The Coalition to Stop Gun Violence. I know the organization has been reaching out trying to get you to come to one of our events, but your dad would never let us speak to you. You’re just as much a victim with an opinion as he is. So, we came to you when we heard our upstate chapter was coming to city hall.”
Whipping my arm out of her grip, I shoot her a glare and unbuckle. “I can’t believe you did this. I don’t want to be part of this! The past is meant to stay there. Haven’t we been put through enough without you blasting my story everywhere?”
“You’re in denial,” she calls out when I bolt from her car. She follows me, speed walking until she catches up to me. “Nothing is going to change unless we make it change. Having someone like you as a spokesperson—”
“No.”
“Austen—”
“You think you’re helping,” I spit, stopping to face her. “You’re not doing anything but hurting. The people who survived that day are constantly reminded of what they lost. It wasn’t just actual lives lost, Lynly. It was peace of mind. None of us want to keep reliving that day, and organizations like this one are a constant reminder of it. So, stop acting like you’re doing God’s work when you’re playing Lucifer’s hand.”
She starts to shake her head, but I hold up my hand to stop her. “I’m walking away now, and you’re not going to follow me. I swear to God if you do…”
Well, I won’t do anything.
If I threaten her, I’ll be part of the problem. So, I do what Dad always told me in situations like this. I pull my phone out, hit the first name I can think of without hesitating, and wait for him to pick up. “Noah? I need you to pick me up.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
Noah’s shiny maroon pickup pulls up beside me, where I’m sitting on the curb in front of the frozen yogurt shop. I’ve got a small cup of plain vanilla froyo and an array of toppings that I wasn’t paying much attention to as I dumped them inside.
After climbing in, I hand him the sweet treat. The boy in the black Henley stares at it for a second before setting it down on the console and asking, “Are you okay?”
I focus solely on buckling in. “Yeah.” It doesn’t sound convincing, even to my ears. Blowing out a troubled breath, I lean back in the seat and watch him pick out a red gummy worm from the cup. “I thought I’d made a friend.”
He pulls onto the road after passing me the yogurt again. “You have friends,” he notes.
I’m picking at one of the sour gummies when I give him a once-over. He looks different. Cleaner. His shirt fits snugly against his upper arms and narrows around his lean torso. Usually, his shirts are baggier from all the wear and tear they see over the years. I’m pretty sure some of his plaid button-downs are his father’s that he took when Elizabeth made Ben buy new ones. And is he wearing cologne?
“Is that a new shirt?”
Noah repositions in the seat, tugging at the neckline. “Yeah, it is. Why?”
My eyes narrow. “You hate shopping. That’s why. You look different today.”
For a second, he’s quiet. “I was supposed to go on a date today. Then you called, so I canceled and came here instead.”
There’s a tiny pang of guilt in my stomach over the news. He takes on a lot of shifts at the station when he isn’t in class, so I know his free time is limited. “I didn’t mean to mess up your plans today.”
I hear the steep inhale from him before he lifts a shoulder nonchalantly. “Don’t worry about it. It’s not a big deal.”
His voice sounds off, so I don’t know if I believe him. “Have you been seeing her for a while? What’s her name?”
The truck slows at a red light. “What’s with all the questions?” When I don’t answer, he drapes his wrist over the top of the steering wheel and shakes his head. “Her name is Bailey, and we’ve been on a couple dates.”
A couple. Despite him not wanting to talk about it, I still pry because I had no idea there was any other girl besides me in his life. “What were your plans today?”
He scrubs a hand down his jaw before turning when the light turns. “Austen…”
“What? I’m making conversation.” I notice a tiny tic to his jaw that has my brows pinching with confusion. “Sorry. I guess I’m not allowed to know anything about you since we’re not friends or anything.”
The noise that comes from him almost has me bringing my attention up from my yogurt. I hold strong, spooning some of my food out and ignoring the little sprinkles that fall onto my lap and his seat.
“You’re upset about that still?” he asks, humor thick in his tone. “I figured that’s why you ignored the call from Dad and my texts, but I thought you’d be over it by now.”
His dad had called me the day after his retirement party. I didn’t listen to his voicemail because I felt bad for ignoring him. When he didn’t hear back, Noah texted me to see if I was okay. Then he texted me again when I hadn’t replied, asking to call his dad back.
