Page 22 of Penance
The bus dropped me off after school that day, and I rushed into the house with a smile, but as soon as I stepped through the door, I knew something was wrong. The house was quiet—too quiet.
“Mom,” I called, but she did not answer me. I stood in our tiny living room, my brows furrowed. Something was different, but I couldn’t put my finger on what.
I stood there, staring at the carpet until I heard a small whimper from my mom’s bedroom. Dropping my backpack on the living room floor, I ran to her.
My heart beat like the wings of a hummingbird as I opened her door. I already knew what I’d find on the other side, but I needed to see it for myself—needed to confirm that I’d been right all along.
One Mississippi…Two….
The door opened, and once again, the weight fell back onto my shoulders.My mom was curled up on her bed, an empty bottle of wine tucked into her side as tears stained her face. She didn’t bother to look up when I walked into the room, each step heavier than the last.
“Mom,” I’d said, but she still didn’t respond to the sound of my voice.
When I reached the bed, I crawled up on it with her and sat with my back against the wall, gently pulling her head into my lap once I was settled. She didn’t fight me on it. She didn’t even move. He’d broken her—again—and I’d invited him in to do it.
After a minute of lying there, my fingers gently stroking her hair, she finally found the strength to speak, the two words she’d drowned herself in alcohol to avoid.
“He left.” She broke as she said it, the words barely audible through her sobs.
“I know, Mom.” And that was all that was said for the rest of the night. We didn’t speak. We didn’t need to because we were both thinking the same thing. Once again, we paid our penance for loving a man who couldn’t love us back.
Later that night, when the house was quiet and my mom was asleep, I slipped out of her room to change into my pajamas. The moon was bright enough that I didn’t bother with lights. I let my hand follow the path of the wall, leading me to my bedroom. Stepping inside, I closed the door behind me and let my back rest against it, sinking to the floor. Tears burned my eyes, but I refused to let them fall. I wouldn’t be like her. I wouldn’t cry over him. I sat there with my eyes closed until I was afraid I would fall asleep, and then finally forced myself to my feet—and that’s when I saw it.
A silver chain lay on my bed, the metal gleaming in the moonlight. A note lay beneath it, a starch white against my black bedspread. My hands trembled as I reached out, picking up both the necklace and the note.
I’d never seen my dad’s handwriting before, but that didn’t matter. I knew the note was from him all the same. The six words written on it were proof enough of that.
Take care of her for me.
That’s all it said, and I resented him for it. I was tired of having no one to take care of me.
Crumpling the note, I tossed it across the room in a fit of anger. Hatred burned through me, and I thought about throwing the necklace, too. But the longer I held it, the more the idea of throwing it out bothered me.
I would keep it—not for him—but as a reminder of what loving the wrong person does to you.
Chapter 8
Lily
Benton Falls High School sits down the road from the fire department, a place I have been trying not to think about for the past three weeks—not that the town has made that easy. Rumors about the fire—and me and Theo—haven’t died down like I hoped they would. Instead, they seem to have started a fire of their own—one that, from experience, will be almost impossible to put out.
Summer heat blasts me in the face as I step out of my car, and I hurry across the parking lot. I’m running late, a trait I despise, but I’ve struggled to keep the mask of prime and polished Lily Carson since the fire.
Lately, I’ve been seeing more and more cracks in my veneer, and those cracks look a lot like my mother.
The shrill sound of my ringtone has me scrambling to find my phone as I walk across the street. The jingling stops just as my hand wraps around the slim shape, but as I pull it out to turn the volume off, it starts back up again. A familiar name flashes across the screen. My heart is loud in my ears, and cold sweat breaks out over my skin. I’m frozen, stuck staring at a name I haven’t seen in years. The phone stops ringing, but I still don’t move.
Two seconds later, a text pings through.
Mom:Call me.
It’s been eight years, three months, and eighteen days since I’ve spoken to my mother. I was nineteen the last time, and I don’t intend to end that streak now that I’m almost twenty-eight. Squaring my shoulders, I reach for the door and yank it open, but with my mind still on my mom, I end up running into something solid.
An unladylike grunt pushes from my chest with the collision, knocking the breath out of me and heating my cheeks.
“I’m so sorry. I—” I begin, but my words are cut off.
“You should watch where you’re going, little lady. You never know who you’ll run into.”
