Page 70

CHECKING OUT AND STEPPING UP

Hugh

MARCH 18, 1999

“H UGH , I THINK THERE’S SOMETHING WRONG WITH L IZZIE ,” C LAIRE ANNOUNCED after school the following evening when she got home from dance practice. “She was being really strange at school today.”

“Huh?” My head snapped up from the homework I was doing at the kitchen table. “How?” Immediately on alert, I flicked my attention to my sister, who was hovering at the kitchen island, wearing a rare frown. “What happened?”

“She took off her shoes and tights in class and ran outside.” My sister squirmed in obvious discomfort. “She said she wanted to feel the sun on her legs, but it was raining, Hugh.”

Fuck .

“I thought she wasn’t at school today,” I muttered, rubbing my jaw. “She wasn’t on the bus.”

“Because she was late to school this morning, and then her dad came and took her home early.”

Double fuck .

Shoving my chair back, I moved for the door. “Where’s Mam?”

“Still at the hairdresser,” Claire replied, worrying her lip. “Do you think Liz is okay?”

“Yeah, she’s grand,” I lied through my teeth and said in my desperate attempt to protect my friend. “I dared her to do it.”

Claire’s eyes widened. “You did?”

“Yep.” I forced a laugh. “I can’t believe she went through with it.”

Clearly, I was a better liar than I used to be because my sister bought it. “You big dummy!” Scowling, she marched toward me and slapped the back of my head. “You could have gotten her in big trouble, Hugh. She got sent to the principal’s office and everything!” Hands planted on her hips, my little sister glared up at me. “Don’t ever do that to Lizzie again, okay? That was a really mean thing to do, and you made her look super silly. Everyone was laughing and pointing at her.”

Feeling shredded inside, I forced myself to say, “Okay, Claire,” even though I was having a hard time trying to catch my breath. “I won’t.”

Stepping around her, I moved for the staircase, taking two at a time until I reached the attic door, a.k.a. my father’s office. I debated knocking but decided if he was going to ignore me, he could do it to my face.

Yanking the door open, I climbed the narrow staircase and marched straight into my father’s lair of isolation. As expected, he was slumped over his desk, the one that held the computer he’d taken to writing murder mystery novels on.

“Dad.” I walked over to where I knew he was sleeping and slammed my hand on the desk. “Dad!”

Like I predicted, he jerked awake with a startle, looking around with wide eyes.

Jesus Christ .

When was the last time the man shaved?

He was beginning to resemble Al Pacino in Serpico .

When I finally had his attention, I locked my eyes on his and said, “I need your help.”

“Where’s your mother?”

“Unavailable,” I bit out, trying to keep the head. “Which is why I need your help.”

Eyes that looked exactly like mine stared back at me. But there was no fire in my father’s eyes anymore. It had been snuffed out four years ago. “What do you need, son?”

“I need you to drive me to Lizzie’s house,” I said in as even a tone as I could muster. “It’s really important.”

His brows furrowed in confusion. “Lizzie?”

“Yeah, Dad, Lizzie ,” I snapped, unable to conceal the bite in my voice. “My best friend. The girl who has stayed at our house nearly every weekend for the past four and a half years .”

My father looked at me with regret in his eyes. “I’m sorry, Hugh.” He shook his head, shoulders slumping in defeat. “I’m not doing too… I mean, ah…today’s not a good day for me, son.”

“No day is a good day for you anymore, Dad,” I replied, tone laced with disappointment as I turned to leave. “Don’t worry. I won’t ask for your help again.” Hell will freeze over first .

“Hugh,” he called after me, sounding broken. “Wait, son!”

I didn’t wait.

And I didn’t look back, either.