Chapter Four
“Rylie?”
I stirred and rubbed my eyes. It was darker, but I could tell my mom was sitting next to me on the bed. I propped myself up on my elbows and asked, “What time is it?”
“Almost seven.” Her voice was disembodied in the dark.
“Oh wow. I didn’t mean to fall asleep for so long.” I sat up and leaned back against the pillows.
“Are you feeling okay?” She placed her hand on my forehead. “You don’t feel warm.”
“I had a headache and backache earlier, but they’re better now,” I lied. My back still hurt, but it was much duller than earlier. There was no sense in worrying her over a little pain.
“Do you want something to eat? I made your favorite. Pork chops and mashed potatoes.”
“Yeah. I’m hungry. Did you make gravy and biscuits?” At least that wasn’t a lie. I really was hungry. My mom may not have been the best cook, but there was still something comforting in a home-cooked meal.
“Yes, I made biscuits, gravy, and corn on the cob. You wouldn’t let me live it down if I didn’t. Come and eat, then.” Mom stood up and left my room, shutting the door quietly behind her.
I stared at the pale violet walls for a few minutes, waiting for my body to catch up with my mind. A few months ago, I changed the posters on my walls for more sophisticated artwork. I also had Sierra draw me a landscape picture of a waterfall, which hung above my dresser. Across the room, my MacBook was on my desk, still open to Facebook. Above it, deep teal curtains framed the single window.
Everything looked normal, but I felt like something was off. I was starting to think maybe I needed to see a shrink.
It took me a minute to gather the energy to push myself out of bed. I stretched, and then went to the bathroom to splash cool water on my face. I patted my face down with a towel and stared at myself for a couple of minutes. Something seemed different, but I couldn’t put my finger on what it was…
I shook my head. What was I thinking? How could I look any different? I yanked my blonde hair back in a ponytail and hurried downstairs.
My father was sitting at the table, still in his work clothes. His suit was rumpled, and if I didn’t believe it impossible, it looked exactly like the suit he wore yesterday. The weight of the world seemed to rest on his shoulders.
“Catch any bad guys today?” I asked as I took the seat across from him.
“You know I don’t like to talk about work.” A muscle clenched in his jaw, and he ran a hand through his dark hair. “Tell me about your day. When is your next concert?”
“At the end of the month we have a Spring Fling concert.” I reached over and scooped potatoes onto my plate. “I hope you can make it this time.”
“She has a solo,” Mom said proudly.
“I’ll be there. As soon as you have the information, I’ll put in for the day off.” He paused, and then met my eyes. “I’ve missed too much. Before we know it, you’ll be out of the house and on your way to college. I don’t know how you grew up so fast.”
I’d never heard my dad’s voice so sober. He was usually jovial, so it was obvious something was bothering him.
“You’re stuck with me for a couple more years.” I took a bite of tough pork chop; it was like chewing on leather. “It’s delicious, Mom.”
After we ate, I gathered the dishes and followed my mother to the sink. My head had finally stopped throbbing, but my back was still bothering me a little bit. I stacked the plates on the counter and asked, “What’s up with Dad?”
My mom turned on the water and lowered her voice. “They found the body of the little boy they’ve been searching for.”
I glanced through the archway that led from the kitchen to the living room. My father sat on the couch, staring at a dark television screen without really seeing it.
“That sucks,” I murmured, pulling a dishtowel from the drawer.
“Yeah.” Mom ran the plate under the hot water and then handed it to me. “He always blames himself if they don’t find them in time.”
I bent to put the plate in the bottom rack of the dishwasher. “It’s not his fault.”
“He’ll get a new case and move on. It just takes him a little while.” She handed me another plate, still warm from the faucet.
Many of my friends hated their parents, or at least didn’t get along with them, but my parents were okay. Sure, we had our disagreements, but they were always there for me. My dad was a good man. He really cared about his job, and especially the cases that involved kids—they really got to him. I admired that about my dad. Other officers would tell him not to let it get personal, but he seemed to do a better job when he did.
Once the kitchen was clean, Mom slung an arm around my shoulders and asked, “Want to go watch Grey’s Anatomy?”
“Yes!”
“I’ll make the popcorn.” She shooed me out of the kitchen.
Mom and I shared a passion for that show. Every week, we would sit down together and watch it. I grabbed my favorite spot on the couch, which was the built-in chaise on the left end. I clutched one of the soft brown pillows to my chest and waited for Mom to get back so I could hit play on the DVR.
Mom sat next to me. She tucked her legs under her and offered me the extra-buttered popcorn as I turned on the show.
“He’s so hot,” Mom swooned over her favorite doctor on the show. Dad shook his head and went into the other room.
I rolled my eyes. “I guess they’re okay for old men.”
She laughed and elbowed me. “Not old. Distinguished.”
“Whatever.” I shoved another handful of popcorn in my mouth.
When the show ended, Mom hit the power button on the remote and asked, “How’s school?”
“Fine.” She always wanted to know what was going on with school. School was boring. I didn’t know why she bothered to ask; my answer was always the same.
“Understanding all your classes?”
“My grades are fine, Mom. Although I don’t think I did very well on a pop quiz this week.” I didn’t like keeping stuff from my parents. It was pointless: they’d find out anyway.
“Did you read what you were supposed to?”
“No.”
“Why not?” she asked. Just like always, there was no judgment in my mother’s voice, only a need to understand and help.
“It’s Shakespeare. It makes no sense.”
She nodded thoughtfully, then brushed a lock of hair away from my eyes. “I never liked reading those books either, but they are important, Rylie. You need to do your assignments.”
“I know. Sorry,” I told her, my eyes on the southwestern-patterned blanket over my knees.
“I’ll help you if you want.”
“I might take you up on that.” I breathed a sigh of relief. I was lucky that my parents were understanding and willing to help me. But I also knew that if I didn’t do my schoolwork and started getting bad grades, I would be in trouble.
“Good.” She switched gears. “What about Sierra? How is she doing these days? It seems like I haven’t seen her around much lately.”
“Better. She’s going on her first date since Trent.”
“That’s good. And Adam?”
“No different than yesterday.” I laughed.
My mom grinned. “I’m just making sure nothing is new. Now that you’re a teen, we don’t spend as much time together as we used to. I need to feel like I’m up to speed on your life.”
“Nothing new, Mom. Same old stuff.” I yawned. “I think I’ll go up to my room. I have one more chapter to read before bed.”
“Okay.” She kissed my cheek. “Have a good night.”
I climbed the stairs slowly, dreading having to open that Shakespeare play again. It wasn’t that I couldn’t appreciate him—I knew he was “one of the greatest playwrights” ever. But I just couldn’t get into it. All “wither thou goest” and “prithy thee,” it was like a completely different language.
&nbs
p; I grabbed the book out of my backpack, because it wasn’t worth being surprised by another pop quiz to fail. Falling on the bed, I opened it and started reading. It was a pain, but I finally finished the chapter. Problem was, I forgot what I read as soon as I closed the book.
Ten minutes later, I found myself standing in front of the mirror in my bathroom again. I looked…slimmer? I wasn’t overweight to begin with, but I felt—and looked—like I was thinning out a little. My cheekbones looked more prominent. Maybe I was getting taller? I leaned closer and rubbed my birthmark; it almost looked darker than usual, which was so not cool. I wondered if a plastic surgeon could cover it up. Maybe I’d look into that someday.
I straightened the things on my dresser, thinking about what my parents would say if I actually had it removed. They had always thought it was neat, and they claimed it made me unique. It might be neat and unique if I could cover it up once in a while. I collapsed to my comforter and considered turning on my iPod for some music before bed.
There was a knock on my door, and my father called, “Rylie?”
I stared at the door, aghast. He rarely came in my room. This case obviously hit him even harder than most.
“Come in.”
He shuffled across the room and stopped beside my bed, his hands dangling at his sides. “Just wanted to say good night.”
I felt a rush of sympathy. He gave so much to the police department—so much time, energy, and emotion, and I rarely saw it give him anything back. I jumped to my feet and gave him a big hug. “You okay, Dad?”
“Yes,” he said, his voice muffled against my hair. He dropped a brief kiss to my hairline and pulled away to smile at me. “Just a long week. I’ll be okay.”
“Mom told me.”
Dad sighed. “I wish she hadn’t. I don’t like to bring my work home.”
“I’m not a little girl anymore,” I reminded him.
“No, you’re not,” he agreed, tapping my chin gently. “You’ll be going off to college soon. But I still want to protect you as long as I can.”
“You’ve done a good job so far.” I grinned, trying to ease the mood. It made me a little uncomfortable seeing my dad upset. He was always the strong one.
“I can’t imagine what that boy’s family is going through right now.” He rubbed his face and looked away. There was so much emotion in his eyes.
I didn’t know how to respond. “It’s not your fault, Dad.”
“I know. I just wish there had been a better outcome. Have you thought more about college?” Smooth subject change, if a bit abrupt.
“A little,” I answered, sitting back down on my bed and tugging a pillow into my lap. “I have a couple of years to make up my mind. I still like the idea of joining the police department.”
He scoffed. “Not too much fun most days. Definitely not as glamorous as it appears on TV.” His eyes settled on mine, and he said softly, “I support whatever you want, but I’ll always worry if you join the force.”
“But what you do is important. You help a lot of people.”
Dad just nodded. “I’ll be proud no matter what you decide to do. With that voice of yours you might be the next—what’s her name? Your favorite singer?”
“Adele? Hardly, Dad, she’s one of a kind.”
“So are you, sweetie.” He ruffled my hair like he used to when I was little. “Good night.”
“Night, Dad.” I watched him trudge from the room, his shoulders hunched and weary, and for the first time, I was really worried about my dad.