My mom pivots, and that’s my cue to hide as I hear her feet stomping toward me. I scurry around the side of the pavilion and watch as she storms out and into the house, her entire body visibly shaking.
I inhale through my nostrils, then slowly blow the breath out through my mouth. I do this several times, trying to organize all the crazy thoughts, assumptions, and questions that are making me dizzy…and figure out what I’m going to do about it.
I’d never put all my stock in the validity of Kelly Springs rumors, so some of my mom’s “implications” may be just that: rumors. But I heard, firsthand, enough of Savannah’s responses to know that most of the conversation was indeed fact. I can barely process the thought: Savannah had an abortion, and didn’t tell Sebastian about it until afterward.
Yep, that’s enough for me.
I barrel into the pavilion, my brutal rage gaining intensity with each heavy step I take.
“Savannah!” I bark, startling her so badly that she drops everything in her hands—her costumes and such that she’d begun packing.
“Echo! Uh…hey.” Her eyes are red and blotchy as she pastes on a bogus smile. “I came over hoping we could practice, but I’m not feeling very well, so maybe later?”
“Why don’t you sit down and drink some water? You’re not too sick to talk a minute, are you? ‘Cause I think we need to have a chat.” I mold on a sweet smile of intention to reel her in slowly and lean against a frame beam, crossing my ankles casually.
She drops into a folding chair and sighs like it took herculean effort. “About the party, right? Jesus, Echo. I texted and apologized. Maybe you could just get over it for once? Not everything that hurts your feelings is worth a long, drawn-out discussion. There are bigger issues in the world.”
“You’re absolutely right,” I chirp. “And I’m completely over it. In fact, nothing could be further from my mind.”
“Then what have I done now? Come on.” She gestures in an “Out with it” motion. “Tell me how I was a shitty friend this time. I’ll apologize like I always do, and then we can move on.”
A tiny piece of me is actually still rooting for her. I’m still hoping it’s all a big misunderstanding, and that my best friend of so many years will explain everything and confide in me, like my brother didn’t—the latter of which I’ll worry about later.
So I shift into reverse, opening a line of communication that she might get comfortable enough in to spill it. “You’re not always a shitty friend, Sav, and I’m not always a perfect one. But since you mentioned the party, it wasn’t one of your finest displays. You left me right out of the gate, and acted pretty damn inappropriate. I’m hoping, though, that after drinking, you or what’s her name didn’t drive. Did Clay take you guys home?”
“No. Why?” Her eyes hold a glint of suspicious guilt.
I shrug a shoulder. “Just figured he would. Since Seb left, you two seem to have gotten close: clubbing, birthday shopping…and then there was the added surprise of him offering to get your drink at the party.” I tick the items off on my fingers. “Oh, I almost forgot the town tour for Kingston that you rode along on, and the day you showed up, with Clay, to unpack the truck. You and Clay used to barely talk—or so I thought.”
“Your mom told you.” The voice she uses could turn water to ice.
“Told me what?” I adjust my stance. This is it: make or break time. And I’m ready.
“You know,” she grits out, dropping her head.
“Know what? Savannah, tell me,” I plead. “Look at me and tell me the truth.”
She jumps up, throwing both arms out to the side. “Is this, like, the topic of the fucking day or what? My God, it’s been months! Does nobody have anything better to talk about?”
My expression remains stoic, my arms crossed. No way am I buying into her deflective bullshit. And when I say nothing, she knows it.
“Echo, I love your brother. You know that. Anything I did was for him…so he could be a normal twenty-year-old guy, enjoying school, chasing his dreams. I told him everything, and he was okay with it.”
I remained quiet, gave her free rein of the rope, and she just tripped herself with it. Lies. Every single word. Sebastian may be young, but there’s no way he would’ve been okay with not having a choice about his own child. My brother could never be “normal” again after a betrayal like this—not to mention, if he was so okay with it, he wouldn’t have run across the globe.
Something comes over me so fast I can’t even fully comprehend what it is, and the roar I let out is truly animalistic. My body moves of its own volition, crazed and no longer within my control, ripping the metal tub that holds our hand chalk from its wooden mount. I throw it as hard as I can at Savannah, miraculously avoiding a murder sentence when it narrowly misses her head and clatters to the ground.
“What the hell, Echo!?” she screams. “You could’ve killed me!”
“What the fuck, baby girl?”
Clay runs up behind me and wraps his arms around me, pinning my own to my sides in a vice lock.
Surprise, surprise. I’d wonder where Clay suddenly appeared from or why, but my blinders are off now, so there’s no pondering needed. He’s here because Savannah’s here.
“Get your fucking hands off me, Clay—now!” I’m using all my strength to try and twist out of his grip. “And don’t ever call me ‘baby girl’ again. You make me sick!”
“Whoa.” He releases me, stepping between Savannah and me with both hands out in front of him. “What the hell did I do?”
“She’s mad we’ve become good friends and that you took me home from that party the other night,” Savannah enunciates very carefully, as close to saying “Go along with me” without actually saying it as she can. And didn’t she just tell me Clay didn’t take her home? She can’t even keep her lies and the agendas behind them straight anymore. I’d feel sorry for her if I thought she felt sorry about anything.
Clay doesn’t catch on. “No, I didn’t. Craig did.”
And the dumb bastard has the nerve to grin at me, as though flattered and somehow thinking that I’d ever be jealous over him. Unbelievable.
“Oh my God.” Astounded, I toss back my head and cackle shrilly, setting my narrow leer on Savannah. “I don’t know what’s more pathetic: the fact that you went home with the guy you tried to push on me, or that Clay here—who might’ve paid for you to abort my brother’s baby—actually thinks this is about me being jealous over him!”
“You said you didn’t like Craig!”
That’s what she took from what I just said?
“You’re right, Savannah.” I shake my head, as dumbfounded as I am disgusted. “Totally the important part. And you,” I sneer at Clay, “I don’t hear you denying what I said about you.”
They both remain silent and look at each other, then to me, matching guilt in their clueless expressions. Yeah, Echo found out, and you forgot to plan your cover speech.
Absolute morons.
“It’s okay. There’s nothing either of you can say, so just listen. I’ll talk slow—wouldn’t want you to miss anything.” I point a shaking finger at Clay first. “You tell my brother you had a part in this, or I will. And stay the hell away from me.
“And you,” I say to Savannah, “are the worst friend in the world. I never want to speak to you again. And if you so much as breathe in my brother’s direction, I’ll stomp a fucking mud hole in you.” I start to back up. “Neither of you are allowed on this property again, or I’ll be having more target practice with my father. Get any shit you paid for, and get out. Now!”
I storm away, leaving behind any feelings I ever had for either of them.
No matter what did or didn’t happen, or why, one thing is clear: Sebastian was hurt enough to tell my mother the version he got, hurt enough to leave, and hurt enough to keep it from me.
Done. You don’t get a second chance with me if you double cross, lie to, or damage my big brother in any way.
Chapter 21<
br />
I don’t run or stomp my way to the house. Instead, I stroll calmly over, my room the ultimate destination for several reasons.
First, if I’m in a tizzy, my mother will not only know I eavesdropped—which, in itself, was wrong of me—but it will upset her all over again if she learns I’m distraught. There has to be a good reason she didn’t tell me. It may be as simple as her thinking it wasn’t any of my business, or Sebastian swearing her to secrecy…both reinforcing the wrongness of my eavesdropping.
And secondly, if I go steamrolling through the house, my father will drill me for answers—and I’m damn near positive he doesn’t know a thing about any of this. If he did, Sebastian wouldn’t have been allowed to leave the house, let alone the country—and neither Clay nor Savannah would’ve been permitted to step foot on our property before tonight.
And Sammy? No way am I hanging a cloud of doom over his day, although it appears there’s already one in place.
“Hey, bud, what’s wrong?” I ask him when I reach the porch. He’s sitting with his arms folded over his knees, his tiny head resting on top of them.
“Where the heck is Kingston?” he gripes.
Good question. I glance around the yard, coming up empty on spotting his truck. And now that I actually have time to think about it, Kingston has been conveniently absent for today’s entire shit storm. Too bad we’re merely acquaintances these days, or I could’ve been spending time with him and avoided the whole thing myself.
“I don’t know, Sammy.” I slide down beside him. “Why? You waiting on him?”
“Yes! I’ve been waitin’ forever. He promised to work on secret stuff with me this morning, but he didn’t come.” He peers up at me with tears brimming in his big, chestnut eyes, and everything deep within me that I’d just managed to somewhat calm snaps.
I’ve officially hit my breaking point. Both my brothers wronged? People may think I have no wrath to unleash, and just I—Echo—usually don’t. But Sebastian and Sammy’s sister can bring a fury that’d send Satan running.
I inhale a big, soothing breath, then paint on a smile for Sammy.
“What kind of secret stuff we talkin’ about? Maybe I can help.”
He looks around twice, then leans in to whisper, “My magic show. Kingston’s been helping me. It’s almost ready, and Dad will think it’s so good I know he’ll let me do it at the Christmas show!”
My smile widens at the excitement in his voice. Such a sweet boy. How dare Kingston stand him up! Only a horse’s ass would leave a little boy, whose entire face brightens when he talks about his goal, sitting and waiting on the porch all day.
“I’ll help you.” I rustle his hair. “I’d love to see how it’s coming along.”
“Thanks Echo, but…” He squirms around, no longer looking at me.
“But what?”
“You don’t know all the tricks and stuff. I need my assistant.” He hurries to hug me, tucking his head against my shoulder. “Sorry. Maybe next show.”
Did I just get turned down by my nine-year-old brother? I’d laugh, except he’s completely serious—and way too precious to possibly offend. Plus, I can’t seem to laugh about anything when there’s still a bed of hot embers broiling under my skin.
And I won’t break his spirit, so I speak at the same level of importance he does.
“That makes sense. You should stick with the same assistant. I’m glad it wasn’t just some silly no-girls-allowed thing.” I conjure up what passes for a weak snicker. “I’m sure Kingston will be here soon—but if not, or if you change your mind, just come get me.”
“Okay! I’m gonna go set everything up so it’ll be ready when he gets home.”
And off he sprints, with a carefree optimism I don’t ever remember having, even when I was nine.
He’s halfway to the shed before I quietly head up to my room and find my phone. First, I type out a text to Kingston, bruising both thumbs with my ferocity.
Me: Did you forget you promised to work with Sammy today? He’s been sitting on the porch waiting for you! Hope you have a good reason for hurting a little boy’s feelings!
Next, I call Sebastian, but he doesn’t answer. I try again with the same result: voicemail.
I decide to leave one, airing some of the turmoil brewing inside me.
“Hey, brother, it’s Echo…listen, I really need you to call me. Don’t panic—nothing’s wrong with any of us here. We just…need to talk. Call me back as soon as you can, Seb, no matter what time it is. Love you.”
I hang up and decide to try unwinding by taking a long, hot bath. There’s still no call back from Sebastian, or arrival of Kingston, by the time I’m done. The latter hasn’t even read my text, let alone replied.
Needing to further distract my restless thoughts, I finish some homework, then start a book I’ve been dying to find the time to read. I’m soon lost in a beautiful story of star-crossed lovers—too perfect for my mood today—when someone knocks on my door.
“Hey, honey,” my mom says, poking her head in. “You’ve been up here a while. You okay?”
“Yeah.” I command my mouth to smile, for her benefit. “Just taking a lazy day.”
“Well, you’ve certainly earned some of those.” She laughs, but her brow remains dipped in worry. “Your father’s taking us out for dinner tonight. Feel like getting out to join us?”
“Um…is it okay if I pass this time? I just…I’m all snuggled up in here, and at the best part in this book.”
She nods with an understanding smile. “Of course, sweetie. I’ll bring you something home.”
“Thanks, Mom.” I roll back over, hiding my face and discontent from her.
“Echo?”
“Yes?” I don’t change positions. I’m not sure what she’s about to say, but I know I can’t be looking at her when she says it.
“Honey, you’re so much your father’s daughter it scares me sometimes. He worries over everything, too—worried himself to the bottom of the bottle for a while. You remember that?”
She probably thinks I don’t, since I was so young. But either way, this is the first time she’s ever mentioned it. So now, shocked, I do roll over to look at her.
“Didn’t change the outcome of a single thing, except our trust in him and how bad his head hurt the next morning,” she continues as she stands in the doorway, her inner strength shining more brightly than I’ve ever seen it before. “You—my amazing, empathetic daughter—are wasting your time with all the worrying you do. No matter how miserable you make yourself, it’s not going to change anything. So stop. Just be happy, Echo. Take care of you—because everything else is gonna take care of itself, with or without your fretting.”
A long, silent pause stretches between us, unspoken words being shared until I’m able to find my voice.
“Thank you, Mom. I’ll try.” This smile is genuine. “And just for the record, I like to think I’m a lot like you, too.”
~~~~~
“There you are! Can you tell me your name?”
I blink, my sleepy eyes blinded by bright, invading lights.
“What?” I croak out the word, clearing my groggy throat.
“Your name. Can you tell me it?” the man asks again, hovering over me.
Um, no. You’re a stranger—an annoying one, who’s talking way too loudly and looking way too real for a dream.
“No, no, stay with me. Come on, open those eyes again,” he says, shaking my arm. “BP’s spiking, respiration’s twenty-eight! Run the cars over, man, just get there!”
The strange, screaming guy in my nightmare puts something over my mouth and nose. That wakes me up.
“Just breathe, nice and slow.” His voice is lower now, in what I suspect is an attempt at trying to soothe me. “Work with the medicine…calm, deep breaths. You’re in an ambulance, but you’re going to be okay. We’re almost to the hospital.”
Did he say ambulance? He’s insane. I’m in my bed, reading a book, waiting on my brother or Ki
ngston to call or text.
I try to sit up, which turns out to be a bad idea. This pain and constraints feel very real.
Oh shit.
I look around, terrified and confused by what I see. I really am in an ambulance, and I can’t sit up because I’m strapped down to a stiff board. And something tight around my neck is threatening to choke me.
I wiggle my legs as much as my restraints allow, then close my eyes in relief. Thank God I can feel them. I can also feel that there’s something very wrong with my left arm; the pain is almost unbearable. And my head? It throbs like it may have taken on a wrecking ball.
I open my eyes again, and my vision is better, albeit fuzzy. Frantically, I search this speeding, scary box I’m trapped inside with just this bossy guy. Where are my mom and dad? Do they know where I am? What the hell happened?
“You did good. Real good. We’re gonna unload you now.” My rescue man smiles. “Your family’s on their way.”
Next thing I know, I’m being pushed quickly down a hall lined with what must be 200-watt lightbulbs overhead. People begin to surround and run alongside us, rattling off numbers and letters that sound like military code everyone but me seems to understand.
“Seventeen-year-old female, fell down the stairs in her home. Mother found her unconscious and called it in. Came to en route. Disoriented, limited responses, BP 142 over 90. Family’s on the way.”
I catch some of that—enough to start piecing the puzzle together, at least. I fell asleep, didn’t drink my tea, took down the bell, was so upset…
I bite back the guilt when I think of what I must’ve put my mother through, finding me like she did.
I’m pulled from my somber thoughts when we reach a room and two new strangers grab the board under me, the jostling sending my pain level soaring.
“On my count,” one of them says before counting to three. Then, I’m suddenly being lifted from the board and adjusted onto a bed.
After that, there’s a horrifying buzz of continuous activity all around me: lights shining right in my eyes, hands kneading my stomach, needles being poked in my veins. How many people are going to ask me my name, and whether I know where I am? And for the love of God, someone hang up a fucking calendar and circle my birthday, because every soul in this room has asked me to recite the date! I better get a parade every year now.
Filthy Foreign Exchange Page 16
