Page 49 of The Story of You

Ideally, Silas, Oliver, and I would have left Dad together. I tried to tell Silas on my birthday without plainly saying it. I knew it had to be his idea. I had to wait for him to be ready. I was always having to take a pause and wait for people to catch up to me. You can’t move people when they’re not ready.

I knew a lot of things. That Mama would die even before we got the brain cancer diagnosis. That Dad wouldn’t be Dad anymore. That it would be time for us to go. People don’t believe in intuitive messages and that’s frustrating because I seldom have proof until after. It doesn’t mean I don’tknow.

Then I have to wait. I fucking hate waiting.

Dad pulled into this farm after driving for hours. I’d clocked it—a three-hour drive from the house. Far enough but not far. If I ever needed to, I could make my way back with the money in my pocket. Or hitch-hiking. Or walking.

None of that would be smart. Dad would be pissed off and he would do worse than whatever this was going to be. I made the decision to see what this place was all about and if it was okay, I’d stay until Silas was ready.

Dad pulled out a pen and paper. “Write a letter to your brother. Tell him you ran away.”

That made my heart race. If he thought I’d run away, he might never think to look for me. Maybe he’d be mad and take off with Oliver on his own—then I wouldn’t find him. Cell phones didn’t exist yet.

“Hurry up. I don’t have much time.”

I glared. Yeah. Like I was going to make this any easier than I already had for him. I snatched up the pen and paper thinking as fast as I could. I needed to leave the right message for Silas. Something only, he would question. I left as many clues as I could, including the house number really fucking tiny by my name, hoping Sye would remember about my magnifying glass.

I cried as I wrote. I let Dad get to me. This was beyond cruel. Separating me from my brothers. Turning me into a runaway. Leaving me on a doorstep. Eyeing me with soul-deep disgust, probably wishing I was never born.

My hands were shaking badly. I had to force them to write, to curve in the perfect Randall script Father expected. I shoved the letter at him when I was done. He read it over. “Your handwriting is shit,” he said.

Gee, I wonder the fuck why? I considered saying everything I ever wanted to, but what was the point? Plus, he was way better at unearthing my weaknesses, wresting my armor, and lobotomizing any bit of self-worth I’d managed to nurture in between his verbal assaults. Best to save myself that torture.

Terry came to meet us like he knew we were coming. I learned later it wasn’t unusual for him to accept foster kids at all hours, but it meant Father had somehow arranged this. He frog-marched me—totally unnecessary since I’d been cooperating without a word of protest—up the porch and to the screen door, which he opened without bothering to knock. The heavy wooden door behind the screen one was already propped open.

We met Terry in the kitchen where Dad was given paperwork to fill out. “Your lawyer will hear from ours, Mr. Randall,” Terry said.

Dad grunted a “yes” and was in a hurry to go. I don’t know what I expected—a heartfelt goodbye? I didn’t get one. He turned a cold heel and left. Terry’s thick brow furrowed, and his lips drew into a firm line as he watched my dad walk away.

Terry and Lars weren’t the cuddly sorts, too gruff to show soft affection, but a hand on the shoulder was a big deal and he did that as we stood frozen listening for the sound of the screen door as it opened and shut.

My heart broke. Fucking broke.

Yeah, he was an asshole, but he was still my dad and he’d left me like I was the blender he left on the roadside when it crapped out, hoping someone who had the skill to fix it would pick it up. He’d left me with this stranger who could have done anything to me.

“You gonna give me trouble, boy?” he said.

“No, sir.” Angrily, I wiped a tear away. I didn’t want to cry over fucking Dad.

I probably looked like a whole lot of trouble. Why else would a parent decide they don’t want their kid anymore?

I cried myself to sleep, missing Mama, Sye, and Oli. Wishing I had stabbed Dad in the throat when I had the chance. Though it was probably better I didn’t. I had a feeling this place was better than wherever they sent little kids to jail.

The next day I caught the sun shining down just right on Asher’s strawberry highlights. He was shouting at someone in his Kiwi accent, which was stronger then. He was shirtless in a straw hat and overalls that were undone, the straps and the bib hanging at his waist.

I wanted him to be mine and if I was going to make that happen, I needed that to be soon because Silas was coming soon, I was sure of it. I needed Asher before I left.

It wasn’t every day you got a boner like that.

ChapterSeventeen

Oliver ~ May 22nd 2009

Islam the book closed. “Darius. Was it necessary for you to tell me about your boners?”

He smirks reaching over me to grab a slice of buttered toast, which results in me moving just enough to disrupt my ass still throbbing after Julius’s slipper talked to it. Now I know why he was so wary of his nonna’s.

“It was a noteworthy boner. I wrote a sonnet about it once.”