Me: See you.
Isaiah: Skip with me.
Skip. Besides that day with Eric, I’ve never ditched before. But that day was covered with a sick note from Mom. Leaving today would be different. It would be scandalous. It would be...everything I need.
Chapter 45
Isaiah
I EASE MY CAR TO the curb, and Rachel dashes out of school like a robber running out of a convenience store, her blond hair trailing behind her in the wind. I chuckle and reach over to open the passenger side. She falls into the car with her cheeks red from the cold. “Let’s go!”
Weaving her hand in mine, I kiss her knuckles and place her palm over the stick shift with my hand securely covering hers. I step on the clutch and apply pressure to her hand so that she’ll shift into First. “You’re letting me drive your car?” she asks.
“Shift,” I correct. “But I’ve never let a girl shift my car before. Feel honored.”
“I do.” Rachel leans over and kisses my cheek. The sweet scent of jasmine and the ocean washes over me. On the open road, the rpms build, and like a perfectly synced machine, I step on the clutch right as Rachel shifts to Second.
The excitement is hard to contain, but it’s weird. I’ve never been eager to share news with anyone, and I want her to be excited along with me. The engine begins to strain, and in effortless coordination, she shifts to Third while I press the clutch.
A stirring in my heart overcomes the excitement for a second. Rachel is perfect for me. She never needs words because she understands my rhythm.
“I passed the ASE certification test,” I say, as if I’m telling her it’s Thursday.
Rachel doesn’t disappoint as she gasps. “Oh, Isaiah! That is amazing. No, fantastic. No...the best news ever. I knew you’d pass. We have to do something to celebrate! What, though? I don’t know. What do you want to do? Whatever it is, it has to be special.”
Out of the corner of my eye, I glance at her. “I’m doing it.”
A grimace stains her face. “What? Driving? You always drive.”
How can she not see it? “I’m spending time with you.”
Silence. Except for the purring of my engine. The floorboard barely vibrates beneath me, and I wonder if she also notices the sensation. I scratch the thought. I don’t have to wonder. Someone like her relishes the feel of a car’s every movement—just like me.
“I’m proud of you,” she says as simply as when I announced that I passed. My chest hurts as if she punched through a wall. Taking her hand off the stick shift, I kiss her knuckles again and keep her fingers pressed against my face until I have to place her hand back so she can shift down.
These feelings inside of me, I don’t understand them, but I do understand Rachel and I know she understands me. I want her in my life in a way no one else has ever been. When I can talk without my voice breaking, I say to her, “I’d like you to come somewhere with me. It’s not special, but I’d like you there.”
Chapter 46
Rachel
AFTER SCHOOL ENDED, ISAIAH DROVE me back to the lot to get my car and then I followed him to the garage to leave it there. Once again in his car he circles a small park east of Tom’s garage. It’s not quite far east enough to hit my area of town, but far enough away from his area that I’m not terrified. Because of the cold, gray day, the park is relatively empty.
Empty except for the woman with blond hair standing next to a car several spots down from ours. From the moment we pulled in, she’s stared at Isaiah and me. Also in the park is a middle-aged woman with short, dark brown hair. From the bench nearest the swings, she subtly watches us. Isaiah fell into a heavy silence the moment he placed the car into Park.
“I don’t like being stared at,” I say quietly. Isaiah glances at me then to the two women.
“She’s my mom,” he says with a short gruffness. “The one next to the car is my social worker.” His fingers tighten into fists as he rests the back of his head against his seat. “I asked to meet with my mom, but now I’m not sure I can.”
“You’ll see her when you’re ready.” Wrapping my fingers over his, he grasps my hand like I’m a life raft. I shouldn’t revel in this moment, but I do. He’s searching for strength, and I’m more than happy to provide it. In fact, doing so makes me feel stronger. “Do you want me to go with you?”
Isaiah shakes his head. “No. But thanks...for being here.” In a swift movement, Isaiah leans over and kisses me. His mouth barely opens so he can tease my bottom lip. A move that causes my heart to stumble.
Before I can kiss him back, Isaiah breaks away. “Stay here.”
Chapter 47
Isaiah
WITH HER LONG TAN COAT slapping against her knees, Courtney intercepts me before I step onto the grass. “I have a million questions, Isaiah.”
I shove my hands into my jeans pockets. “I don’t know, I don’t care or none of your business.”
“What?”
“Every possible answer to your millions of questions.”
She smirks. “Very funny.”
I wasn’t joking.
Courtney glances at my car with a smug expression. “Who’s that?”
“Answer number three.”
My social worker ignores me and continues to evaluate Rachel like she’s a lab rat. “She’s pretty. Does she go to your school?”
“She is and no.” If I don’t give her something she’ll keep digging. “She goes to Worthington Private.”
Courtney blinks rapidly. “Wow. No kidding. That’s...impressive.”
I jerk my chin in Melanie’s direction. “I got things to do.”
She sighs. “Are you sure about this?”
No. “I’m here and she’s there.”
Courtney waves me on, and I can feel the heat of her stare burning into my back. Not believing I had a change of heart, she questioned my motivations when I asked her to schedule this meeting. Gotta give Courtney credit...the girl knows her shit.
Huddled in a jean jacket, Melanie slides from the middle of the bench to create room for me. I perch on the edge farthest from her. Once again, she wears cowboy boots and big hoop earrings. “You listen to country music, don’t you?” I say.
“Yes,” she answers. “Garth Brooks used to be your favorite.”
I rub my forehead, not wanting to hear anything she has to say in regards to me.
“Do you remember?” she asks.
“No.” Yes. “Did you bring the money?”
“Yes. I’ll give it to you when we’re done.”
In the distance, a crow caws. How long do the two of us have to sit here to satisfy Courtney’s curiosity over my visitation request? Five minutes? Fifteen? In my head, thirty seconds has been long enough.
“Is she your girlfriend?” Melanie asks.
I narrow my eyes at the ground, confused as to why I answer, “Yes.”
I hate myself for wanting to tell her, but what I hate more is the realization that I brought Rachel to show her off to Mom, even at a distance. To prove to her that I didn’t need her for the past eleven years and that I don’t need her now.
“She’s pretty.”
“There’s more to Rachel than that.”
“I’m sure there is.”
Occasional tufts of green sprout from the dried-up yellow-and-white grass. A large box of brown dirt lines the swing sets. It’s early spring and all I smell is cold and earth.
“Why I went to prison...I did it for you,” she says. “To protect you.”
A dangerous pulse beats through my veins. “You don’t get to talk about this.”
Melanie angles her body toward me and lowers her voice. “You want your money, then listen. This has to be said.”
“No.” The imaginary collar around my neck tightens, and I tug at my shirt. “It doesn’t and the deal was that I show. Not listen.”
She continues as if I never spoke. “Life isn’t made-for-television movies or books with happy-ever-afters. Sometimes the choices we’re presented with are bad or worse.”
“You don’t think I know that? For one year of my life, I had the shit beat out of me by other kids because I was the smallest. Don’t you dare talk to me about choices. You had one and you blew it.”
Melanie holds her hands out, pleading. I begged those boys to stop. They never did.
“I had nowhere to go,” she says. “I had no help. It was me and you, Isaiah. We were out of money, and I thought it was the safest way. You were hungry and I lost my job and we were late on rent and they were going to throw us out. The shelter scared you. You were so small for so long. I was the only one around to defend you, so I made the decision....”
Her words begin to weave past my skin, and I refuse to let her twist and demean me. I stand. “You don’t get to make yourself feel better. Give me the money.”
Melanie places her hands over her lips to hide their trembling. I resist the deep-rooted urge to feel sorry for her. “The fucking money, Melanie.”
She stands and unexpectedly hugs me. I stiffen, holding my arms at my sides. Pressure at my back pocket tells me she’s giving me the cash. “Twenty-three forty-five Elmont Way. 2345, Isaiah. That’s where I live. You want the money, I’ll keep paying. Courtney can schedule the visitation. But if you need someone, find me. 2345 Elmont.”
I step away from her and head back to Rachel, knowing I will never need Melanie.
I pull into the parking lot of Tom’s garage, ease my car next to Rachel’s and cut the engine. Rachel granted me silence and for that I’m grateful. I would have thought spending eleven years without my mother would make me immune to her, but it doesn’t. It just makes old hurts ache more.
As if sensing the blood oozing from my internal wounds, Rachel places her hand over mine. “Are you okay?”
No. “My mother went to prison when I was six. She was released two years ago and for some reason, she wants back in my life.”
I can’t look at Rachel, so I stare out the driver’s-side window. New gang graffiti painted in red marks the warehouse across the street. An old man wearing a knitted cap, Tom’s old overalls and pink mittens pushes a shopping cart loaded down with blankets and clothes. Rachel doesn’t belong here, and she shouldn’t be with me.
Her hand squeezes mine. “I’m sorry.”
“I loved her.” And everything inside of me burns in pain. Terrified I’ll hurt Rachel, I remove my hand from hers and grip the steering wheel. My hold so tight I’m convinced the leather will buckle. “I defended her for years because I always thought she’d come back for me.”
I close my eyes and try to erase the unwanted memories of the group home: how the boys would taunt me over my size and my faith in my mother; the crushing blow to my face and soul when the oldest broke my nose while yelling at me that I was no different from any of them, that I was there because she was never coming back. By the time I left the home, I no longer believed in my mother or love.
