"No, really, nothing happened."
She goes back to mashing the potatoes. Thank god.
Phew. That was close. Subject change needed immediately. "Hey, Bridge, why don't you tell everyone about the gallery opening."
"Ooh!" She sits up, spitting some cracker crumble out. "It was so cool."
"Swallow, kid," her dad teases, receiving another exasperated eye roll from his daughter.
I sit back, off the hot seat for a moment, breathing a sigh of relief. But the longer I tune out the conversation, the more I notice the tingle of anxiety still funneling through my veins, the slight discomfort, as though something just isn't right.
My mom must notice, because she leans over and nudges me with her shoulder. "Come on, I have something for you in the car."
We excuse ourselves and I follow her outside, hugging my arms around my midsection to fight the cool air. "What's going on, Mom?"
"Nothing, sweetie," she says, and I can't help but notice that like her daughter often does, my mother didn’t really think this plan through. We're standing in the cold, teeth chattering just a little. Not exactly the ideal place to have a heart to heart. She nudges her head in the direction of her SUV. "Come on, get in for a minute."
"Everything okay?" I ask.
"Yeah."
"So, where's this mysterious thing you have for me in the car." I raise one eyebrow in her direction.
"You know, you're a terrible liar for a reason. Me." But then she grows quiet, and I know exactly why. I must get my terrible lying ability from her, because we both know my father was a pro. Then again, the whole virgin sex columnist thing is pretty under-wraps. So, maybe I'm more like my dad than I care to realize…
Ugh.
Don't want to follow that line of thinking.
My mom interrupts, reaching out for my hand. "You just seem a little down, I thought we could come outside in case there is anything you want to talk to me about."
Hmm…let's see. Things I would love to say to my mom. Yeah, I've racked up quite a few of those. But for some reason, nothing comes to my lips. I've had so long to talk to her about Ollie, about my job, heck even about the good stuff like Patrick. I'm just not really sure where to even begin. And I don't know why now, after a few weeks of pure bliss, my mood has tanked. "No, Mom. Really, I'm just a little tired."
"Nothing with Patrick…"
"No, he's practically prince charming. So sweet to me."
"But?"
I bite my lip. Is there a but at the end of the sentence? He's perfect. That's the truth. I smile, glancing up from the dashboard to meet her warm gray-blue eyes—something I definitely got from her. "No buts. We're happy together."
"Good." She nods, accepting my response. But I can tell something is still bothering her, something she comes really close to saying. But then she shakes her head a little, and shrugs. "Come on, let's get back inside. Dinner is almost ready."
I nod, but I suddenly find I can't speak.
I'm staring at the tree in the McDonough's front yard, and a memory pushes its way to the front of my thoughts. Bridge, Ollie, and I are playing in the shade of the leaf-filled maple. Ollie keeps stealing our dolls and tossing them away, so to get rid of him, Bridge and I bet that he can't climb all the way to the top of the tree. He tries, obviously, like any obstinate little boy, and then proceeds to fall about twelve feet to the ground, breaking his leg. I still remember the fear that enveloped my entire being as Mrs. McDonough ran outside, hearing her son cry.
But in real time, my mom has already gotten out of the car and she's staring at me from the front of the walk with furrowed brows, wondering what's keeping me. I shake my head, clearing the memory away and hop out, stepping quickly to her side.
"Sorry," I murmur.
But then my eyes drift to the driveway and I'm pulled back into the past again. Bridge and I are sitting next to a bucket of chalk, carefully covering the pavement in pastel flowers and hearts. We don't even see him coming. All of a sudden, water drenches us from above, soaking our T-shirts, and washing all of our hard work away. Bridge immediately goes on the assault, smacking her brother, but he's prepared with a water gun and chases us around for the next twenty minutes. Until we find the hose and absolutely destroy him.
"Skylar?" my mom asks.
I blink and our child selves disappear, the driveway is empty except for two cars. Then I realize I'm grinning and laugh a little, releasing the energy.
"You sure you're okay?" my mom asks.
I nod.
We walk up the path and slip through the front door. But as we pass by, my fingers reach out, running over the pane of a glass window, remembering a day that happened fifteen years ago, and my gaze returns to the yard. Ollie is teaching Bridge and me how to play baseball, but he's showing off and throwing really hard fastballs that we have no hope of hitting. His dad tries telling him to cool it, calling Ollie slugger. But he won't. And then it's my turn at bat and I swing, actually closing my eyes because I'm so afraid of the ball. The smack reverberates up my entire arm, shaking my whole body, and I hear the crash of glass before I even open my eyes. I think that was the first time I distinctly remember hearing an adult curse. The whole window shattered, sending glass everywhere. Of course, the three of us ended up running to the backyard, giggling, while their father continued shouting curses in the front yard.
And suddenly I realize what's happening.
Why I feel off.
It's this house. It's these memories. It's Ollie. Spending so much time with him. Seeing him again. Being so confused by him again. Right now, standing outside the McDonough house, I'm closer than I've ever been to reliving that night—the one that happened four years ago, the one I've been trying to forget ever since.
I walk inside the house.
"Where are you going?" my mom calls to me.
I'm marching up the steps. I didn’t even realize I'd stopped following her, but I'm already halfway to the second floor.
"Just using the bathroom," I murmur and keep moving.
Part of me wants to stop. But I have no control. My body is moving on its own, it's taken control. My heart isn't ready, but every other part of me is screaming that it's time. Time to go back. Panic mounts underneath my skin as a sea of memories part, exposing the barren landscape of all the hardships I've buried deep below. Once tightly packed sand is now soft enough to slip through my fingers, revealing what rests beneath.
And then I'm there.
The door still has a sign that reads, Oliver's Room! Keep Out!
And I have. I've walked past this sign a dozen times. I've heeded the rules for four years. I've denied everything. I've tried to forget. But I can't.
My fingers stretch for the knob. They turn.
No.
I shake my head.
No.
But as soon as the door swings open, the world stops. The water rushes forward. And I can't move as the memory crashes over me, taking my breath away.
I bet by now you're wondering what happened with Ollie four years ago. Well, I guess I can't ignore it any longer. It was the night before Bridge and I were leaving for college, the night of our last high school party, the night before Ollie was leaving for another year at culinary school. And, well, here. You'll see…