Page 17 of The Sun
His brows pinched together, and he nodded once before he turned his back to me. Something in my soul crumpled like a shoreline wasting away under the rising tide.
“Daddy?” I pleaded. My throat burned so badly that I either had to let the tears out or scream.
Elias stopped at the end of my bed. “I meant what I said, Sunny. I love you.” He went to move past Daddy. “And I’m sorry, Mr. Lower. I didn’t mean any disrespect.”
Daddy’s nostrils flared when Elias brushed past him and into the hallway, and I fell forward into a heap on my bed, balling the sheets in my hand and crying. Every breath I sucked in smelled like leather and spice, and all that did was twist the proverbial dagger deeper into my chest.
“We need to talk when I calm down,” Daddy said.
I continued to weep as his footfalls traveled the length of the hallway followed by the bang of his bedroom door. I was ashamed and upset, but mostly, I was afraid I would never see Elias again.
But I couldn’t expect them to understand that. They were so far removed from fifteen years of age, tainted by life and bills and unfulfilled dreams. I expected the way I felt for Elias to seem silly and ridiculous. After all, I hadn’t even spoken to him in five years, and suddenly, there he was, snuggled down in their only daughter’s bed.
The floorboards creaked. Momma’s hand gently touched my back. “Sunny?” She used the voice she reserved for when I was sick—or when Elias didn’t want to eat his peas. “Honey?”
“Go away.” As soon as the words left my mouth, another pound of guilt weighed down on my shoulders.
“Listen.” She paused, and Drew cooed. “I’m not mad at you. We’re human, and you’re at the age where your hormones can take over and cause you to make rash decisions. I just. . . I just don’t want one mistake to ruin your life, and—”
“I didn’t sleep with him, Mother. He didn’t even touch me!”
There was a long beat of silence only broken by the intermittent gasps I took between tears. “Okay.” She inhaled. “If you say you didn’t, then I believe you. But love—honey, love is something that you can’t possibly understand at such a tender age.”
My jaw tensed. Too young to understand love? Then why was there an aching feeling in my chest when I watched Elias leave? If that wasn’t love, what was it? “You don’t understand,” I said.
“Yes, I do. I’ve been your age before.”
“But you’re not me!”
Her hand left my back. “You’re right. I’m not.”
I glanced through the curtain of hair covering my face. Momma appeared defeated, confused, worried, as if the sleepless nights with Drew and Simon hadn’t been hard enough on her, there I was adding to it.
“I’m sorry.”
She nodded, cradling Drew before she walked through the door, slowly closing it behind her.
I stayedin my room that entire day, afraid to come out and face my father. Little girls never want to let their daddies down. No matter how old a girl got, I didn’t think that changed, and I had let him down a hundred times over that day.
I finally went downstairs for dinner, keeping my eyes on the floor when I pulled out the dining room chair. The legs scratched the hardwood floor when I scooted up. I stared at my plate but could still see Daddy’s elbows on the surface, his hands clasped. I wondered if he was praying.
“I’ve been thinking all day about how to handle this, Sunny.” His words hung heavy in the air like a thick, black cloud of smoke attempting to choke me out.
Momma took a seat with a glass of wine. That was the first time I’d seen her drink since Grandma Alveenie had died six years before.
I twirled the spaghetti around my fork anticipating the worst: grounded until I graduated. Community service down at the police department for the unforeseeable future. Daddy took a sip of water. “You’re grounded for the rest of summer. And you’re never to speak to that boy again.”
Pound. Pound. Pound.My heart threatened to crack my ribs as I stared at the noodles wound around my silverware.
“Did you hear me, Sunny? Not a phone call. Not a letter. Nothing.”
What I wanted to do was scream, push my chair back and let it topple to the floor with a loud clatter before I pounded my fist on the table and told him no. But I didn’t. I just stared at my spaghetti, fighting the flood of tears.
“Sunny?”
“Honey, your father’s talking to you.” Momma’s voice was hushed.
“Why?”
