Christina (Daughters #1) (19 page)

But then… I feel the pain in my face. I glance around the cold, wet shower we’re kneeling in and see my pink blood on the puddle around us. I am this. I am none of those things. I don’t even know how to be anything else. I brought Christina to this place. A place that terrifies her and put her in a situation that could have harmed her. If Will ever found out she came here like this, he’d put me in an unmarked grave. As he should. I am not her friend. I don’t do what is best for her. I don’t take care of her. Not like I should.

Instead, I let the silence stand; it can do my talking for me, as always. Maybe forever. I survived the pain of my childhood by retreating inside my silence. I’m just not sure my future won’t be another version of the same thing.

“You’re a complete coward.”

She slowly rises to her feet and stares down at me. Her eyes are wide and fresh tears are filling them, making their color waver. She sniffs and rubs the back of her hand to her nose. “I believe you. I believe you’re sorry. I think you had sex with me because it felt good to you. I think you only do what feels good to you. I guess you really don’t know how to be any different. You’re exactly who everyone predicted thirteen-year-old Max would become. I thought maybe, me, my family, or Noah and Lindsey could have made a difference for you. But look at you,” she waves at me in disgust. “We obviously haven’t. I can’t help you, Max. I see that now. If this…” She waves her hand toward my deplorable state “if this is who you want to be and the path you’re headed down, then you’re going on it without me. But if you want help, or you want to stop, or be better, or just avoid really bad stuff, you need to get help. You need to ask for it. Not from me. I can’t beg you to do it anymore. I get that now. I can’t do this for you. Call Noah. You need to call for your own help, if you want it.”

She takes a step away from me, then another. “Goodbye, Max.” Her voice is thick with regret and sadness as she turns and leaves me there.

I think my mouth pops open. I am shocked she’d leave me there, on the floor, untreated, the blood engorging my face. She just leaves me there. I never, not even for a second, considered her doing that. It’s so unlike her. I let my head fall back onto the tiled wall with a thud. I deserve it. But it hurts. The squeezing around my heart feels like someone inserted poison directly into it. I lie there for minutes, but it feels like forever.

I’ve lost Christina. In the end, my silence always speaks loudest for me.

I lie there for another twenty minutes, feeling worse inside than my beaten up outside. Though, this time, it is a little worse than usual. I keep staring at the closed gym door and glancing around the empty gym locker. I really can’t believe she left me here like this. It’s unprecedented. It’s really a cold, damn thing to do to me. I mean, I hurt. I can’t bear to get onto my feet and she leaves me lying here, untreated?

Call for your own help
. Her words resonate. I don’t want to do it. It makes my stomach hurt to picture Noah’s reaction. But… what else can I do? Ask Tanya for help? She’s already gone. She doesn’t do losers, and that includes just checking up on them. I know that. That’s who I’ve tied myself with. I finally crawl towards my locker and hunt for my phone inside it. Clutching my ribs, as I lie on my side, I dial Noah’s cell phone.

~Christina~

SNEAKING INTO THE HOUSE, I go to my bedroom where I fall on my bed, still dressed, still damp. I turn my head into the pillow and cry and cry and cry. The huge sobs hurt my throat and burn my eyes. I am startled from my misery when a hand touches my shoulder. I roll over, expecting to find one of my parents. But it’s not. It’s Melissa. She doesn’t say anything. She simply gets into my bed and cuddles up next to me as I start to cry again. She rubs my shoulders and back and lets me cry freely without any attempt to stop me. She’s like that sometimes. She can sense the pain and hurt of others. I finally stop crying. She doesn’t mention it, or ask why. We start discussing the things that make up our childhood. We talk until almost morning. She soothes all the hurt in me. She calms me. There is something almost mystical about her uncanny ability to sense when others are upset, and how her presence can soothe them.

“I’m going to miss this, Tina.”

“Me too, Missy. How many nights have we huddled in one of our beds, talking over things? Friends, boys, parents, grades…” I forgot in all my Max drama that a real change is happening to me. I’m really leaving. I vividly remember growing up here, and I’m so glad to have Melissa here with me.

The next morning, I don’t come out. I ask Melissa to swear she won’t tell anyone I’ve been crying. I pass it off as being sad to leave home. I hide in my room as if I’m just sleeping in. I keep waiting for the phone to ring, or for someone to rush into my room with news about Max. I wonder what excuse he’ll use for how he got so hurt. I doubt he will tell the truth. I get it now, Max isn’t that brave.

My disillusionment with him is overwhelming. I can’t believe I was so wrong about him. But now, I really think I am.

Still, no one comes to see me.

As the day heats up, I sit with my window open, letting the afternoon’s warm, pleasant breeze waft over me. I sit there on my bed, leaning against the wall, my knees drawn up to my chest, and let the hurt and sadness roll over me. I don’t know what I’m grieving for. Because I had sex? Or because it meant nothing to Max? Because I might have been in love? Or because I am in love? Or because Max can’t love me back? Or because of the plain sad fact that Max isn’t normal? Something vital is missing from him. That thought sits heavily on my chest.

I can’t wait to leave. Perhaps I’m running away from my problems, but nothing sounds better to me now. I can’t continue to see Max like a friend and/or surrogate cousin. I can’t be so nice to him, just for everyone else’s benefit. I need to move on. I have to get out of here. Make new friends, and mostly, start a new life without Max being in it.

That’s perhaps the hardest thing I’ve done yet. I can’t imagine not having Max around. It makes me ache when I think about losing him and fresh tears fill my eyes. It’s just… it’s Max. He’s so much a part of me. But he doesn’t want anything from me. I need to acknowledge that, and get the hell out of here in order to forget him. That is my goal. My destination. My total mantra. I intend to never see him again. We. Are. Done.

Voices coming from outside distract me temporarily from my sad, pathetic thoughts. They belong to my parents. My mom is screaming and laughing. I lean out my window and look towards the sounds. They have Dad’s truck pulled into the drive-through and I think their intent was to wash it, before they got into the middle of an all-out water fight. They are circling the truck and Mom’s trying to outmaneuver Dad with the truck as her only protection. She has the hose, and judging by the wet streaks on Dad’s shirt and dripping hair, she probably snuck up and got him wet. Now, it is only a matter of time before she pays dearly for that.

He fakes a left, and then goes right, almost snagging her shirt as she runs the other way. She holds the hose before her like a gun. “Don’t you come any closer, Will Hendricks!”

Dad straightens to his full height and puffs his chest out as he crosses his arms and raises an eyebrow. “You think you and that itty, bitty, little squirt gun can stop me?”

He’s grinning like crazy. Mom is too. She sprays him good… for about ten seconds before he manages to reach her and wrestles the nozzle away from her. He turns it around and douses Mom right in the face. Sputtering and screeching, she’s also laughing so hard, she nearly falls over. She gasps as she pushes away the endless water stream, now soaking her face and hair and dripping down her torso.

“I give up, I give up,” she pleads.

Dad nods with immense satisfaction and says, “About time, Ms. Bains. You should know better than to take me on!”

Turning, Dad heads over to the truck to start rinsing the almost dry soap while kind of muttering about it. He hates it when the soap dries on the paint. Mom grabs the bucketful of soapy, dirty water and flings it at Dad’s back. “You are sooo wrong, soldier.”

Grinning, she takes off at a dead run as far as she can flee. Dad’s got soap in his eyes, and has to use the hose to rinse it off. Now, he’s frowning and mumbling.

I’ve heard them use those nicknames before.
Ms. Bains
is mom’s maiden name, and Dad’s nickname of
soldier
is pretty obvious because he was one. They use it when they’re kidding around with each other. It’s a private joke between them, and something I’ve never totally understood.

More than once, I considered typing the name,
Jessie Bains,
into my computer just to see what comes up. But something always holds me back, even now. My courage falters after Dad’s words of warning. My curiosity can be irresistible, but my fear is undeniable.

Emily and Melissa arrive and are falling over each other, laughing and pointing at Dad. He aims the hose at them and sprays them with a few squirts. Still, they shriek in horror as if he’s dousing them with hydrochloric acid. At a full gallop, they burst into my room, where I’m watching the entire scene like a voyeur.

They are dripping water everywhere as they laugh in high, girlish squeals. I notice a pack of something and reach over to move Emily’s hand.
Water balloons
. “Come on! We gotta help Mom get Dad. Team Jessie all the way!”

It’s always all of us against Dad, because otherwise, we don’t stand a chance. I grin and jump off my bed. “Okay, come on, let’s sneak out the back and find her. She’s probably hiding in the barn.”

We laugh like little kids as we sneak out the back and run across the yard. I don’t see Dad anywhere. I wonder if he’s thinking the game is over. Mom softly hisses at us, “Over here.”

She’s holding the hose she uses in the barn for the animals, and glancing around as if any minute, the enemy will ambush her. Her wet hair is pushed back and some strands are slicked to her scalp. Her cheeks are full of color and her smile is bright and clear. She looks like one of us. When she notices Emily’s water balloons, she hugs her. “You’re a genius! Come on! Let’s get to work.”

And we do. We spend the next twenty minutes filling balloons and hiding them in one of the horse’s watering barrels. We have an entire arsenal prepared by the time we finish. We’re as wet as the balloons and my stomach hurts from giggling for so long, but still, we fill our weapons.

Mom helps us carry our munitions. She presses a finger to her lips as we start out of the barn and sneak around the side of the house. We can hear nothing. Dad might be inside. We try to muffle our giggles and have to stop a few times since we’re laughing too hard.

Dad’s truck is still parked in the drive-through, noticeably cleaner and gleaming. He even dried it all off. He’s so meticulous about it. But… there’s no Dad. We set our load of weaponry down, now out of breath. We glance at each other, still in stealth mode, without talking. We all kind of shrug. Mom motions for Emily to go into the house. “Be casual, like you’re just looking around. If he’s in there, ask him to come out to fix your bike chain, or something.” Mom instructs her.

Emily nods, biting her lip as if being sent on a mission of national security. She steps forward as the rest of us huddle against the house. Dad might be right inside. I whisper to be ready.

We wait. Emily is halfway to the front door. We are all staring hard, watching her progress, and remaining completely quiet. We’re a little freaked out by how quiet it is. The warm sun and sky that goes on forever in a brilliant blue, feel so good right now. Glancing at my sisters and Mom, I feel a sentimental rush of happiness filling me.

Then, as Emily steps under the carport, water, tons of it, pours down on
all of
us.
Mom, Melissa, and I are thoroughly drenched. Bucket after bucket pours down on us in quick succession. There’s no time to react. We are so shocked. I scream when the cold, icy water falls over my head and torso.

With a collective squeal, we all run and look back… There is Dad, standing on the freaking roof of our house, and grinning his ass off, with a now empty, blue bucket in his hands. He has several other empty ones around him. I stare up at him, my mouth open in shock. My mom starts cursing at him.

“Will Hendricks you
did not
just do that!”

“Oh, yes! I so did, my little girls! Look at you guys! All prepared and ready with your silly balloons. You don’t bring a knife to a gunfight, Ms. Bains.”

Dad doubles over with laughter. He’s laughing so hard, the tears are streaming from his eyes. The sun shines off his blond hair and he stays standing on our freaking roof! I can’t help it. I start cracking up too. I mean, he’s right. No one stands a chance against him.

Mom’s not done. She crosses her arms over her chest. “Did you drag buckets of water onto our house? Specifically to pour on your own children?”

He’s still laughing so hard, he can’t talk. He’s nearly hyperventilating. So are Emily and Melissa. Emily is relatively dry. Mom is scowling and not laughing. “Get your ass down here! You can’t climb all over the freaking roof. That is not fair.”

“All’s fair in war, Jessie-girl,” he retorts before sitting down on his butt and laughing so hard at us, he only makes Mom madder. She kicks the lawn and stomps her feet, which is totally useless. But it makes us girls squeal even louder.

“Watch the temper, Ms. Bains. You know the kind of trouble it can get you into.”

“Oh, really? And what kind is that, soldier?”

It should be kinda gross, I know, but they are totally flirting. Mom’s mouth tips into a little smile and her eyes shine with mischief as their eyes meet and lock. I swear to God, if we weren’t there, he’d probably have added, “Trouble I’ll have to punish you for later.”

They truly love each other. I’m still smiling and my little sisters are squealing and dancing around the yard in glee. I feel kind of stunned by the obvious. I mean, who thinks about their parents actually being in love? Or their marriage? I don’t think I’ve ever looked at them with adult eyes before. But there it is.
Love. Flirting. Romance
. After all these years, with Dad thirty feet away, sitting atop a freaking roof, I can totally feel their love. The kind that I hope to have someday.

It hits me then. This is what I want with Max.

And Max knows that about me. Max knows he can’t give me what I want. And Max dumped me, hurt me, and refuses to be with me because of it. My heart clenches. In his own sad way, Max is trying to keep from hurting me. I shut my eyes as the pain of that knowledge consumes me. Still… I realize there is no changing how much I want that.
Love.
Real, abiding, and solid
love.

Mom’s smiling as she turns to me and whispers something, with her eyes still glued on Dad. My face bursts into a grin and I nod and run off. With my dad’s gaze narrowed on us, he asks, “What are you two conspiring about?”

Mom plants her hands on her hips. She watches me to make sure I succeed in my job before she says, “Oh, I don’t know. One way up, one way down, genius.”

Dad’s face suddenly changes. He notices I’ve lowered his ladder, which is no longer leaning against the roof. He’s stunned, and kind of swallows. Mom got him! He knows it too. “Tiny, put that ladder back right now.”

“Gladly, Will Hendricks. Just give us a second,” Mom replies as she scurries forward, nodding at our balloon bucket and whispering what to do next. We carry it to the ladder, and raise the ladder… and wait. Right there. Right where Dad comes down. It’s a high enough roof that I seriously doubt he’d risk jumping. He walks to where the ladder now awaits him, and stares down at us. We again giggle with anticipation. He puts one hand over his eyes to block the sun.

“Well, shit. I guess… You got me.”

I can hear the defeat in his voice. He shakes his head and his mouth frowns with chagrin. Mom is doubled over. “Oh, if you could see the look on your face. The great Will Hendricks! Taken down by a bevy of girls!”

He waits a few minutes, but eventually realizes he has to take his own medicine. He turns and starts down the ladder only to be completely pummeled by all four of us. Throwing as many balloons as we can, we smack him pretty good in the short time it takes him to descend.

Then he falls down, grabbing Mom, and all bets are off.

Even as he holds Mom and douses her with at least ten more balloons, Dad is dripping wet; and for us to get
him
is total girl domination.

We can’t stop laughing and the water fight continues for another hour, expanding all over the yard. Buckets, balloons, hoses, hiding, running, and tagging. We laugh and get soaked until finally collapsing on patio chairs as the evening starts to close. No one feels like cooking; so we scrounge together some leftovers and eat outside together. Talking. Laughing. Never mind the dampness.