They grow quiet, but I keep my back to them, afraid to turn around.
“Savannah,” Kathy says. It isn’t mean, never in front of Evan, but it is a controlled anger. I take a breath and turn.
Her eyes sweep over me, her arm protectively around my brother’s shoulders. And even I have to admit it looks maternal. “Are you okay?” she asks calmly.
“Yes,” I lie.
“And your arm?” She nods her chin toward it.
“Broke my wrist.”
“Another fight?” she asks, her face registering disgust.
“No,” I say. “An accident.”
She stares at me for a long moment, not believing me, but maybe not caring enough to argue. I bite on the corner of my lip, my real fear bubbling up.
“Are you going to keep him away from me?” I whisper.
She blinks rapidly, declining to answer. She looks down at Evan and he hugs her as hard as he can. He loves her. I should be happy that he loves her because he deserves that—to love someone who can take care of him. But it hurts, like a glaring light on how I’ve failed him.
“Evan,” she says softly. “You’re going to stay at my house for a while, honey. Okay?”
“Okay. Can Savannah come too?” he asks.
Kathy’s lips thin. “No. She can’t,” she says. “Savannah has school.” Evan’s expression clouds, but I’m quick to reassure him.
“It’s fine,” I say. “Besides, I’ll see you soon.” It’s not true, but I can’t deal with truth right now. I’m not sure I’ll be able to breathe once Evan is gone. I’m barely holding it together now.
Kathy meets my gaze, and there’s a bit of pity in her eyes. She swallows hard and nudges Evan’s shoulder. “Say good-bye to Savannah,” she says quietly.
The words are a train wreck in my chest, but I fight it back. Evan comes over to stop in front of me, reaching into the small plastic bag he’s been holding. “I made you a present,” he says, and takes out a rolled-up paper. I worry that he senses it, that he senses this is the end. I nod toward it, unable to talk.
Evan unfolds the paper like it is a royal scroll and holds it up for me. I whimper for a second but choke it back.
It’s a house. A big, beautiful, pink house.
“That’s for me?” I ask, tears spilling over onto my cheeks.
“It’s not white anymore,” he says. “You wanted your house pink. So Kendra helped me.”
“Thank you, Evan,” I murmur.
He holds it out to me, and as I take it, I glance behind him at my aunt. Her stare isn’t nearly as hard as I’d expected. Even she has to know how much this hurts me. Even she could appreciate that.
“Please come with me?” Evan whispers. I press my lips together to stop the quivering.
“I can’t,” I say, tilting my head. Not ever.
“Why?” His small voice shakes.
“I have some things to do.”
“But I want to stay with you.”
I brush his blond hair back from his brow. I love him so much. I love him so much this pain might kill me. “Aunt Kathy needs you to stay with her,” I say. “She’s a lonely old woman. She doesn’t have any of her own kids to love her.” Kathy straightens in the background, but I won’t regret my cruelty.
“But I want you,” Evan says, and his breaths are coming out in short spurts.
“I’ll come and see you.”
“Who’s going to make my dogs ’n’ cheese?” And Evan begins to cry, covering his face.
So I break. I break all in pieces right here.
I always promised myself that I would never do that in front of him. But I give in to the desperation, the misery, the grief. I fall to my knees and grab him, holding him to me as I sob. I cry so hard that I begin hyperventilating. I bury my face in his jacket.
I can’t let him go. I will die. I will die of this broken heart.
“Savannah,” my aunt’s voice calls softly.
But I don’t look up. I want to take Evan and run. He belongs with me.
Kathy says my name again.
It takes everything I have left to pull back, my face swollen with tears. I take his hands from over his face. When he looks at me, his bottom lip juts out. He wipes the tears off my cheeks.
“Please don’t cry, Savannah,” he says as he hitches in a breath. “You don’t cry.”
I laugh, wiping under my nose. “You’re right. I’m a tough bitch, huh?” He nods, but he’s miserable. “Now stop making me all sappy,” I tell him.
He uses both hands to clear my cheeks, erase my tears. “There,” he says.
“Thank you,” I whisper, knowing that I’ll cry again the minute he’s gone.
“We should go,” Aunt Kathy says to him, glancing at me.
“I’ll see you soon,” I say to Evan, holding him by the shoulder. Before he can leave, I bend down. “Can I have another hug?” I ask desperately.
Without hesitation he leaps at me and squeezes me tight. It hurts my bruised chest, but I don’t care. I close my eyes trying to memorize what he feels like. Come tomorrow, I’ll wake up with him gone, knowing that he’s no longer my responsibility. Knowing that he doesn’t belong to me anymore.
“I love you,” I whisper into his hair.
“I love you, too.”
Holding him back, I look him over one more time and then turn to Kathy. “Can I see him tomorrow?” I ask.
She chews on her lip. “Why don’t you call and we’ll see?”
I nod. That’s her no.
“Let’s go, Evan,” she says sweetly to him, taking his hand.
I watch them walk away together, and wave every time Evan turns back to me. Soon they’re in the car, driving down the street.
And I stand a little longer in front of my house, dying inside.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
I go inside the house, slam my bedroom door, and lie across my bed. Sobbing. Sick. Devastated.
At around five o’clock I hear my father at the front door. He must have run off so he wouldn’t be here when Kathy took Evan. Bastard. He didn’t even have the decency to say good-bye to his own son.
I jump up from my bed, hate burning inside me. There’s no need to be civil anymore. Evan is gone.
My father is muttering to himself before he notices me standing in the hallway. He closes the door, and when he turns, he finds me glaring at him. His eyes are red, and it pisses me off. He has no right to cry over my brother. He was the one who sent him away.
“Savannah—”
“I hate you,” I say in a low voice. “I should have run with him when I had the chance.”
My father looks at the floor, twitching his mouth. “Maybe you should have,” he says. “Or maybe you should have done like your mom and just left on your own.”
“It wasn’t his fault,” I say. “It was never Evan’s fault that Mom left.”
“It wasn’t his fault,” he agrees. “But it was because of him.”
“Don’t say that! It’s not true.”
“It’s true, Savannah,” he says. “If Evan was just normal, she’d still be here. Your mother would have never left me.”
“You asshole!” I yell. “It wasn’t Mom who blamed Evan. It was always you, you fucking drunk. You’re sick, you know,” I say, shaking my head. “And she would have left you no matter what. Because she hates you as much as I do!”
In a sudden movement, my father reaches to slap me hard across the face. I stagger back, stunned, my cheek on fire. I lift my eyes to meet his, too shocked to hit him back.
In that moment, I see his rage turn to sorrow as he covers his mouth with the same hand he hit me with. His eyes are wide and apologetic.
“Don’t . . .” I begin, and my voice cracks. “Don’t you ever fucking touch me again.”
“I’m sorry, Savannah. Please—”
I turn away, my entire body shaking. I go into my room and slam the door. I lock it, and then lean against it, trying to breathe.
He’s never hit
me. Resented me, belittled me, but never slapped me.
I slide down my door until I hit the carpet. I feel worthless. I feel absolutely worthless. And although I just want to pack my shit and leave, I have nowhere to go. I’m in my worst version of hell.
* * *
The phone rings well into the night. I don’t get out of bed for it, and my father doesn’t pick it up either. It’s probably Retha; she must be worried sick. Or Cameron. But it’s not Evan—Kathy would never let him call. So I don’t answer.
At nine o’clock my father knocks on my door, asking if I’m going to have dinner. I tell him to drop dead. The sky outside is dark as I stand at the window, staring out. Cameron is probably thinking about me, maybe Kendra, too.
My arm aches, but I don’t take any pills because I want the pain. I want to feel the pain because it’s better to feel it in my arm than in my heart. And with that pain, I go to bed and go to sleep.
* * *
The morning is quiet. When I turn over, I see that school has already started. The phone rings—probably the attendance office. I never used my days, and they can’t fail me unless I miss ten days. I’d saved them for Evan. I don’t need them anymore. So I stay in bed.
I don’t eat. The whole day goes by and I don’t eat. I put my hand over my stomach where it’s vibrating with hunger. I wonder how long I can go without food. My father left early in the morning, and he hasn’t come back. He’s probably at the bar, but I don’t care.
At around dinnertime for most families, I finally walk out into the living room and pick up the phone. I dial, and my hand is shaking.
“Hello?” Kathy asks in her sweetest phone voice.
“It’s Savannah,” I say quietly. She’s silent. “Can I see him?” I ask through the lump in my throat.
She exhales. “Not yet. He’s still adjusting. It’s important to be consistent, Savannah. And until he’s settled, I’m afraid you’ll just upset him.”
I whimper. “I need to see him, Kathy.”
She sniffles, and I wonder if she feels bad at all. If she feels bad for ruining my life. “This isn’t about you,” she says. “It’s about what’s best for Evan. And I know in your way, you love him. And I know he loves you. But it’s too soon. It will traumatize him, Savannah. We need to do what’s best for him.”
“I’m best for him,” I snap. I’m not sure I believe that’s true anymore.
“Maybe in a few weeks,” she says. “Call again in a few weeks, when things have calmed down.”
“Don’t do this,” I quietly beg.
“I’m sorry. Call in a few weeks.” And she hangs up.
I hold the phone to my ear, listening to the dial tone. I force myself numb and set the phone down. I walk into the kitchen and look around, not really recognizing anything. I’m a ghost in my own life.
I take a box of crackers out of the cabinet and fill a glass with water from the tap. Then I go back to my room and lock the door.
Over the next two days my father knocks only once to ask if I’m okay. I don’t answer, and instead throw a sneaker at the door. Bastard.
On the third day I’m out of tears. I shower, brush my hair and my teeth. I call Retha to let her know I’m still alive. She’s relieved and tells me she put the word out on Patrick. If any of our friends sees him, he’ll get jumped. For people like us, I guess it’s the only justice I can hope for. Right or not.
Travis is making progress in rehab, and it looks like he might get out by the beginning of summer. I told him that when he gets here, I’m taking him out for chicken wings.
I consider calling Cameron, but I wouldn’t know where to start. I walk outside, squinting at the light, and sit on my front porch steps. I let the sun warm my cheeks; the black-and-blue marks have nearly faded.
A shiny black Beamer pulls up to my curb. Cameron is supposed to be in school. Not here. He cuts the engine, climbs out. I lower my eyes to the porch steps.
“Hey, Sutton,” he says.
“Hi, Cameron.”
I slide over on the porch step to make room for him. He sits next to me and leans forward to rest his elbows on his knees.
“How’s the wrist?” he asks, nodding toward my cast.
“Itchy.”
He laughs and looks back at the house. “Your shithead dad home?”
“No.”
He’s quiet, wringing his hands together. At first they just look red, but then I notice the bruising on his knuckles.
“Cameron,” I say, pulling his arm toward me. He lets his hands hang as I take them onto my lap, checking them over. His knuckles are cut up, bruised, and swollen. It looks incredibly painful.
“What did you do?” I whisper, running my fingertip gently over the swelling. When I look up to meet his eyes, he’s staring at me.
“Someone walked into my fist,” he says, not smiling.
“Both of them?”
“Yeah. Maybe some of my foot, too.”
“You got in a fight?” My heart races. I want to reach out and brush his hair away from his face, beg him to take me away. Instead I let his hand go.
“I wouldn’t call it a fight,” he says, resting his hands in front of him again.
“Did you get arrested?” And suddenly I’m afraid. What if they take Cameron from me too?
“You sound worried, Sutton.”
“I might be.”
“That’s sweet,” he says.
“Shut up.”
He laughs. “No, the police weren’t involved.”
I shift on the step, turning fully toward him. “Who’d you jump?” I ask.
“Don’t remember his name.”
“Cameron.”
“Nope. That wasn’t it.”
I want to call him an idiot and tell him to stop being difficult, but being here with him proves how much I’ve missed him. Missed the way he makes me feel. It’s a lot like how Retha and Travis make me feel. Like maybe I’m worth something.
I gasp as it dawns on me. “Did . . . did you hit Patrick?”
Cameron looks out at the sidewalk. “Hit. Kick. Spit on? No. I wouldn’t do that.”
I stare at the side of his face, warmth spreading over my chest. “You beat him up for me?” I whisper. I want to cry. It’s so goddamn chivalrous.
“Beat up?” He chuckles and looks over at me. “You make it sound like I met him at the playground after school. No, Sutton. What happened is less problem solving and more revenge. In fact”—he glances at my cast—“I would say it was all revenge.”
“I thought we agreed to stop fighting through our problems?” I ask.
“This was the last time—I swear.” He smiles at me. “I made it count, though.”
“I’m glad.” And I am, because this may be the only payback I ever get. One day, maybe, I really will stop fighting. Cameron too. I want to believe that eventually we won’t have to. But I also know that life isn’t always fair. But we’ll try our best.
“Did you get hurt?” I ask, looking him over. His face isn’t bruised. It’s still beautiful.
“Nope,” he says. “He didn’t get a chance to hit me back. And I’m pretty sure he won’t bother you again. At least that’s what he was saying from the pavement.”
Patrick broke my wrist. His cruelty is the reason I got expelled. He’s the reason Evan was taken away.
Cameron tried to make it better. And I love him for that.
We stare at each other, and I feel such loneliness, even with Cameron next to me. I want him to hold me. I want to cry, and I want him to let me and never mention it again. I motion to his hands.
“Let me see your knuckles again,” I say.
“No.” He grins, holding them close to him. I can tell they probably hurt.
“Let me see your stupid hands,” I say.
Cameron slowly holds them out to me. “They’re not stupid,” he whispers, making me laugh.
But I take them again, setting them in my lap. They were injured for me, just like I would have done for Evan.
I trace each of his fingers. I want to be sweet to him. He deserves to see that I can be that way.
“That feels nice,” he says quietly. If I turn to him, he might kiss me. Here on the front steps of my run-down house, in my shitty ass neighborhood, this rich boy would kiss me.
Instead, with my good arm, I bring one of his battered hands to my mouth and kiss it. Just once. Then I let it go. “Thank you,” I whisper.
He doesn’t make it weird, and we sit quietly. Comfortably.
“Have you seen him?” Cameron asks.
I know who he means. “Not since Sunday.” A pain ripples through my chest at the thought of my brother. I twitch my nose to stop the stinging in my face.
Cameron scoots a little closer so that his hip is against mine. “I’m sorry,” he whispers.
I know that he is. He cares about us. He’s a good person. We sit and listen to the cars pass by, and after a while I look at him.
“You’re supposed to be in school,” I say.
“So are you.”
“I had days left.”
“Yeah,” he says. “This is my last one. I’ll have to make it to class every time until the end of the year or they’ll fail me.”
I don’t like the sound of that. “You need to graduate,” I say.
“I know. But it’s no fun without you.” He smirks a little.
“I’m going back tomorrow.”
“Good.”
“Good.”
“Can I take you somewhere?” he asks.
“Nowhere to go.”
He shrugs. “My mom wants you to come over tonight.”
“Your mother or you?”
“Both of us.”
And I have to admit, it feels nice to be wanted. “No thanks.”
“Please.”
“Okay.” I stand up, wiping my palm on my jeans. I don’t mind going with him. There’s no reason to wait here. Evan isn’t coming back. I have nowhere else to be.
Cameron is still on the porch step. “Uh . . .”
“What?” I ask. “Do you still want me to?”
“Well, yeah. But I expected you to argue.”
“I’m not always difficult.”
“Yes, you are,” he says, getting to his feet. “But I like it that way. I like when you fight me on every little goddamn thing.”
All in Pieces Page 18
