"Your parents don't seem so strict now."
"I wasn't the only one who needed to change. Mom quit work and home schooled me while I recovered. She helped me with my physical therapy and made me do all my exercises, kept telling me if I ever wanted to play the drums or be able to carry my wife across the threshold, I better get my shoulder working." He chuckles. "Dad gave up being a minister and we moved up here. They wanted to take me away from my old life, start afresh."
He glances at me.
"He took up counselling and mom decided to stay at home and care for me. We set some new ground rules and one of them was honesty. Every time I feel a little suffocated, I tell them and every time they think I'm slipping back they reel me in. It's been working okay so far... and ending home schooling probably averted World War Three."
"It must have been hard for you, coming into a school in your junior year, halfway through."
"It wasn't easy, but it was better than being home and telling my mother I was suffocating every day."
"I wish I could talk to my parents like that."
"Well, when you make it out of this, you should start."
"If I make it out."
He looks at me.
"You will. This will be your second chance... just like mine. All you have to decide now is what you want to do with it." He gives me a gentle smile. "What do you want?"
"I don't know," I whisper back.
Dale's smile is sad, but he nods anyway. Stretching out his arm, he beckons me to lie on his shoulder.
My hesitation is brief and I'm eventually snuggling into his firm chest. I run my hand over his shirt and he shivers. I wish I could feel him. I have to concentrate really hard to hover on his shoulder. Every time my mind starts wandering I feel my head melting into him.
We lie in silence for a while. Me concentrating. Dale dropping into a light slumber. The night has set in. I can feel an odd coldness creeping into my bones. I inch closer to him, wishing I was snuggled beneath the covers, wrapped in his arms. I glance at Dale. His eyes are closed. I wonder what it would be like to sleep next to him all night.
I'd never done that with a guy, lain beside him, just cuddling.
"Are you a virgin?"
Dale opens his eyes and sighs.
"I wish I could say yes."
"Me too."
The answer comes so swiftly, I know it must be true. I frown.
Dale clears his throat. "I've decided I'm not going do it again until I meet the girl I'm going to marry."
"What?" I turn my head on his shoulder. "But you're a guy?"
"So?"
"Don't you have certain needs?"
"Yeah." He nods. "I need to make love to my wife and not just screw any girl that comes along."
"I guess there is a difference... between making love and having sex."
"There most definitely is."
"I don't think I've ever made love before."
"Me neither."
I drape my arm across his chest.
"Do you think you'll be able to do it?"
Dale chuckles. "Wait for the right girl?"
"Uh-huh."
"Yeah... I just hope I meet her in college."
I laugh.
"She's a lucky one, whoever she is. Most guys don't think like you, they just take and walk away."
"That's only because you hang out with dickheads."
"Let's face it. It's what I deserve."
"No it's not," he whispers.
How does he know? I don't want to think about it anymore so instead bury my head in his neck.
"Can you feel that?"
"Yeah."
"What's it like?"
"It's like fine mist is resting on my skin."
"Does it feel nice?"
"Yeah, Nicky. It feels really nice."
Why does Nicky sound so sweet on his lips? The name was tainted after Jody screamed it before her death, but he makes it... hear-able again.
I look up and his eyes start to close. He has a contended smile on his lips as he drifts to sleep.
CHAPTER TWENTY
I want to stay and watch him as the night drifts away, but something compels me home. Sneaking into the house, I pad to my parents bedroom and find it empty. Frowning, I turn towards the kitchen. Mom is sitting at the counter steeping yet another cup of tea. She's in zombie mode again.
I watch her pull the teabag in and out of the cup of steaming water. Up-down, up-down, like a robot. She's staring into space looking empty and desolate.
"Where's Dad?"
Her only response is an eye blink.
I step away from the counter and head into the living room. With the darkness outside, I can't see the dreaded tree, but I can still picture it in my mind... a little girl is falling from a high branch and all I can do is watch in muted horror.
Shuddering, I close my eyes to ward off the image. I head for the stairwell. A light is on in my room.
I run up there to find my Dad sitting on my bed. Party photos are scattered around him and my diary is open. Bile burns my stomach as I step into the room. He looks like he's been hit by a tsunami and all I can do is stare at him.
The word sorry is resting on my lips, but I can't quite get it out, I'm too disgusted with myself to speak. I hate that they've found these. I hate that they know what I've been doing to myself.
"It hurts, doesn't it?"
I jump at my mother's voice. She stands there with her cup of tea, leaning against the doorframe, just like Dad had yesterday.
"I - I had no idea."
My mother takes in a shaky breath and blinks at tears.
Dad starts packing up the photos, piling them together with a pained expression creasing his face. He holds the edges as if he doesn't want to touch them. Running his hand over the open pages of my diary, he lets out a slow sigh. "Do you think that Finnigan kid might be right?"
"I don't want to think about it."
Dad glances out the window, his mouth set in a pinched line.
"Ignoring the issues doesn't make them go away, Tru."
Mom looks hurt by his statement, her expression is beginning to fracture, but she takes a breath and pulls it together... just.
"I don't know which is worse... her struggling out there on her own... or her dea-"
"DON'T say it, Mitchell." Her eyes are wild when he turns to meet them. "I can't lose them both."
My Dad's face cracks as his eyes fill with tears.
"We've already lost her."
He points to the pile of pictures.
"But at least if she's run away there's still a chance she'll come back."
Dad runs his fingers into his hair and grabs a fistful. "Why would she want to?"
I can feel my heart splintering as I watch Dad's mouth fight back a sob.
"You were right, Tru. We should have done better. We thought this freedom would help her deal with her pain."
"We didn't want her to feel any blame or responsibility for what happened. We didn't want to put any pressure on her."
"But she felt abandoned." Dad shoots up from the bed and thumps his hand on the wall. He leans his head on his fist and looks ready to smash something.
"She felt completely unprotected. I'm her father." He spins to face Mom. "I was supposed to look after her and instead I fed her to the wolves. Look at this."