Breaking Beautiful (19 page)

I look down at it. “Do you want me to open it now?”

“Yeah.” He leans back, then rubs his neck. “I mean, if you want to.”

“Okay.” I slide my fingers under the plastic and realize they’re shaking.

Blake is watching me. “It’s really not much. I just—”

“Oh,” I gasp as soon as the cover is off. It’s a painting—three kids, a girl and two boys, digging a moat around a sand castle with the ocean in the background. It’s muted and shadowed with blues and grays, like all of Blake’s paintings. Even the sand castle is gray, the way a sand castle on our beach would be, and not the sunny yellow that picture-book sand castles are. The bright spot in this picture is the long braid of yellow down the back of the little girl’s head. I slide my finger over it.

“It’s us,” Blake says.

“I know,” I breathe. The painting makes me happy and sad at the same time—something about seeing myself painted that way, young and innocent, before … before everything.

Blake is looking at my face while I trace my finger over the swirls that the paint makes on the canvas. “Do you like it?”

“I love it,” I say, and feel tears pricking the corners of my eyes. I have to bite the inside of my mouth to keep them from slipping out.

He leans over, and I can feel his breath on the back of my neck. “I tried to do Andrew’s chair, but I couldn’t make it work. It just didn’t seem right.”

“It’s perfect.” I trace Andrew’s face. “Just the way it is.”

Blake’s face splits into a grin. “It was really hard to keep this hidden from you. You’ve been at my house so much lately, not that I’m complaining, but I really wanted to surprise you.”

“It’s the nicest present I’ve ever gotten.” As soon as the words are out of my mouth I know how cheesy that sounds, but I also know it’s true.

Blake gets red and looks at his hands. “It’s nothing, not like the stuff Trip used to—” He covers his slip with a cough.

I clutch the painting to my chest and avoid looking at Blake. I think about the stupid sign I bought him. It seems so cheap after what he just gave me. “I don’t have anything for you. I’m sorry.” I don’t think he knows how sorry I am. Not just sorry that I don’t have a present for him. Sorry for the way I’ve treated him for the last two years. Sorry that I can’t even tell my mom that I’ve been hanging out with him. Sorry that I don’t have anything to offer him that’s worth having.

“It’s okay,” he says. “I’m just glad you like the painting.”

“I’d better go in.” I slide my legs around and out of the car.

“Yeah, I need to pack.” Blake reaches over and gathers up the plastic sheet that I left on the seat in the car.

“Have fun in Tahoe. Don’t break anything important. We need you to finish the paintings for the dance.” I try for the joke, but I can hear the loneliness in my voice. Two weeks without Blake suddenly seems like a long time.

“I’ll miss you, Al,” Blake says. He leans toward me but stops short of touching me.

I slide off the seat and stand up. “Yeah, you, too. Good-bye.” It sounds abrupt, but I have to get inside before I start to cry.

Mom meets me at the door. Dad must have her car, because I didn’t see it in the driveway. “When were you going to tell me?” she demands before I even get inside. “Or better yet, when were you going to ask me?”

“Ask you?” I stammer.

“Ask me if you could spend every day after school alone with Blake at his house.” She raises her voice. “I went into Joyce’s shop today looking for you. She said you’ve been working at her house
this whole time. You let us believe you were working at her shop.”

I clutch Blake’s painting against my chest. “I’m eighteen,” I mutter, and try to go around her.

“You still live here.” She moves so I can’t get around her. “You still have to listen to me.”

“Why?” I turn to face her, defiant. “You’ve never listened to me.”

She steps back. “Allie, I’ve done the best I can with what—”

“With what you were given?” I finish for her. “With the clumsy, stupid, not-perfect daughter you got?”

“I didn’t say that. Stop trying to make me into the bad guy.” She crosses her arms. “I’m trying to help you. I don’t think you understand how much you’re judged by who you hang around with. I want to make su—”

“You don’t have a clue, do you?” Frustration, anger, pain all comes out. “You don’t even know that I’ve never had any friends. Not here, not anywhere. No one but Blake, and you want to take him away, too.”

“Allie, you’re overreacting.” Mom sighs like she’s trying to be patient with me. “You have a lot of friends. People who care about you. You just have to stop pushing them away.”

“Acceptable people, right, Mom? People like Trip?” The words are out of my mouth before I can stop them.

Mom’s face washes with fear. She breathes in and speaks quietly. “What about Trip?”

I said too much. “Trip is dead, Mom. He isn’t coming back, no matter how much you want him to.” I flee for my room.

I throw myself on my bed and let my anger build toward
Mom, remembering how close I came to breaking up with Trip for good.

Mom stands at the door to my room, her hand on her hip. “Trip’s here. He’s waiting in the living room for you.”

“I told you I don’t want to see him.”

She comes in, sits on my bed, and brushes her fingers through my hair. “He’s sent roses for the last three days. Called I don’t know how many times. Texted you day and night. And I think he has something for you now. Don’t you think he deserves another chance?”

I press my hand against the bandage on my arm hidden under my sweatshirt. Would she still say that if I showed her what he did to me?

“At least talk to him. Mr. Phillips said he’s never seen Trip so upset. What happened between you two, anyway?”

I slide my fingers under the cuff of my sweatshirt and take a breath, trying to decide how much or what I can tell her. “Mom, I—”

“I know whatever you guys fought about seems like a big deal now, but think about what you’re giving up. Trip’s a great guy and his family is really important here.” Her eyes are pleading with me. I know how much she likes Trip, and how great she thinks it is that I’m dating the son of the richest man in her hometown. “Things are going good for us here, with my job and with you and Trip.”

She touches my arm, accidentally brushing the cut, but she doesn’t notice when I flinch. “I’d hate for you to let a little argument mess that up. At least talk to him.”

I tug the sleeve of my sweatshirt back toward my wrist. “Okay, Mom, I’ll talk to him.”

Chapter
27

Christmas is quiet and strained. I get a new cell phone and luggage, a message somewhere between “stay in touch” and “it’s time to go.” Mom and I pretend everything is normal, but there’s a wall between us. Not because of what we said to each other. More because of what I can’t say. Still, it’s better than last year when I was walking a tightrope between being with Trip and being home. Dad was with us for almost the whole winter break, so he thought I should be with my family. Trip thought I should be with him. Being around Dad made Trip nervous. I don’t think Dad trusted Trip. Maybe he saw something that no one else did. It didn’t matter. After winter break Dad was back to Fort Lewis, finishing up the six months before he retired. Even though he was only a few hours away, it was like he hadn’t really come home.

The day after Christmas, Mom and Dad go back to work. I’m going stir-crazy, so I head to Andrew’s room looking for something to do. At the door I stop, because I hear a voice, a
girl’s voice. Andrew with a girl in his room? No way. He must be playing with his communicator again. But as I lean my ear against the door to listen, she laughs, very unelectronic.

After a couple of minutes of eavesdropping, I decide that the girl isn’t in Andrew’s room, but that it’s someone talking to him over the computer. Then Andrew says, “Caitlyn.”

I back away from the door. Caitlyn? Now I recognize the laugh. He’s still chatting with her? He laughs, one of his infectious little-boy giggles. He really likes her. He sounds so happy that it makes my heart ache worse. Jealousy, selfishness, all the horrible blackness inside of me, churns like inky dark water below the cliff. It should make me happy to hear him happy. But it doesn’t. It just makes the hole inside my chest bigger. Maybe for the first time, I’m jealous because Andrew can do something that I can’t, because he’s free to be with the person he wants to be with, and I’m not.

But if everyone could forget … if I could forget. I wander back to my room and look at the painting Blake gave me. I paid Dad back and bought presents for my family with the money I earned working for Grandma Joyce, but I haven’t gotten anything nice for Blake.

I let myself get excited about shopping for him. I know what kind of art supplies he uses. Or I could get something for his El Camino. Or a new jacket, something nice. I gather up all the jewelry that Trip gave me and look up pieces of jewelry that are similar on the Internet and write down the price, so I’ll know what’s fair. I yell to Andrew that I’m going shopping. Then I take the van to the pawnshop in Hoquiam.

Paul is the only one here this time. I spread out the jewelry in front of him: a gold bracelet to make up for the time Trip
gave me a black eye and I had to hide in my bedroom for a week with the “flu” so Mom wouldn’t see; the silver and jade necklace for the “T” on my arm; an expensive watch, just because I was always late; and a heart-shaped silver pendant, the first gift Trip ever gave me.

Paul whistles through his teeth. “So you didn’t like any of your Christmas presents? You are the highest-maintenance girl I’ve ever seen. Glad you aren’t my girlfriend.”

I smile at his joke, but I can feel my heart crumbling. Laid out before me is everything I have left of my relationship with Trip. I convinced myself that I was ready to move on. I should be happy to see it go, but it still makes my heart ache a little.

“How much do you want?”

The haggling takes longer this time. He wants everything in one big chunk, but I make him give me the price piece by piece. Each time we decide on a price, I feel like I’m sacrificing a piece of my heart. Finally all that’s left is the heart-shaped necklace.

“Trip, this is a surprise,” Mom says from the doorway.

I go to see, because I can’t quite believe it—Trip Phillips, here at my grandma’s house.

“I came to see Allie.” He smiles at me standing behind Mom.

Mom moves out of his way. “Won’t you come in and have some cake. We’re celebrating the twins’ birthday.”

Trip follows her in. “I know, that’s why I came.”

I’m embarrassed to have him see my grandma’s little house and our pitiful little birthday party—just me, Mom, Andrew, my grandma, and Grandma Joyce. I feel guilty for thinking it, but now I’m glad Blake’s in Nevada.

“I can’t stay very long.” He produces a little white box from his pocket. “Just long enough to give Allie this.”

Mom has to nudge me forward to get me to take it. I open it with trembling fingers. Inside is a sterling silver, heart-shaped pendant. I have to take a breath before I talk. “It’s beautiful.” Mom and Grandma crowd to see. Grandma Joyce doesn’t move.

Trip takes the necklace from me. “Let me help you.” He slips it around my neck.

“Thanks
.”

“
I’m glad you like it.” Trip sets an envelope on Andrew’s lap. “These are tickets for the Mariners game tomorrow night. I was hoping Andrew and Allie would come with me.”

I pick up the necklace and remember how I felt the first time Trip slipped it around my neck and the fluttery, butterfly excitement mingled with disbelief that Trip Phillips was actually interested in me.

“Thirty-five is my final offer for this one.” Paul’s voice brings me out of my trance.

It’s worth more than that. I know it is, but I’m suddenly very tired. I lay it back down on the counter. “Okay.”

Paul counts out my money. I start to leave, but he stops me. “I wasn’t sure if I should tell you this.” He rubs his chin. “I don’t want to scare you, but I guess you have a right to know. A guy came into the shop a little bit after you left last time. He wanted to know what you were selling.”

The tiny box that’s the space I can breathe in closes tighter around my chest. I thought I was just being paranoid, but maybe someone is following me. Detective Weeks? “Was he a cop?” I ask before I think to stop myself.

Paul looks at the stuff I just sold. I’m waiting for him to ask if it was stolen, but instead he shakes his head. “Not a cop, at least he didn’t show me any credentials, and I can usually pick them out even if they don’t. He was pretty young.”

I reach into my pocket and rub the tigereye. “What did you say to him?”

“I didn’t think it was any of his business, so I didn’t tell him anything. He got mad and stormed out of the shop.” Paul rubs his chin. “The way he talked I was kind of wondering if he was your ex-boyfriend.”

“That’s not possible.” It comes out breathless. My heart pounds against my chest.

“Are you sure?” He leans forward.

Rain pouring over the windshield. Flashes of lightning. His hands, white-knuckle grip on the steering wheel. The engine roars, moving us faster and faster toward the cliff. As we round the corner, he turns, his eyes meet mine. Shock, then terror. The door behind me flies open and I’m falling.

Free.

“I’m sure.”

Somehow I take the money from him. Somehow I make it back out to the van before I completely fall apart. I open the door, cross my arms over the steering wheel, and sob and sob. The image of Trip’s eyes, the last time he looked at me, the last time he looked at anyone, is burned into my brain. He looked at me like he was afraid of me, like he was looking at a ghost.

All this time, I’ve wondered what happened that night, how I got hurt, how Trip ended up going over the edge. Now every heartbeat pulses one question.