Page 22

It was a good thing she didn’t go to Seventh Circle’s gig in Bellevue. She’d forgotten it was her mother’s birthday, and it would have broken her weak heart if Nell had missed it.

Despite Nell having been genuinely angry at herself for not being able to go, it worked out for the better.

By six o’clock Sunday evening, their house had an additional six people crowded around the kitchen table that had been lengthened and filled with borrowed chairs.

Nell’s maternal grandparents had taken the spots nearest her as her mother’s two sisters sat across from their husbands. Her mother loved big families, so any chance she got, she loved to have them around. She would have loved to have a big family herself if it had been possible.

Unlike Nell’s parents, most of their family didn’t hold their religious beliefs to the level her parents did, so sitting in the middle of the table was a single bottle of wine for those who drank to partake in.

Her mother and father, of course, abstained.

Nell pretended to be disinterested, but her mouth itched to get some of it and ease the uneasiness of this “party”. Based on the way her father’s eyes purposefully skipped over the bottle, he must have felt the same.

The group discussed this or that. Some second cousin just had a baby, and Nell’s closest cousin, Marcus, had just been sent off to an Ivy League school—so much bright and exciting news happening in the family.

Her mother grinned and acted like it was the best news she’d heard in years. And maybe it was, given the way things had been going around here lately.

And although they all laughed and chatted and smiled, and pretended they didn’t notice, Nell caught her uncle Stephen staring at her with that pitying judgment she’d come to recognize.

Once upon a time, they’d all bragged about her happy accomplishments too. Now, her name was taboo—the kind that made people go quiet, tsk their tongue, and whisper “how unfortunate” under their breath. She was the elephant in every room.

After the food was gone, they all moved into the living room to chat and present her mother with her birthday gifts. Big boxes and bags with expensive wrapping were pulled out, and Nell shrank further into the background.

She hadn’t had the foresight to grab a gift, hadn’t been thoughtful enough to remember her mother’s special day.

So she did her best to smile every time her mother ripped off the paper and hugged Nell’s grandparents, then her aunts and uncles, then finally Nell’s father.

Nell was happy for her mom. Seeing her smile, laugh, and forget about everything made her happy. But surrounded by all that happiness, Nell couldn’t feel it.

She couldn’t feel the expanding of her heart or the natural giddy giggles. She could feel some disconnected line of happiness there, cut somewhere in between.

Disconnected from everyone and everything in the room. The bright lamps and ceiling lights filled the area, putting everyone else on a stage, while she sat in the dark shrouded audience with no lines and no part in this story, hiding behind the fourth wall.

She blinked while taking in everyone’s stories, and smiled because she should, and nodded because everyone else did. In the end, she would stand and applaud.

“What about you, Janelle?” Her grandmother reached through the fourth wall and shattered her observation with a slap.

Now, the spotlight was on Nell. Her smile faltered.

It was the longest sentence any of her family members had uttered to her since they’d arrived.

“What?” Nell’s eyes jumped at all the pairs watching her.

“What did you get for your mother?”

Nell bit the inside of her cheek, and her hands came together so she could pick at the jagged, chewed ends of her nails. “I’m sorry, Mom. I forgot to ask before. What would you like?”

“Oh.” Her mother blinked, then her nose scrunched up like she was thinking. “Now that you mention it, there is one thing I would really love from you, sweetheart.”

Nell exhaled, grateful that she didn’t try to push it off. If her mother had said nothing, she would have been stuck scrambling inside her jumbled mind for an idea. She smiled, trying to make it reach her eyes. “Okay.”

“I’d love to go for a drive with you again.”

Nell froze, her smile stuck, as a nervous sweat prickled along her hairline. “What?”

Her grandmother clapped her hands together. “That’s a wonderful idea.”

Her aunts and uncles all nodded, grinning and murmuring in approval. No one noticed the panic wracking through her body, compiling into trembling hands.

“I’m sorry.” Nell slowly shook her head. “I can’t. Not that.”

“Oh. come on. It’s about time you get over that little fear of yours. Grow up.” Her uncle Rodger had his third or so glass of wine in hand. Back when she was a kid, she’d considered him her favorite uncle. He was the youngest, fun, and good with all of the cousins in the family.

The betrayal stung her chest.

“I’m sorry.”

“Nellie, dear, it can’t be that bad. Just a small ride wouldn’t hurt,” her grandfather chimed in with his piece. “Give your parents a break. They’ve been worried sick about you.”

“I’m sorry.” Nell’s voice shrank. But they must not have heard her because they all kept going.

“You know you’re making them look bad, right?”

“They’ve done all they can to fix things for you, and you’re not helping at all.”

“You’re being selfish.”

“I’m sorry.” It was a whisper now, barely more than a breath.

“Please, sweetheart. One little drive with me? I miss doing that with you.” Her mother grasped her hand between her warm ones.

“Mom,” Nell pleaded to her mother, begging her to understand. She was three inches tall, and everyone had their shoes positioned over her, giving her no place to run. “ Please .”

“Sacrifices, Janelle. We all need to make them.” That was her father’s voice, but it wasn’t quite him. That was Pastor Duncan speaking.

She pulled her hand from her mother, her chest on the edge of collapse. Her breathing came out in small, unpredictable bursts. “I’m sorry.”

She stumbled off the couch and walked to her bedroom, locking the door behind her. She grasped at the hollow pain that swallowed her from the inside out. It leaked from her breastbone into her stomach, then floated into her head until she was blinded by an inky darkness.

Tripping over her feet, she moved to her dresser. She could have avoided this is if she’d had some of that wine, but that wasn’t an option. All she had now was the small stash from Barrett wrapped away in one of her pairs of socks.

Someone knocked on her door, but she ignored it, snatching the small baggie, tossing the socks to the ground, and opening her bedroom window. She didn’t bother making sure she was quiet as she slipped out into the nighttime. The air prickled at her, despite being warm.

Barefoot, Nell walked across the lawn to the small patch of trees on the other side of the road from her house.

She used to hide there when she told her parents she was running away as a kid.

She would sit there for twenty minutes before coming home, crying and telling her parents she didn’t want to run away anymore.

Now, she wasn’t going there to run away but to escape. Escape the house, escape their eyes, escape her mind.

She tucked herself tight against the trunk of the tree, under the low-hanging evergreen branches that provided the perfect cover for her, and pulled the drugs from her pockets with her lighter. There was already a blunt in there that she fiddled with uncoordinated fingers and lit the end.

Smoking it alone in the dark of the forest wasn’t the same as it was with Barrett watching over her, but the smoke had a similar easing. Soft, gentle fingers brushed against the tightness inside her and pried it apart.

She leaned her head back and exhaled the tangy smoke into tree branches, watching them slink in between the dark needles.

As time ticked on, so did the soothing in her chest and the clearing of her thoughts. It was exactly what she needed. The inky darkness drifted into calming waves. Her family’s demands and blindness were a world away, merely an echo in her head.

Yet it wasn’t the same.

Soon, she found words and stories and confessions—things she hadn’t spoken to anyone before—wanting to leave her lips. But as much as it begged to be shared, she made no sound.

There was no one there to listen.