Shift (The Pandorma Adventures Book 1) (6 page)

Ryan gives me a bewildered look; I’m sure I look horrified.

“What is she talking about?”

I try to laugh but it doesn’t come out. I quickly take a sip of water. “Nothing. She’s just trying to stir up trouble.” I can tell Ryan doesn’t believe me, but he still accepts the answer.

My soup
looks
fine. I stir it slowly.

Ryan looks at me curiously when I don’t touch it. “Something wrong?”

I want to say, “yes it could be poisoned” but after Lexi just hinted that something is wrong with me I can’t.

“No.”

Ryan hungrily digs into his hamburger. I carefully taste the broth. Nothing tastes off so I eat it.

Before we leave Ryan says he has to go to the bathroom and I tell him I’ll wait outside. Taking a deep breath of fresh air I almost scream when Trevor speaks.

“I guess you finally found a boyfriend.” Trevor is leaning lazily against the restaurant’s brick wall, staring at me intently. Am I imagining it or is there a hint of accusation in his eyes?

“Ryan’s not my boyfriend. We were studying and he asked me if I wanted to get dinner,” I say, forcing my voice to sound steady instead of jittery.

Trevor’s expression remains impassive. He looks to the sky and it jogs an old memory of us lying in my backyard on warm nights, picking out constellations. Every star seemed to shine its brightest just for us. Orion has always been Trevor's favorite. He said it was because he would imagine Orion as his father grinning in the black sky, battling starry beasts.

“You should be careful around him. You don’t know him,” he tells me.

I glimpse Ryan heading my way through the window. “Am I supposed to know you? Because the old Trevor would’ve let me in instead of pushing me away.”

“Things change.”

“Apparently they do,” I say. Trevor doesn’t argue. Ryan comes out the door and Trevor slips away without a word.

* * * *

I watch Ryan’s departing back until the smoky blackness takes over and I can’t see him anymore, then I head inside. Dad is sitting at the table eating, his eyes staring out into the back yard. His plate has a partially eaten steak seemingly forgotten. I gently rest my hand on his shoulder. “Daddy?”

“Hey Licorice.” Dad’s voice is tired and soft.

Mom tells everyone that Dad has some type of degenerative disease. But I know better and I am more than convinced that its depression. Whatever things happened in Dad’s past, people left behind, opportunities not taken, paths not chosen because he was afraid of the outcome; those things are catching up with him. And this is the way he chooses to deal with it. I’ve tried to help Dad uncountable times, but the problem is this: I am not his solution. I did not live in his past and therefore have no way of untangling the web it has created that has become his life. I cannot take away the threads that are hurting him, I cannot soothe the taunt threads into something more bearable, and I cannot unscramble the threads to make things clear for him so that he can again understand and believe in what’s important. All I can do is be by his side. I just hope that’s enough.

“You okay?”

“Fine,” he sighs.

I register his voice. Right now it sounds like he’s at a two. Over the years I have created a scale that scopes from 1 to 5 for determining his depression. One is the best. It’s when he’s my dad like he had been before. Five is the worst. When I can say anything I want and he won’t register or hear me at all. I think he knows I’m there
he’s
just not there. He lives in his head. I think I know what it’s like. When I found myself without friends I’d buried myself in books. I wouldn’t be reading the book I’d be living it.

Dad once told me that I have a very powerful imagination. At night it’s the worst thing ever. I could convince myself there are monsters crawling to my bed. I could feel clammy hands wrapping around my wrists to pull me out. I could never step down from bed in the dark for fear of being devoured by the invisible monsters. I’ve gotten over it now that I’m older. Kind of. But I’ll never admit that to anyone.

“You sure?” I ask again.

“Who was that boy you were with just now?”

I can feel myself immediately grow hot. I hadn’t seen Dad by the window or known he was watching. Did he see us come up the driveway or—even more embarrassing—watch how long I stood there looking after Ryan?

“His name is Ryan,” I say softly. I watch him carefully. I’m uncertain of how he’ll react—I’ve never had a boy bring me home before.

Dad takes the last bite of steak, gathers his dishes and stands.

“Ryan,” Dad repeats just as quietly. “I’m sure he’s a good person but be careful, okay?” He plants a kiss on my forehead then says, “Good night Licorice.”

“Good night,” I repeat. Dad gives me a gentle pat on my shoulder before slowly walking up the stairs to their room.

I stand by Dad’s empty chair for a few minutes. I shut my eyes and try to ignore the small headache that’s starting to form. I fall into bed and soon I can feel myself slipping into sleep, but not before I hear my door close and I sense feet treading softly on the thick carpet.

A hammer in my dream that won’t stop pounding on a nail wakes me up. I have a gigantic headache. The heaviness starts lifting from my eyes and I open them gradually. Out of habit I look at my clock. When I read the time I sit up on my elbows. 1:25 A.M. I squint my eyes and look out the window. It’s dark. I groan. I had hoped sleeping would keep the headache from getting worse. Maybe there’s something in the kitchen that will help with the pain.

I turn my bedside light on then slip off the bed only to fall on my face, a screech filling the air.

“Could you watch where you’re stepping?” Darklily lay at the side of my bed, crossness shimmering in her eyes and the fur on her spine straight up.

“How would I know you were there?” I cry then add warily, “How did you get in?”

Darklily cocks her head. “The same way you did. I didn’t know you had to push it as well as turn the sphere, but I figured it out. Then I followed your scent to your territory,” she purrs.

“It’s called a room.” I lightly touch my racing head. “You did shut the door, right?”

“Room.” Darklily chews on the word then says, “Door?”

I slap my forehead.
Ow. I’d better go check.
I stand. Dark follows me to the top of the stairs. Before I can go down the door opens then slams shut.
Good the door wasn’t sitting open.
I start to head downstairs but Mom’s whispered voice stops me dead. Mom never whispers, which means something is up. I scramble back to the top and sit.

“So everything’s set?” she asks, her tone demanding. Mom lets out a small giggle. “Wonderful.”

Alarm starts gushing through me. Mom doesn’t giggle. It doesn’t sound like she’s talking to a friend.

“Of course I care about my daughter but she’s eighteen. She’s an adult, she can take care of herself. I am not being harsh. Trust me, that girl doesn’t need anyone. If anything she’ll be glad to have me out of her life.” There’s a pause and I consider going down there and demanding to know what’s going on. But she starts talking again and I don’t make a noise.

“What about him? Yes, I
know
he’s my husband but—”

I lean forward even though I can’t hear what the other person is saying.

“You want me to bring him with me?” she asks unbelievingly. “Are you kidding? I am very aware of his condition but the whole point of going with you is to
escape
everything.
Not
bring a piece of my old life along.”

Dread fills my stomach as another pause stretches out. I’m hearing everything she says but none of it is sinking in. I must be dreaming. I
have
to be.

“You want me to bring him . . . so we can dump him off at some mental hospital because you think my daughter is incapable of looking after him, this is what you’re telling me? What do we do if he gets better?”

I watch her stormy face turn passive and her tense body relax. I, on the other hand, am becoming rigid with anger. If she’s leaving fine. I doubt there’s anything I can do to stop her, but to take Dad as well? That’s unfair.

“Alright then. Love you.” Mom snaps her phone shut and turns to head up the stairs. Dark scrambles away.

“Lissa!” she exclaims, startled, apprehensive.

“Mom.”

She clears her throat. “It’s awfully late—”

“Yes it is,” I interrupt. She hesitantly walks up a few steps, unsure if she should bring up the phone call or not. I make that decision for her.

“Who were you talking to?” Before she can give me any lies I add, “Tell me the truth. I heard everything.”

Looking trapped she comes to sit next to me. “Look, Lissa, I will explain but I need you to have an open mind. Okay?”

“Sure,” I agree though I don’t intend to actually do so.

“A couple months ago I met this man. He swept me off my feet and now he wants to ‘sweep me away to his castle,’ ” she says giddily.

I don’t say a word.

Uncomfortably she continues, “I couldn’t keep my marriage or you from him so I told him everything and he understands my plight.”

Mom has a plight? I frown at her. Only she would call living in Abandon and dealing with Dad a plight.

“For a long time now I’ve wanted to move to Cardinal City to be closer to my business and possibly get your dad some help. He’s always opposed the idea because he thought it was best for you to grow up here. Well you’re grown up now and I think it’s time for us to move on. Especially now with your dad being the way he is.”

I look at the wall, still not saying anything. It makes me even angrier that she sounds hopeful—like I might actually get on board with her plan.

“I know it’s a lot to take in but Aaron is
such
a good man. He’s so generous—he even offered to help pay for your father’s care, he has the funds for that you know. I’m still going to divorce your father but Aaron wants to make sure he gets the care he needs. He cares about you too! He says you can come with us or stay with your father, whichever you choose.”

“That’s messed up Mom. You cheated on Dad and now you’re trying to ship him off.”

Her gaze hardens. “Your dad is not here anymore Lissa.”

I glare at her as she continues, “I am trying to move on and get my life back. Whether or not you decide to come with me is up to you but honestly, I’d prefer you didn’t.”

“Wish granted,” I say quietly. “I wouldn’t even dream of going with you and your stupid boyfriend. You can forget about taking Dad too. He stays here with me.”

Mom stands. “I can’t do that. Aaron will be disappointed in me if I leave him. Plus he’s right. Your father does need help and you can’t help him.”

I struggle to keep my voice down as I say, “You don’t care about him; I don’t think you ever have!”

“That’s not true,” she growls.

“Then prove it. Don’t take him with you.”

“No.” She heads for their room and I desperately say, “Please don’t take him. He’ll never forgive you if you do.
I
will never forgive you.”

Mom sighs and turns to look at me. “It’s time for a change Lissa.” She closes the door to their room quietly. I guess we’re done talking about it tonight. I’m not going to just let it go though. I’ll have to bring it up tomorrow when she gets home from work.

Exhausted I head back to my own room and fall into bed, my headache forgotten.

Chapter 6

I think I get a total of two and half hours of sleep. My brain doggedly stayed in the place just before you fall asleep but you're still awake. I don’t know if Darklily stayed with me or not, but she isn’t in my room when I get up.

The sun is pouring through the window, filling my room with honey rays. I know without looking at the time that I’m late for school.
Ugh.
I also have my English test today. Good thing it’s my last class. I should be able to make it. I swing out of bed and look in the mirror. It looks like I haven’t slept or brushed my hair in days. I’m a mess. But I only put it up in a ponytail before heading downstairs. It's not like anyone will notice anyway.

Downstairs, I open the last package of pop tarts and throw both in the toaster. I go to get orange juice from the fridge and see a note, stuck in place by a smiling sun magnet.

Mom’s long graceful letters are written on her expensive ivory business paper. Last night rushes back to me full force. Our conversation reverberates around in my head. I sink to the floor, pressing my hands to my eyes. She might have been a terrible mother at times, but she brought me into this world. I know she once showed me love like a mother would. I’m connected to her in a way that would be impossible for me to cut entirely. Maybe it’s not what I think it is. But I know it’s exactly that.

Dear Lissa,

I’m sorry but we could not wait for you. Of course, you could always change your mind—Aaron insists on giving you a second chance. I’ve arranged for Kelly to come by once a week until you’ve made up your mind. There’s a thousand in a purse under the couch. This should be enough to buy you a ticket. You have my cellphone number, call if you do change your mind. I’ll give you directions and such.

Have Fun, Mom.

Everything around me freezes. The thoughts that start flowing are like knives.
I can’t believe she actually left me. Alone. How could she?
I read and reread the note. Over and over trying to make sense of it. Trying to make different words appear. I’m angry, heartbroken, and unable to comprehend if this is actually happening.

I quickly scramble over to the couch and reach under. After some searching my hand hits an object. I pull out one of mom’s old purses. Inside, there’s money wrapped in tissue paper at the bottom. I crush the note in my palm.

Anger rages through me. No. This wasn’t happening—it couldn’t be. Dad wouldn’t leave me. I race up the stairs two at a time and stop in front of their closed door. I have to take a few deep breaths before I can knock. No answer. Dreading what I’ll see, I open the door. Empty. All that’s left is the heavy furniture.

I wonder how long she’s been planning this. Could she really have packed it all up overnight? I slam the door closed and race down to Dad’s office. It’s even barer than I remember. A rusty lamp sits in the far corner, a tipped over broken chair in the middle of the room and a moldy rolled up rug. I turn to leave but a faint glint catches my eye and I stop. On top of the right bookshelf is a metal box.

These shelves haven’t held books in years, but they look sturdy enough, so I step on the third one. It groans. I go up another. It groans louder than the first. One more and I’ll be able to reach the box. It doesn’t make a sound. I hold on with one arm and reach for the box with the other. I clutch the box tightly. Feeling the shelf begin to sink with my weight I jump down. The box has a
DF
carved on the top. My father’s initials. Did he really leave without me? Tears spring to my eyes. How could he? It wasn’t something he would do.

I look down at the box. I don’t know if I want to open it. I have no idea what will be in it—if anything—and I’m not sure I’m ready for more surprises. I take the box to my room and shove it in my dresser. I let out the breath I’d been holding, my decision made. I will open it later.

Dread follows me to the principal’s office. I take a deep breath before knocking.

“Come in,” the principal barks. Mr. Strickland is a very no-nonsense person who seriously needs a vacation. He has thin gray hair and eyes that have a dull quality to them. Mr. Strickland is overweight and has a deep, rough voice. His head is bent over a newspaper, a frown of concentration etched on his face. I stand there shifting restlessly or nervously, I can’t tell which one. Finally he looks up at me.

“Well, look who decided to show up for school.” Mr. Strickland leans back in his chair and assesses me. I probably look worse than I did when I looked at myself this morning.

“Since there’s only a day of school left, now is not the time to be skipping Miss Fleming.”

“I know and I’m sorry but I had a
really
rough night and morning.”

“Really?” He motions to a single brown tattered chair in the corner. I sink into it. I don’t know how much longer I can hold in this tsunami of emotions. I think he’s waiting for me to explain, but I keep silent.

Mr. Strickland releases a heavy sigh. “Don’t expect pity. I treat every student in my school the same, but if you want to get off on minimum punishment I’ll need some kind of explanation.”

I tell him I took something for my headache and that it must’ve made me oversleep. I leave out the part about waking up home alone. Few people will believe that Mom ran off with another man and left me. Plus, bringing it to light will raise tons of questions and most of them I don’t have the answer to.

Mr. Strickland strokes his chin. He seems to be trying to decide whether or not I’m telling the truth. “I suppose I believe you.”

“Thank you,” I say immensely relieved.

“You’ve had a rough life.”

I don’t respond.

“I’ll give you a pass and you can make up anything you missed in the study room.”

“Thank you.” I go out the door feeling slightly lighter than when I went in.

Except for a lot of stares and a few surprisingly concerned looks, school goes better than I expected.

When school finishes Fawn pesters me mercilessly to tell her what has me so upset. “You look absolutely terrible,” she says.

“I know Fawn, but I’m
really
tired. I’ll tell you tomorrow . . . or something, all right?”

She studies me. “You’re always so secretive.”

“I’m not—”

Fawn laughs. “I’m just trying to get you to smile.”

I attempt one, but it's weak. Fawn’s eyes suddenly glow. “See you later,” she says abruptly. I whirl around to see what got her so excited, but the street is clear.

I’m relieved when she walks away. If I could just be alone for a little while and straighten my thoughts out I’d be fine. Out of the corner of my eye I spot Ryan exiting. I feel myself panic.
I look
like I got run over.
Our eyes meet for only a split second before he quickly looks away. I grit my teeth.
Lexi.
It’s all I need to send me overboard. Tears start pouring down my face as I furiously peddle home.

I collapse off my bike when I reach the doorstep. My tears dried with the wind whipping against my face. My legs are sore from the too-fast pace. My headache is starting to come back as well. I don’t want to go inside to the emptiness, but the outside is oozing with loneliness as well. It seems to mock my suffering heart. I’ve lived here most of my life. It’s my
home.
And she has tainted it. Not just once, but again and again, over and over. I swallow hard against the fresh wave of sobs. Once again she hadn’t said good-bye. And this one was the most important good-bye of all, because she was never coming back.

I sit on the couch, hunched in a ball, wrapped in a blanket of self-pity.
Who said they hated self-pity?
a voice in my head snaps. I blink a few times; I give myself a mental slap. Twenty minutes is more than enough time to wallow.

I take a deep breath and try to sort out my thoughts. I decide to list the bad things: Mom has left for good with Dad, Lexi has told Ryan a lie. That needs to be straightened out immediately. Maybe things aren’t so bad—minus Dad being gone. I was basically already living my life without Mom. I can make the money she gave me and what I’ve saved last until I start my summer job at Twisted Ribbons: Candy & Ice Cream Parlor.

I sigh, feeling some of the burden dissipate. I could fix one of those bad things.

The initial shock has worn off, leaving an empty space behind. Realizing Dad was gone had freaked me out most. Maybe once I’ve pulled myself together more I can call her and ask where Dad is. If she won’t tell me then I’ll track him down. If he’s in a good place then maybe I’ll find somewhere for myself close by. Mom had been right about one thing: it was time to move on, for things to change. I had been planning on leaving anyway, maybe not this way but plans change. I’ll just have to make a new plan. I can do that.