Page 23 of This Love
“And here is the laptop.” He moved it under the table.
I didn’t want that. I wanted the book.
“Where can I go to look at this by myself?” I asked.
“Anywhere you want.” Still, he didn’t move. Neither did my father’s legs or shoes.
“I want to come out.” My back was hurting a lot.
“Okay.” Tucker scooted backward. “But I wish you’d look at the video first.”
I crawled out from under the table, clutching my book. “No.”
He glanced at my father.
“Did you fix things?” my father asked.
“No,” Tucker said. “I couldn’t take anything out. It’s what her mother used to do. I never want to be like her.”
“Mom is bad,” I said. “I have the tattoo.”
The two of them glanced at each other again.
No more. No more. I raced from the room and realized there was another way out of the hall with the pictures. It led to another small hall with three doors.
I dashed into the first one I came to. It was a bathroom. Perfect. I slammed the door and stood with my back against it so I would know if anyone tried to come in.
This room was blue and white. It took a moment to identify everything by name, as if my brain was only slowly finding words. Shower curtain, toilet, rug, sink, mirror.
Mirror.
I stepped away from the door and set the book on the small counter. I didn’t look like any of the versions of myself I’d seen so far. In Vinnie’s video, my hair was shorter than in the photos on the wall.
Here, my hair was everywhere. Some of it was stuck to the side of my head with sparkling combs. Other parts fell to my shoulders in thick coils.
I pulled on one of the spirals to make it straight. When I let go, it bounced back into place.
The combs didn’t come out easily, caught in tiny strands of hair. I jerked them out and left them on the counter. I opened a few drawers, finding hairbrushes, combs, and tubes and bottles of all sizes.
I could read the labels, but I wasn’t sure what some of them meant. Lubriderm. Colgate. Burt’s Bees.
I didn’t have time to investigate. I picked up my book and sat on the floor with my back against the door. Time to read.
My fingers trembled as I opened it to the first page.
The correct handwriting continued, but my breath caught as my eyes scanned the page.
* * *
Mother stole the last book.
I can’t believe it.
How could she!
I knew things were missing. I knew it!
I hate her! I hate her! I hate her!
