Page 8 of Heart Strings & Hotlines
“This is where we’re staying?”Kara asks as we pull up to a two-story craftsman-style home. The stonework climbs to the second story, where green siding takes over.
I like how it blends with the trees surrounding us.
After putting the car in park, I spin in my seat to face her. Her skin is a funny shade of red, and her eyes are tiny slits. I have no clue what she’s trying to tell me, and if she won’t use her words, there’s nothing I can do.
“Yes, this is where we’re staying.” Removing the keys, I pop the trunk of the SUV I purchased to transport all our belongings. It wasn’t until we were leaving New York yesterday that she told me she needed an actual U-Haul for hers.
What could she possibly need? She’s thirteen years old. I have a suitcase, a box of paperwork, and my computer.
“Thane.”
Once again, I turn in my seat to face her. Fucking Rafe insists on eye contact. “Why do you turn my name into a three-syllable word every time you say it?”
“Oh my God. This is the worst.Youare the worst. I’m upset, Thane. Fucking pissed off.” Her words ring inside my head like a goddamn bell.
“Siri,” I say, “are thirteen-year-olds supposed to say ‘fucking’?”
“You’re unbelievable, you know that?” Kara says over the phone’s response.
“Siri, order antacids in bulk.” I stare back at my sister until my chest burns. “This isn’t my fault, Kara. If you hadn’t run away, we wouldn’t be in this situation.”
“Isnuck out, I didn’t run away. If you had only listened to me, I wouldn’t have snuck out in the first place. I was at the freaking movies, for crying out loud, and you had the FBI searching for me.” Her words echo in the confines of my car before she exits and slams the door.
I didn’t have the FBI searching for her. But it’s possible a good majority of the police force, as well as my private security company, were all on hand.
It’s only been a month since the nanny event at the dreaded kiddie camp in North Carolina, and we’re no better off than we were then. Rowan is a nightmare, Kara is beyond my control, and Lottie…well, Lottie is something else entirely.
This was my only option. Everyone will see that eventually.
“Rafe?” Kara’s voice is muted while I’m shut inside the car—it’s finally pleasant. It’s tempting to stay here, where the relative silence doesn’t cause needles to prick at my eye sockets. But when my…friend—and at the moment, I use that term loosely—exits the house, I lock the car doors so he can’t drag me out until I’m ready, and remove my tiny notebook and pencil from the cup holder.
Inside, I write:He’s here to help. He is here to help.Then I snap it shut and focus on why we’re here.
Kara ran away after I removed her bedroom door for slamming it fifty-seven times. Fifty-seven. I counted. She said I was the unreasonable one, and later that night, I woke up to my house alarm going off. Kara was gone before I could catch her.
She’s remarkably fast for someone who never leaves her bedroom.
And the result of her stunt was mandatory therapy for her and an emotional support person for me. The judge actually said I needed someone to see feelings for me and teach me how to interpret them.
She was an idiot, but that’s where Rafe, my college roommate, came in. He’s an occupational therapist, though even after researching it, I’m still not sure what he does other than play with a lot of toys and stare at people all day.
He’ll be staying with us for at least a month, and I would rather pluck my fingernails off one by one. Living with him in college was hell on my peace of mind.
I lean over the steering wheel when Kara runs and flings herself at Rafe. The need for an antacid intensifies.
On the drive from New York to Tennessee, something Rafe insisted on for bonding time, Kara told me exactly twenty-two times that Rafe was the only reason she was entertaining this trip.
As if either of us had a choice. Jonah is out of jail, and I know he’ll fight to take Kara back, if for no other reason than I’m the one who has her.
My attorney assured me that he can’t even file to get Kara back until he’s finished a mandatory forty hours of parent safety courses and an alcohol addiction program. I pulled every string I had to ensure he actually has to attend them too because I knew he’d bribe his way out of it somehow otherwise.
When Jonah went to jail for his fifth DUI, Kara’s options were me or foster care. No matter what she says, I must be better than foster care.
It’s all her messy…emotions making us clash. Once she gets those under control, we’ll live our lives in relative peace.
I’ve researched the hell out of it too. The first change will be to her diet. That’s said to affect hormonal teens in a number of ways. And no more red dye—that shit messes with everyone.
Rafe stands at the hood of the car, wearing a sweater-vest and khakis. It’s eighty-three degrees out. Human biology asserts that he should be covered in sweat, but he simply continues to stare at me.
