Page 71 of The Breakaway

My mom's face went white as she scanned the parking lot, gauging how many strangers had just heard that sentence.

"Don't cause a scene."

"Oh. Sure. You're right. Let's just sweep this under the rug and stay one happy family. Right, Mom?"

I dropped my suitcase to the pavement and slammed the trunk closed. “I swear, if you don’t tell Isabel to lock her door, I’ll—” I sucked in a breath and dragged my things toward the convenience store across from the pumps.

"Sharla!”

“Merry Christmas, Mom. I love you. Give Dad a hug for me," I snapped.

I didn't look back until I was inside the store. A man in yellow coveralls and a trucker hat held the door for me, and I walked to the back near the Coca-Cola products. I watched out the window, my vision blurring. My mom's car sat in her parking spot.

That's when I started to cry. Hot tears streamed down my cheeks. I’d just ruined Christmas. Completely blown it apart. My dad had just gotten out of the hospital, and I wasn’t going to go home for the holiday?

I pressed the back of my hand against my mouth to keep from “making a scene.” I could walk back out there. Apologize. Tell her I was overreacting and ride with her back to the house.

She’d driven all the way here. She was probably angry and disappointed in me. Annoyed I couldn’t just suck it up for a couple of weeks.

But I couldn’t.

I couldn’t do it.

Just the idea of seeing his face slammed me back onto my grandma’s linoleum floor. Leaned over the toilet. Heaving up stomach acid.

Mom got out once and looked at the store. She tapped her foot. Crossed her arms over her chest.

I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.

Then she got in and pulled out of the parking lot.

What was I going to do? I was standing with a suitcase in a shithole of a gas station. Maddie was already at the airport by now, and Crystal was probably on her way to BC. I didn't have Lily or Caleb's number, and it wasn't like I could find a computer and email them.

Then my heart started to slow. My breathing deepened.

I did have one number.

Memorized.

Chapter

Twenty-Four

Rob's truckpulled into the parking lot of the gas station, and I gripped the handle of my suitcase, suddenly feeling light-headed. Was I really doing this? Had I gotten out of my mom's car and refused to go home for Christmas?

I stood there next to the pop refrigerator where I’d second-guessed myself for the last fifteen minutes. Was I making a big deal out of nothing? It was a long time ago. But the idea of seeing him again, of having to sit in the same space, made bile rise in my throat.

I walked to the doors, ignoring the strange looks the cashier was giving me and my suitcase, and exited to the sidewalk just as Rob got out of the front seat. We hadn't talked much on the phone. Mostly because I didn't want to sob like a baby in front of Chris, the gas station attendant.

Rob rounded the front of the truck and grabbed my suitcase. He threw it into the back seat, then took my toiletry case and backpack and set them in next to it. Then he opened the door to the passenger seat, and I don't know why it was that motion that did it, but the floodgates broke open.

I turned my face away from him as I got in the truck and fumbled for my seat belt. Then turned the opposite direction when he got in and started the engine. He didn't say anything, didn't ask any questions. There was no doubt in my mind that he saw I was upset. I kept swiping my cheeks every five seconds.

I finally got a hold of myself while we waited at a light a few blocks later. “Thank you for picking me up.” My voice sounded watery, my nose stuffy and clogged.

“Yeah.” Rob adjusted his grip on the steering wheel.

“I wasn’t sure you’d call the number. Since you didn’t recognize it.” He’d made a point about not calling unknown numbers when we played foosball in the basement.

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