assumed Claire was waiting for us in
the pickup. I was a complete mess, and had there been anything in my stomach, I
would have puked.
Uncle Jeb returned and glanced down at the box on
the floor. "Doubt you'll be able to wear any of that now, but grab it, and
let's get the hell out of here. What do you say?"
He didn't have to tell me twice. I nodded and
asked, "Claire waiting in the truck?" I scanned the parking lot,
looking for her beautiful face.
Uncle Jeb put his big hand on my shoulder and
squeezed. "I'm sorry, son, but she didn't show up. I waited until the last
possible minute for her to get there, but I couldn't wait no more. I had to get
on the road."
I felt as if I'd just taken a work boot to the
stomach. She probably figured out what a stupid idea it was to get involved
with a fucking felon and changed her mind about coming. Man up, don't be
such a fucking pussy . "Sure, she probably just overslept."
"Yeah, I suppose you're right. Graduation was
last night. I'm sure she hit a party or three," he said. He stopped
walking and gave me a long look. "Get over here and give your old Uncle
Jeb a hug, dammit."
I chuckled and obliged him. "Easy, don't go
breaking my ribs before we even get out of the parking lot."
His shoulders shook with laughter. "Boy, you
need some meat on them bones. Feels like I'm trying to hug my shadow." He
rarely called me by my given name. I wondered if he was afraid he'd slip up and
call me Brogan by mistake. He unlocked the beat-up Ford Ranger, and I stowed my
stuff behind the passenger seat before climbing in beside him.
Memories of my first day in juvie clawed at my
brain, ignoring my desire to leave them locked inside the walls my body was now
free of. A tangle of emotions filled me to capacity. Though anxious to leave
the cold, cinder block prison walls, with its guard towers, and the fifteen-foot-high
razor wire fence, I was uneasy. Fearful of what was before me in a world I
hadn't seen since I was twelve years old.
Scratch that. I was an utter basket case. I leaned
my head against the seat and soaked up the June sunshine. When the sweet scent
of cherries filled the cab, my eyes flew open and I turned toward Jeb.
"You smell that?" I asked.
The arch of his eyebrow and imperceptible shake of
his head told me the aroma was only in my mind. "I bathed before I
came," he said with a smile.
I settled back and closed my eyes again.
"Must've been my imagination. I could've sworn I smelled cherries."
"Could just be wishful thinking. I bet you ain't
had a decent meal since…" He trailed off and never finished his sentence.
We both knew exactly how long it had been.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Claire
Copeland
My ankle wasn't broken, but after seeing the stern
look on my dad's face, I wondered if a broken leg might have gained me a little
sympathy. Olivia wheeled me to the exit, and the two of them helped me into the
backseat of Dad's SUV. Talk about a tension-filled ride home. Dad's eyes never strayed
from the road ahead, and Olivia stared out the window, but nobody uttered a
single word.
Dad parked in his usual spot next to the house,
even though he could have been considerate and parked closer. "Olivia, run
inside and grab that pair of crutches from the hall closet, please."
"Yes, Daddy," she said. Her eyes caught
mine in the reflection of the glass before she pushed open her door and hopped
out.
I felt like I'd swallowed a bucket of wet cement,
and it was starting to harden inside of my stomach. My leg bounced up and down,
and I wanted to dissolve into vapor and float away on the predawn air.
When Olivia came out of the house with the
crutches in her hands, Dad heaved a heavy sigh and looked over his shoulder at
me. His expression was the same face I made that time I drank that chalky shit
at the doctor's office. A cross between wanting to puke and wanting to kill
someone for making me drink it.
He climbed from the car and met Olivia on the
other side. If I had a tail, I would have
the pickup. I was a complete mess, and had there been anything in my stomach, I
would have puked.
Uncle Jeb returned and glanced down at the box on
the floor. "Doubt you'll be able to wear any of that now, but grab it, and
let's get the hell out of here. What do you say?"
He didn't have to tell me twice. I nodded and
asked, "Claire waiting in the truck?" I scanned the parking lot,
looking for her beautiful face.
Uncle Jeb put his big hand on my shoulder and
squeezed. "I'm sorry, son, but she didn't show up. I waited until the last
possible minute for her to get there, but I couldn't wait no more. I had to get
on the road."
I felt as if I'd just taken a work boot to the
stomach. She probably figured out what a stupid idea it was to get involved
with a fucking felon and changed her mind about coming. Man up, don't be
such a fucking pussy . "Sure, she probably just overslept."
"Yeah, I suppose you're right. Graduation was
last night. I'm sure she hit a party or three," he said. He stopped
walking and gave me a long look. "Get over here and give your old Uncle
Jeb a hug, dammit."
I chuckled and obliged him. "Easy, don't go
breaking my ribs before we even get out of the parking lot."
His shoulders shook with laughter. "Boy, you
need some meat on them bones. Feels like I'm trying to hug my shadow." He
rarely called me by my given name. I wondered if he was afraid he'd slip up and
call me Brogan by mistake. He unlocked the beat-up Ford Ranger, and I stowed my
stuff behind the passenger seat before climbing in beside him.
Memories of my first day in juvie clawed at my
brain, ignoring my desire to leave them locked inside the walls my body was now
free of. A tangle of emotions filled me to capacity. Though anxious to leave
the cold, cinder block prison walls, with its guard towers, and the fifteen-foot-high
razor wire fence, I was uneasy. Fearful of what was before me in a world I
hadn't seen since I was twelve years old.
Scratch that. I was an utter basket case. I leaned
my head against the seat and soaked up the June sunshine. When the sweet scent
of cherries filled the cab, my eyes flew open and I turned toward Jeb.
"You smell that?" I asked.
The arch of his eyebrow and imperceptible shake of
his head told me the aroma was only in my mind. "I bathed before I
came," he said with a smile.
I settled back and closed my eyes again.
"Must've been my imagination. I could've sworn I smelled cherries."
"Could just be wishful thinking. I bet you ain't
had a decent meal since…" He trailed off and never finished his sentence.
We both knew exactly how long it had been.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Claire
Copeland
My ankle wasn't broken, but after seeing the stern
look on my dad's face, I wondered if a broken leg might have gained me a little
sympathy. Olivia wheeled me to the exit, and the two of them helped me into the
backseat of Dad's SUV. Talk about a tension-filled ride home. Dad's eyes never strayed
from the road ahead, and Olivia stared out the window, but nobody uttered a
single word.
Dad parked in his usual spot next to the house,
even though he could have been considerate and parked closer. "Olivia, run
inside and grab that pair of crutches from the hall closet, please."
"Yes, Daddy," she said. Her eyes caught
mine in the reflection of the glass before she pushed open her door and hopped
out.
I felt like I'd swallowed a bucket of wet cement,
and it was starting to harden inside of my stomach. My leg bounced up and down,
and I wanted to dissolve into vapor and float away on the predawn air.
When Olivia came out of the house with the
crutches in her hands, Dad heaved a heavy sigh and looked over his shoulder at
me. His expression was the same face I made that time I drank that chalky shit
at the doctor's office. A cross between wanting to puke and wanting to kill
someone for making me drink it.
He climbed from the car and met Olivia on the
other side. If I had a tail, I would have
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