from the open window. I stare at them, terrified, for a second I think I see someone there; his back to me, his face hidden, a white number on his back.
Eighteen.
“Jaycee, how did you get in here?” Dad looks scared and shocked, almost as shocked as he was when Skyler carried me through the front door last night.
I sit up and look around my room, disoriented. I blink in the sunlight that filters in through my closed curtains. “I walked.”
Walked, limped, crawled; anything to get away from the black window in the front room last night, its hollow and gaping eyes leaving me exposed, a fragile piece of glass the only thing protecting me from whatever might be outside. Or the dark folds of the open curtains, where anyone might be hiding.
Dad crosses the room. “I’m sorry, honey. I should have helped you to your own bed last night, but you were so tired by the time I got Skyler to leave.”
Skyler had stayed with me, getting me ice, holding my foot on a pillow, talking to me and Dad until he had hinted, more than once, that Skyler should go home.
“I’m okay.” I slide my leg sideways and then flinch, my ankle throbbing a reminder of last night. I touch my lips and remember that not all of it was bad.
“How is your ankle?” Dad reaches to pull the covers off my legs.
I’d like to lie and say “fine,” but I’m too busy gritting my teeth as he untangles the blanket from around my leg. I glance down at the purplish, yellowish, blackish lump that passes for my ankle and then have to look away.
“They always look worse on the second day,” Dad says. He has two pieces of toast in his hand and he’s already dressed to go into work. He hands me one of the pieces of toast and sits down on the bed. He presses his fingers into my ankle carefully. “I don’t think it’s broken.” Worry crosses his face. “If it’s still bad tomorrow I’ll take you to the doctor.” I get his hesitation; doctors and X-rays are expensive. Dad’s a lawyer, but we still don’t have very much money because he does a lot of work for free. Mom has money, but Dad would never ask her for child support.
“For today I’d say ice, ibuprofen, and stay off it. I already told Dawn you won’t be able to go to VBS today.” He pats my head like a puppy and then stands up and takes another bite of toast. “I’ll check on you at lunchtime, but I won’t be home for dinner. The ladies’ auxiliary from church is having a picnic, and I’m the guest speaker. I’m talking about estate planning this time.” Dad is always the guest speaker at the ladies’ events. He’s still young and good looking, and I know there’s more than one woman in the auxiliary who would like to changehis “single” status. In fact, that might be the reason Claire is being so nice to me; her mom is recently divorced, again.
He kisses me on my forehead. “Stay still today. I have some books in my office that I’ll get for you to read.”
The knocking on the front door matches the throbbing of my foot, drawing me out of another dream, this one I can’t remember. The ibuprofen must have worn off. I brush my hair out of my eyes and glance around my room. I reach for my phone to see what time it is. It isn’t there, but the movement causes a stack of books to fall off my nightstand. The next sound I hear is the front door opening. Panic hits me as I remember Dad never locks it. I think about the voices in the dark from the night before and start looking for something to use to defend myself.
“Jaycee, are you here?” The voice sounds vaguely familiar, like something out of a dream. “It’s Evan.”
Evan? Evan Cross is in my house. I’m still wearing my running clothes from last night. I didn’t get the chance to shower and my unflattering ponytail has morphed into a full-fledged plume of nastiness. I’m trying to remember if I care if he sees me like this when he knocks on my bedroom door. “Jaycee? Are you in here?”
Evan’s number was
Eighteen.
“Jaycee, how did you get in here?” Dad looks scared and shocked, almost as shocked as he was when Skyler carried me through the front door last night.
I sit up and look around my room, disoriented. I blink in the sunlight that filters in through my closed curtains. “I walked.”
Walked, limped, crawled; anything to get away from the black window in the front room last night, its hollow and gaping eyes leaving me exposed, a fragile piece of glass the only thing protecting me from whatever might be outside. Or the dark folds of the open curtains, where anyone might be hiding.
Dad crosses the room. “I’m sorry, honey. I should have helped you to your own bed last night, but you were so tired by the time I got Skyler to leave.”
Skyler had stayed with me, getting me ice, holding my foot on a pillow, talking to me and Dad until he had hinted, more than once, that Skyler should go home.
“I’m okay.” I slide my leg sideways and then flinch, my ankle throbbing a reminder of last night. I touch my lips and remember that not all of it was bad.
“How is your ankle?” Dad reaches to pull the covers off my legs.
I’d like to lie and say “fine,” but I’m too busy gritting my teeth as he untangles the blanket from around my leg. I glance down at the purplish, yellowish, blackish lump that passes for my ankle and then have to look away.
“They always look worse on the second day,” Dad says. He has two pieces of toast in his hand and he’s already dressed to go into work. He hands me one of the pieces of toast and sits down on the bed. He presses his fingers into my ankle carefully. “I don’t think it’s broken.” Worry crosses his face. “If it’s still bad tomorrow I’ll take you to the doctor.” I get his hesitation; doctors and X-rays are expensive. Dad’s a lawyer, but we still don’t have very much money because he does a lot of work for free. Mom has money, but Dad would never ask her for child support.
“For today I’d say ice, ibuprofen, and stay off it. I already told Dawn you won’t be able to go to VBS today.” He pats my head like a puppy and then stands up and takes another bite of toast. “I’ll check on you at lunchtime, but I won’t be home for dinner. The ladies’ auxiliary from church is having a picnic, and I’m the guest speaker. I’m talking about estate planning this time.” Dad is always the guest speaker at the ladies’ events. He’s still young and good looking, and I know there’s more than one woman in the auxiliary who would like to changehis “single” status. In fact, that might be the reason Claire is being so nice to me; her mom is recently divorced, again.
He kisses me on my forehead. “Stay still today. I have some books in my office that I’ll get for you to read.”
The knocking on the front door matches the throbbing of my foot, drawing me out of another dream, this one I can’t remember. The ibuprofen must have worn off. I brush my hair out of my eyes and glance around my room. I reach for my phone to see what time it is. It isn’t there, but the movement causes a stack of books to fall off my nightstand. The next sound I hear is the front door opening. Panic hits me as I remember Dad never locks it. I think about the voices in the dark from the night before and start looking for something to use to defend myself.
“Jaycee, are you here?” The voice sounds vaguely familiar, like something out of a dream. “It’s Evan.”
Evan? Evan Cross is in my house. I’m still wearing my running clothes from last night. I didn’t get the chance to shower and my unflattering ponytail has morphed into a full-fledged plume of nastiness. I’m trying to remember if I care if he sees me like this when he knocks on my bedroom door. “Jaycee? Are you in here?”
Evan’s number was
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