The Hard Truth About Sunshine

  She pauses, takes a deep breath, and then gives me an encouraging smile that pisses me off and makes me feel gleeful all at the same time.

  "But," she tells me with a gentle voice, "I'm here to tell you that you really can't say anything to me that will cause me to quit trying to get you to open up. The others might get tired of your shit and give up, but I won't. I kind of like the challenge you present to me, actually."

  Doesn't she know when to quit? Why won't she give up on me?

  "God... you're fucking weird," I tell her with a grimace. Or is that a grin? "No one can possibly be that fucking right with the world."

  Jillian just laughs at me and turns back to her book. Even though she's not looking at me, her words are pointed and direct. "Stick with me, and I'll make you right with it too."

  Fuck, it itches.

  That annoying prickle of both guilt and intrigue that Jillian Martel has instituted under my skin.

  I'm pissed there's guilt, which came immediately on the heels of mocking her impending blindness. My first goddamn bout of guilt, and I have no clue why I'm feeling it. I've been insulated in a bubble of complete disrespect of all of humanity for so long that I didn't realize how powerfully horrid shame would feel for potentially hurting her feelings.

  My guilt, however, is eased a bit by the fact that I seemingly can't hurt her feelings. I mocked her and her interpretation of a stupid painting--yet, she tells me she understands my pain. Hell, in that moment, she forgave my rudeness.

  I want to pull my hair out and scream at her to just leave me the fuck alone. Not to make promises that she can make me right with the world. I can't dare to want that. Even though from the moment I laid eyes on her, Jillian Martel has definitely made me want... want...

  For the first time, she just makes me want.

  Her.

  Sex.

  Laughter.

  Happiness.

  Brighter days.

  Shaking my head, I rub my hand over my face. It makes no sense. Of all the things that just ran through my head--all my wants and desires--how in the ever-loving fuck was my leg not listed at the top? It's the one thing I've bemoaned the loss of ever since I gave the go ahead to cut it off. It's been the fuel for my bitterness and the main source of my rage. Losing my leg, which caused me to lose my girl and my career... it's been the very heart and soul of why I'm so miserable. I don't need any goddamn shrinks to tell me that.

  So how, in just the past ten minutes, has Jillian gone from intriguing me, to irritating the shit out of me, to making me feel terrible about myself, to making me want things I didn't ever consider as important.

  Her.

  Sex.

  Laughter.

  Happiness.

  For fuck's sake... a new leg will make me happy, right?

  Right?

  Fucking wrong, my brain screams at me. It's gone. Let it go. Get the fuck over it.

  That's all easy enough to think to myself, but living that as a truth rather than a farce is practically impossible. Especially since I've been conditioning myself for months to hate everything about the way my life has turned out.

  But what if...

  I mean, Jillian seems to...

  She clearly has found some peace.

  No, I can't. I can't even consider that there are other possibilities out there, because that would mean opening myself up to hope, and that in turn would mean opening myself up to failure and hurt.

  Not even going there.

  Chapter 18

  After mapping it out, it was going to be an almost ten-hour drive from Denver to the south entrance of Yellowstone. I didn't open it up for discussion with the group. I just made the decision to go to Jackson, Wyoming, which sits on the edge of the Bridger Teton National Forest. The national park abuts up against Yellowstone to the south, and we'll have an easier time getting a campsite there.

  I'd given in to the fact that this was adding on an extra day. Truth be told, I'd always wanted to see Yellowstone. My family was so poor that our family vacations were nothing more than a few days at a local campground to do some fishing. And I use the term "vacation" loosely. We didn't do things together as a group when we did go, and my pa pretty much stayed drunk the entire time and would rant and bellow at my ma. The only good thing I got from it was a love of camping and fishing, and I'm eager to do some of that in Yellowstone. Because Connor has started to grow on me and I've become invested in his bucket list, I'm eager to teach him how to fly fish.

  We're on the road no more than an hour when I get a phone call. When I glance at the phone in the center console, I see Mags' name. I had promised I'd keep her updated on our travels, and I had done so each day with a text. I have no clue why she's calling, but I ignore it. I'm not much of a phone talker.

  It's unusually quiet inside the Suburban this morning. Normally, Jillian and Connor are chattering, making comments about the wide and varied scenery we pass or just talking about stupid shit--gossip about a pop star or pictures of a famous actor kissing someone who was not his wife. But this morning, Connor is in the back playing on his phone, while Jillian is bent over her art book that's resting on her lap, turning the pages slowly as she peruses the various paintings and sculptures. As usual, Barb is listening to music through her earbuds and staring out the passenger window as the world rolls by.

  I'll admit there's a niggling kernel of guilt for the way I treated Jillian earlier. My temper is an issue, and my inability to process negative feelings is an even bigger one. Jillian took it full in the face from me. While she didn't even flinch under my harsh words--in fact, she offered me gentle words in return--I'm regretting it.

  Already today, Jillian has provoked two very strong emotions within me that I don't normally feel.

  Sympathy and regret.

  The sympathy merely caused a heavy feeling in my chest, but the regret?

  That sort of slices like razor blades within me.

  It's her fault I'm feeling this way to begin with, yet... part of me welcomes that pain. It's either going to be a potent reminder that if I give in to Jillian and the hope she inspires, I'll be in for a world of hurt as I acclimate. Or it's going to push me away from her, which may just be the very best thing for me.

  My phone rings again. With another glance down, I see it's Mags again. She's been satisfied with my text updates over the last few days, and now she's calling twice in a row? A prickle at the back of my neck alerts me to the fact that whatever she's calling about is probably important.

  I reach down, connect the call with a tap of my finger, then pull the phone to my ear. "Hey."

  "Hey, Christopher," she says, and I can tell by tight tone in her voice that something is most definitely wrong. "Listen... Jillian is with you, right?"

  I turn to my right, confirming that Jillian is most definitely with me before I say, "Yeah... why?"

  Mags doesn't respond to me. Instead, I hear her tell someone else, "She's fine. She's with the group."

  My eyebrows furrow inward. "What's going on?"

  Mags' voice sounds relieved as she tells me, "Apparently, Jillian didn't discuss with her parents that she was going on the trip. She just left a short note, and she won't answer their calls. She's texted them once to say she's fine, but nothing after that. They just showed up at my office wanting to know if I knew anything. They're about ready to go to the police."

  I turn again to look at Jillian, completely unsuspecting of the apparent firestorm she's set into motion. "Well, she's fine, sitting next to me in the car. We're headed to Yellowstone."

  At this, Jillian raises her head, turning to look at me. I make a quick decision and take the exit from the interstate that is right before me, having to slam the brakes hard to make it. One of Jillian's hands goes to the dashboard to steady herself, the other grabs at the book that starts to slide.

  From the back, Connor says, "What the hell?"

  From the exit ramp, I pull onto the gravel shoulder and bring the vehicle to a hard stop. Mags' voi
ce is my ear. "Her parents want to talk to her. Will you give her the phone?"

  I don't hesitate. "Yeah... sure."

  I hold the phone out to Jillian, my voice hard as granite when I say, "Your parents want to talk to you."

  Her shoulders stiffen and her eyes cloud with wariness. She looks at the phone like it's a bomb, but she takes it from me.

  "I'm going to step out for some privacy," Jillian murmurs as her hand goes to the door, the other clutching my phone with white knuckles.

  "I'd kind of like to hear what you have to say," I growl at her, furious she lied to her parents and, in turn, lied to us.

  She doesn't respond, only jumps out of the car.

  I mutter, "Oh, fuck no, you don't," as I bolt out of my door.

  I hear the other two doors open, Connor and Barb scrambling out. I round the front of the SUV and stalk after Jillian as she walks up the shoulder of the exit ramp with the phone to her ear.

  When I reach her, I catch her side of the conversation. She sounds pissed. "...but I couldn't tell you. You wouldn't have let me come. I left you a note. I've texted I'm fine. Why can't you just accept that? Instead, you drag Mags into this and now the group?"

  Jillian is silent. I trot past her, turn, and block her from walking any further. She stops but won't look in my eyes. Barb and Connor approach slowly behind her, having no clue what's going on.

  With a heavy sigh, Jillian says in a tired voice, "I can't take it anymore. Just because Kelly died doesn't mean I'm going to."

  She listens to whoever is on the other end of the line... her mom... dad... both, not sure. But whatever they are saying produces a reaction. Jillian's shoulders square and her spine elongates, turning ramrod straight. She lifts her face, and those blue eyes are blazing. While she stares directly at me, I can tell the fury on her face is for whomever is talking to her.

  When they stop, her voice is calm but deadly serious. "No. I don't accept that. I'll never accept it. So listen to me when I say this... I'm not coming back. You can't make me because I'm an adult. You'll just have to sit there and be thankful I'll send you text updates to let you know how I'm doing. When I get back, we can talk about how things need to change, but I'm done being your prisoner."

  A shock of electric-like current flows through me at the word "prisoner," and I have no clue what the fuck is going on. My eyes flick past Jillian to Connor, who looks worried, and then to Barb, who merely looks curious. It's an improvement over her normal bored facade.

  Without another word, Jillian disconnects the call and hands my phone to me. "Come on, let's get back on the road."

  I take the phone and reach out to grab her by the shoulder as she turns toward the SUV. "Oh no, you don't. You owe us an explanation."

  She looks at me blankly. "Explanation about what?"

  "Don't even try to play stupid, sunshine," I snap at her. "Your parents were seconds from calling the police if they couldn't get you on the phone just now. We deserve an explanation on why they didn't know you came on this trip."

  "It's none of your business," she says and I note that Connor's jaw drops over the ludicrous statement. She is in group therapy where sharing is the mantra of the day. How many times had Jillian pushed us to share, and here she was harboring secrets?

  My hand slides from her shoulder to her upper arm. It's my half hand, but it still clamps onto her with enough strength to make her eyes flare a tiny bit. I pull her toward me a little and growl, "It's our business because you just put me, and I'm betting Barb, at risk for potential court violations for being out of state. What do you think would have happened to us if your parents had gotten the police involved?"

  Jillian gasps, her face crumpling over that possibility, and I tamp down the guilt. I'm being a bit dramatic. I actually have permission to leave the state, and I have no clue about Barb other than I know she's court ordered to attend group as well. I have to assume she has permission like me. But still... I want to make a very clear point to Jillian.

  "You put on a really amazing act about how much you care about others, but you were totally selfish by not telling us what was going on with you," I proclaim. "And now that I'm thinking about it, you're the one who suggested this trip under the ruse you wanted to do it for Connor. I'm betting you wanted it just for yourself, right? So you could escape?"

  "Ease up, Christopher," Connor chastises me.

  "You shut up." I point a finger from my free hand at him over Jillian's shoulder. "You know I'm right."

  "You're not right about why she suggested this trip," he snarls back at me. "She did it for me, not for herself.

  I know he's probably right about that because Jillian's not a selfish person, but I don't admit that to him. Looking back to the source of my disgruntlement, I tell her, "Now it's your turn to share. Why didn't your parents know you came on this trip?"

  I'm surprised when Jillian jerks her arm out of my grasp and glares at me. "You wouldn't understand. More than that, you wouldn't care. You don't care about anything, Christopher."

  "What about me?" Connor says from behind her, and she turns to face him. "Why didn't you tell me? You know I care."

  Jillian nods. Her voice is softly affectionate when she says, "Yeah... I know you do. But like Christopher, you wouldn't understand."

  "Why not?" Connor asks.

  "Because she thinks her problems pale in comparison to ours, and she's afraid of our derision," Barb says. It's not a guess. It's not a hypothesis. She states it as fact, and I have to say... I believe her.

  "Is that true?" I ask Jillian, but she doesn't turn to face me.

  Instead, she addresses Barb. "You were raped and abused. You're suicidal. Connor's dying unfairly young. Christopher lost parts of his body, and I'm betting pieces of his soul too. I don't think my problems are something we should waste breath on."

  Those words...

  It feels like someone punched me in the middle of the stomach, ripped through my skin and muscle, and is pulling my guts back out. I know I've given her no reason to think otherwise, but I don't want Jillian to feel like she's a waste of anything. As much as she confounds me, and as scared as I am of her at times, I know I don't want her feeling badly about herself.

  I sure as shit don't want her to feel isolated.

  "Your problems are as important as ours," I say, and Jillian turns all the way around to look at me. Her expression is wary and guarded. "Tell us the truth, sunshine... why are you in group with us?"

  Her eyes bore into mine. For a moment, I think she's going to remain stubbornly silent but then she whispers, "So I can escape my parents for at least a little bit each week. So I can have friendship and someone to talk to. So I can get out of my house and see a little of the outside world while I still can."

  "They're really holding you prisoner?" I ask dubiously.

  "Not like in restraints or anything," Jillian says with a roll of her eyes. "But emotionally... I'm as bound to their sides as if I had iron shackles on."

  "How?" Connor asks.

  Jillian turns, taking two steps back so she can see all of us. Connor and Barb step in closer, and I'm stunned to see a tiny bit of empathy in Barb's eyes. After taking a deep breath, Jillian tells us about her parents.

  "Since my diagnosis, their entire world shrank right along with my vision. I became the most important thing in the world to them. Not that I wasn't before, because I so was. I mean, hello... I'm their daughter. Of course, they live, eat, breathe, and sleep for my benefit. But after we lost my sister, I became more than essential to them. I'm the last remaining vestige of their parental identities. Without me, they're just Sandy and Owen Martel, a middle-aged housewife and an ambulance chasing attorney who have a nice 401K plan and play tennis on the weekends."

  "So they're what... overbearing? Overprotective?" I ask her.

  "As in they won't let me do anything," Jillian says with a nod. "I can't work because I can't drive at night, and they won't let me take public transit. I can't leave the house because I have
no transportation. I have no friends because I can't go anywhere. I can't even move out because I don't have any money because they won't let me work."

  "But you're an adult," Barb points out. "They can't stop you from doing anything. If you want to work, get a job and take the public transportation. They'll get over it."

  Jillian shakes her head. "I'm not explaining it well, but it's emotional blackmail. I've tried to be forceful and tell them I'm going to go out on my own, but then they cry, wail, and beg me not to. They throw Kelly in my face and tell me that they're not prepared to lose me as well. They make me feel so damn bad for causing them worry that I give in and do what they want."

  "Sounds like they're the ones who need therapy," Barb mutters.

  Jillian lets out a sarcastic snort as she nods. "My parents are simply not emotionally equipped to deal with my diagnosis. They can't process me going blind. They're unable to fathom how I'm a walking heart attack waiting to happen from the cardiomyopathy. They look at me as a fragile egg, and they're terrified I'm going to shatter. They would have never let me come on this trip. I didn't tell them because they would have talked me out of it, and I'm tired of being talked out of things that I want for myself because it causes them worry."

  "You didn't forget your wallet at home, did you?" I ask with a cocked eyebrow and a smirk on my face. "You don't have any money."

  "I swear I'll pay you back," Jillian says. There's worry in her voice as she begs me with pleading eyes to understand her duplicity. "I've got money in savings from Christmas and birthday gifts. I swear it."

  "Relax, sunshine," I tell her with a wave of my hand. "I'm not worried about it."

  And I'm not. I'll gladly pay for Jillian's trip. I got a decent amount of money from the government, and it wouldn't dent my bank account.

  "I'll cover you too," Connor says. "I've got Dad's credit card, and he told me to go crazy with it."

  Jillian gives Connor a shy smile.

  "I've got you covered too," Barb says. "Well, I mean... I don't have much money because I spend most of it on drugs, but I'll gladly share those with you."

  Letting her head fall back, Jillian gives a hearty laugh. I'm drawn in by the way the sun causes her hair to turn more golden. Her eyes are shining as she looks to Barb, Connor, and then to me. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you. It seemed so stupid. My problem is overprotective parents who I can't break from emotionally. You see why I wanted to keep it to myself?"