In Place of Never (13 page)

A deep belly laugh rumbled through me. “Oh my goodness, that’s horrible.” Tears swept over my cheeks. The laughter continued. “What did you think? How old were you?”

“Thirteen.” A snicker broke through her sincere expression. “What did I think? Are you kidding? I was scared to death. Some of those women were really bendy.”

“No.” I swung my chin left and right.

“It’s true. I made a weekend of researching the topic. By the time we went to church on Sunday, I was certain the doors would lock behind me.”

Laughter pinched my sides, and I pressed my palms against both ribs. “Stop. It hurts.”

“Yeah, that was almost as bad as when I got my first period.”

I moved one hand to my chest. “Oh, no.” Mom had been gone by then. “Pru.”

She waved a hand in front of the laptop screen. “Don’t worry about it. I figured it out. My laptop and I have had many grand adventures. Between health class, Google, and my girlfriends, I got through it.”

I leaned my shoulder against hers. “I should’ve been there for that stuff. I’m really sorry.”

She shrugged. “You’re here now. So, show me the blog.”

I hit Enter and Faith’s blog came to life. It was a free blogger site, personalized by our sister. One of her drawings served as the avatar. “She didn’t fill in any of the personal details. I think this was meant to be private.”

“How’d you find it?”

“We shared a room and I’m nosy.”

Pru touched the header on the screen. “In Place of Never?”

“Yeah.”

“What does it mean?”

I’d read every word on every page a thousand times. “I think it means she had dreams bigger than West Virginia. She kept poems here and pictures of her art, but she didn’t write regular entries. No commentary. Nothing about her or her life here. Nothing about us. She lists favorite quotes and passages from books she read. It’s very vague and artsy.”

Pru shoved me out of the way. “Let me see.” She scrolled to Faith’s first entry and moved forward through time. “She started this six months before she died?”

“Yeah. She started on New Year’s Eve and stopped…July first.”

“Does Dad know about this?”

I snorted.

“Right. Never mind.” She clicked through the photo gallery. “Her drawings were kind of dark.”

“Powerful,” I corrected.

Pru moved through the quotes. “She was a feminist. Do you think that was why she cut her hair?”

“I don’t know.” Faith had never asked for my opinion about that. One day she’d come home from school with half her hair and behaved as if it wasn’t a big deal. “She said she donated it to Locks of Love.”

“Do you think she was making plans to leave us?”

I didn’t know if she meant for college or for forever, and I couldn’t answer either question. Pru didn’t press for an answer. I reread Faith’s words over Pru’s shoulder. She highlighted a short entry. “Is this about Brady?”

I leaned forward, focusing on the passage I’d never thought significant.

You weren’t supposed to be here.

You weren’t supposed to leave.

I wasn’t supposed to love you.

Nothing’s as it seems.

“She and Brady were together. This was written in May. I don’t know.” I tapped the date stamp.

Pru’s eyes widened. “Maybe they broke up and got back together and she never told anyone?”

I strained my memory while Pru read on. Faith had had more secrets than I realized. The poem could mean anything. The words were sad. “Mouse said Faith was sad.”

“Newsflash. Mouse is insane.”

Agreed. “Oh.” I straightened. “This one repeats every few weeks. She added a line sometimes or changed something small, but it has the same title as her blog. I used to type it to feel close to her again. It was her first entry, so I think it’s a poem of resolution. It’s pretty.”

Pru centered Faith’s words on the screen.

In Place of Never

In place of never, I will find my truth. I will conquer and divide. I will challenge all the lies.

I will turn darkness into light. I won’t fear the fight. I will lay up my treasures. White wings. Heart of feathers.

I will explore things unknown, discover things unseen.

I won’t listen to the venom. Won’t drift away in silence. Won’t beg them for acceptance.

In place of never, I will live today.

Transform my loss to love, ascend with you, meet you, know you.

We’ll have forever soon in heaven above.

Pru settled back on her heels. “Ascend with who?”

“God, I guess. I think this is a poem about new beginnings. It was New Year’s Eve. It was her senior year. She was making changes. Look. Laying up treasures. ‘Fight the fight.’ That’s from the Bible.”

“I know. Don’t you think this sounds a little like a good-bye?”

I hadn’t. “No. I think it sounds hopeful. It sounds like she’s found strength to do things differently.”

“What things?”

I flopped back in my chair. “I don’t know. It’s a poem. I think it sounds strong.”

“Maybe.” Pru crowded me out of my chair at the computer. I moved to the bed to think about her interpretation of Faith’s poem.

I jumped when headlights flashed over the house and settled in the driveway. I peered down at the top of Dad’s car. “He’s home.”

The front door opened and snapped shut, echoing through the silent house. Dad climbed the steps on heavy feet and stopped at the second floor. “Pru?”

She darted into the hall outside my door. “I’m with Mercy.”

Pru and I had washed our faces and combed our hair the moment we got home. We’d stuffed our clothes in the laundry to subdue the subtle scent of ash and outdoors clinging to the fabric. Our new look and wrinkled pajamas gave the misconception we’d shared a lazy night of indoor punishment.

The stairs groaned under heavy feet. Dad’s cheeks were flushed and his hair stood at odd angles from the night’s wind. He expelled a long breath at my threshold. “May I?”

I nodded. “Sure.”

Dad walked into my room for the second time in years. He’d helped set up the bed when I refused to sleep in my old room, but he hadn’t returned until yesterday. “I thought you’d both be asleep.”

Pru and I stared.

A measure of confusion wrinkled his brow. Sadness tugged his lips.

I rolled off my bed and planted my feet on the floor. “Are you okay?”

He released another long breath. “I haven’t seen you two together like this before. It’s nice.”

Pru nodded. Her fingers wound in the hem of her shirt. “Thank you for taking my door.” She slid her gaze from Dad’s face to mine. “I think it let Mercy in.”

A lump wedged in my throat, and I willed back tears. My emotions were a dam with a puncture. It wouldn’t take much to send me over the edge. The past two days were more than I’d expected. More than I thought I could manage. I was a time bomb.

Dad crept around my room, touching concert posters and stacks of paperbacks. He traced a picture of Faith and Mom with his fingertips. “They were beautiful, weren’t they?” His lips quivered. “Just like the two of you.”

Pru looked at me.

I squirmed. “Dad?”

He scrubbed a heavy palm over his face and moved back into the doorway. “I’m glad you’re together. You should get some sleep.”

Pru followed him into the hall. “What happened tonight?”

“There was a small fire at the campgrounds. Probably a combination of careless kids and fireworks. Nothing for you to worry about. No one was hurt, though I hear the Lovells’ gear was damaged in the fiasco. They should be leaving now.” Dad nodded in approval. “Never underestimate the power of prayer, girls.”

I squared my shoulders, daring to ask the question on my heart. “Those men who came over for breakfast wanted the Lovells to leave town. No one we know would do something like this intentionally. Right?”

He moved onto the first step. “Of course not.”

I relaxed a bit, feeling silly and guilty for asking. “Right. Sorry.” I raised an apologetic smile. “You guys worried me. Those men wanted the Lovells to leave as much as you do. The sheriff thinks the Lovells had something to do with what happened to Faith… Daddy.” My voice cracked with desperation. “What happened to Faith?”

Pressing the matter was stupid. When I’d asked too many questions before, he navigated the situation by avoiding me. I didn’t want to lose him again, but I had to know. If I had answers before I left for college, maybe life would be different.

Emotion fell from his features, replaced in a blink with his usual contempt. “Stay away from those Gypsies, Mercy. They’re trouble. They’re traveling locusts that drop into town, take what they want and move on. Do you understand me?”

Pru’s face wrinkled into a guffaw. Her cheeks pinked beyond the hue of her pajamas.

I clenched my jaw and measured my breaths. Ignored again. He never answered our questions, no matter how direct. The man who’d taught us not to judge had labeled an entire group of people he’d never met as locusts. How was that for hypocrisy? Words piled on my tongue, unable to spill. What happened? What did he know that was so awful he refused to tell us?

When Dad turned away, I lurched forward a baby step. “Why do you blame the Lovells?” I pleaded with Dad, while sending silent prayers for intervention.
Answer me.

His body stiffened, but he didn’t turn. “She snuck out to be with them that night. She snuck out all week for them. But you already knew that.”

I gasped. He knew. All these years, he’d known I’d covered for her, and he hadn’t said a word. He’d let me curl up in my guilt and fade away. Where was his forgiveness of my sin? I was just a kid then, younger than Pru now. Fourteen was too young to bear that agony alone, and he’d let it suffocate me.

He thumped down the steps and Pru followed.

My lungs burned for air. Would she blame me now too? “Pru.”

She looked like someone had slapped her.

“Where are you going?”

“To my room. I need my bed and my iPod.”

“’Kay.” I slipped back into my room and latched the door. My heart pounded recklessly against my ribs. Dad’s words played on a loop in my head. Running through the night with Pru had invigorated me. Hearing Cross’s song intoxicated me. Dad’s truth freed me. He knew I was guilty, and for that I was strangely released.

I sat at the vanity and stared at my reflection. I was alive. I thought I’d died with Faith and again with my mom, but I hadn’t. The emotional cocktail in my heart confirmed it. There was more to me than sadness, and I wanted to live. Resolution formed in my broken heart. Faith couldn’t tell her story, so I’d tell it for her. I’d force the truth out of hiding. Someone knew exactly what happened that night and I wasn’t afraid to push until they told me what they knew. Dad could keep his secrets. I’d talk to everyone. Her friends. Her old boyfriend. Every Lovell at the campgrounds. I’d interview the entire town if I had to, but I wouldn’t leave for college without telling Faith’s story. I owed her that.

The scars on my arms ached and itched to be opened. I rubbed my palms over them until a red friction burn emerged. The familiar coil of longing stirred in my gut. I could release the pressure so easily. I scratched the scars harder with my fingernails. Pressure filled my chest. I could make one cut and release all the things overwhelming my brain. I could free them. Free me. A deluge of tears fell over my lids, blurring my sight and scorching my cheeks.

I pressed my palm over the scars and sobbed. I couldn’t do that anymore. I wanted to so badly, but I couldn’t. I didn’t cut anymore.

Oh, but why? Why didn’t I cut anymore? Relief was so close, so easily gained. The tears fell faster, piling on my thigh. I blinked through the pain and grabbed a notebook and pen from the floor. This time I had another way to channel the excess. I started a list.

Truth about Faith

I tapped the pen against my vanity. Who saw her that weekend? The names floated forward from memory. As the list grew, the stinging in my arm faded. Instead of the usual wave of guilt from making a new cut, a surge of determination coursed through my veins. The list gave me purpose. I could make a difference. I had a mission.

What the Stars Saw

Fourth of July was a big holiday for the town, and our church had a covered-dish party in the parking lot every year. Kids got glow sticks and sparklers. Moms made enough food and dessert to feed anyone who stopped.

I plugged in my purple lights and brushed my hair. Fireworks popped and burst in the sky beyond my window. We’d avoided all the hoopla for years, but Dad had renewed purpose. He’d woken us at five and insisted we carry pop-up chairs to the parade route. I’d pleaded a headache and stayed in bed plotting. Pru hadn’t been as lucky. She and Dad had gone to the parade and brought hot doughnuts home from one of the vendors for breakfast. Dad had eaten two donuts while Pru filled me in on the color-guard gossip before he’d pulled her away for lunch. They’d stopped at home and left again at dark.

My phone buzzed on the bed behind me and I jumped.

It was Cross.
“Hey.”

“Hey.”

“You want to talk?”

I bit my lip.

“Okay.”

I held the phone close to my chest and waited for his call. Instead, my hand vibrated with a new text.

“I’m coming up.”

Wait. What? I dropped the phone and ran to my window, straining to see through the darkness. Trees swayed in a warm summer breeze. I wedged a book in the window frame to keep it open and sat on the floor, resting elbows on the window ledge. Wind rumpled my hair. I breathed in the night and wiped furiously at my face, regretting the removal of my mascara and lipstick.

A small shadow moved across the lawn below and my heart leaped. I leaned my head and shoulders through the open window, watching the shadow grow until I recognized Cross. He jumped at the base of my tree and grasped the limb overhead. His arms and legs moved in perfect synchronization as he made his way to the roof outside my window. How could someone twice my size be so lithe?

His face popped into view a moment later. “Hey.”