Every Little Piece (21 page)

I get out of the car, with a tremor in my legs. I walk to the sidewalk and stay in the safety of the maple. Finally, I look.

I blink again. The crumbling stairs are gone with new stone in its place. The house has been repainted and the driveway repaved. Life has gone on without me. I expected to return and for it to be the same. But it’s not. This motivates me to follow through with what I came here to do.

My parents’ cars are gone, but Tate’s truck sits in the driveway. The red Ford is recognizable anywhere. He and Noah are friends, but it’s easy to forget that outside of the relationship that Tate and I have had for the past six months.

I walk forward, my feet moving, pulling me closer, toward the truth. I might not be ready to hear what they have to say but I need this. If for no other reason than to prove to Seth that I haven’t been wasting away for the past year. I don’t want his sympathy. I don’t want him feeling bad for me or guilty for leaving. That’s in the past.

I climb the stone steps and pause at the front door. Do I enter or do I knock? The window is open and voices drift out. I shouldn’t. I should enter so they know I’m here. But a part of me is curious. I crawl along the side of the house until I’m under the window.

They’re talking about me.

At first, their voices are muffled but I hear my name between the grunts and disagreements. Their voices rise, and I hear Tate. “You know I don’t agree with this, man.”

Noah snorts. “Yes, you’ve told me multiple times, but you’ve had a crush on my sister for ages and readily agreed to everything last year.”

“You’re my friend first,” Tate states. “You’ve been my friend since fourth grade, when you beat up Dustin McClane. Remember that?”

There’s silence, and I know Noah remembers. Tate is one of his closest friends and we’ve heard that story over the years more than a few times. But what did Tate agree to? Unless I’ve blocked out my family and missed bigger things than the house being repainted and steps being fixed.

“Of course, I remember.”

“Well,” Tate says, “you gotta let go. You can’t keep blaming yourself for everything. Move on, and let Haley live her life.”

Noah’s voice rises. “And you call what she’s doing living?”

I cringe and want to run away, climb back in the car and drive back, but I don’t move. The lure of their secrets refuses to let me go.

“You call what you’re doing living?” Tate shoots back.

“This isn’t about me. It’s about Haley.”

“That’s where you’re wrong. I’ve spent the past half a year getting to know your sister. She’s stronger than you think. You need to stop messing with her life.” Tate’s voice lowers. “Leave her alone. She’ll figure it all out. I promise.”

Noah growls. “What are you trying to say? Just spit it out.”

“I’m saying, I’m done. She broke it off with me. She deserves better anyway. She deserves the truth. From you.”

“Fine. Thanks for stopping by. Let’s keep in touch,” Noah says. I hear his sarcasm, which he uses when he’s mad and hurt.

“Noah. Come on, man. Stop doing this to yourself.”

“Leave.” Noah’s voice turns to steel. Tate has no chance of reaching him now. Not today.

“Fine.” His voice cracks a little. “But you’re wrong about her.”

They stop talking, and I realize that Tate’s leaving. I scramble around the side of the house. His truck starts up moments later, and he drives away. Thankfully, he won’t recognize Justine’s car parked down the road.

I lean my head against the side of the house. Their words swim in my brain but I can’t make sense of them. Now is not the best time, but I’m not sure I can make the drive out here again.

This time I don’t knock, but nudge open the door, which Tate didn’t shut all the way. I enter and lose my breath at the wave of memories and smells that hit me, the faded scent of Mom’s favorite cinnamon candles, the air freshener. I bite my lip and push through them. I stand at the doorway to the living room. Noah sits on the couch, his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands. He doesn’t know I’m here yet and for the first time in a long time, he’s vulnerable. He’s not hiding behind a mask of control. Maybe he doesn’t have it as together as he leads people to believe.

“What’s going on with you and Tate?” I ask softly.

He jerks his head up and shock is written all over his face. “What’re you doing here?” He glances out the window and sees the empty driveway. “How’d you get here because I know you didn’t drive.”

“That’s not important.” The secrets hidden behind their words push me to ask questions. “I overhead your conversation.”

Noah’s face pales. Several times, he tries to talk but only manages a few words. I see his guilt.

“What’s going on? What’s going on with Tate?”

“Nothing.”

I push him harder. “You must be doing something.” I take a deep breath. It’s time to say what I came for. “I’m sorry. I’ve spent so much time running this past year and avoiding you that I forgot to be your sister.”

The truth hits me harder than I expected. How selfish I’ve been. We carry our hidden truths, the painful ones, but speaking them out loud makes them so much more real.

He catches my eyes with his. The guilt that resides there punches me in the gut. The truth haunts him. I can see it plain as day. Why does he feel guilty? I close my eyes and let their conversation replay in my mind. The dots connect, one by one. I remember my kisses with Tate. The lack of spark and passion. The fact that he coincidentally appeared in my life when I had no one. The fact that he and Noah have some kind of agreement.

“Oh, my God.”

Noah stands. “Haley, I’m sorry. Let me explain.”

A rush of anger takes the place of any compassion or feelings of love I was just feeling. It’s a tidal wave that crashes against me. I tremble, the raw truth taking hold of my body and shaking me. It won’t let go. I stay in control. Barely.

“How dare you?” I spit out. It’s not a question. Because I know the answer. He’s been controlling my life now for a while. He’s always been the older protective brother but ever since the accident, it’s been worse. “I’m not your project to fix.”

Noah’s face turns from guilty to mad. His eyes twitch and his jaw clenches. “Really? You’re not?”

I don’t respond at first, but the emotion and anger builds. “I can take care of myself. Stop messing with me. I’m perfectly happy with my life and don’t need you to play therapist.”

My words hang in the air, full of contradictions, because we both know I’m speaking lies.

He scoffs. “That’s fine, then. Go play at your secret little hideaway home by the shore. Just remember you’re not the only one hurting. You’ve shut out your family and your friends. Everyone! Did you ever think we need you too?”

His words send me past my breaking point. He realizes what he’s said and reaches for me. “I’m sorry, Haley. That was stupid of me.”

“No!” I don’t let him touch me, because if he does I’ll break, one way or the other. “I’m leaving now. And you’re right. It was stupid of you because my friends are dead.” I walk to the front door. “Don’t call. Don’t visit. And don’t get another friend to be my playmate.”

I slam the door. I stay in control until I reach the sidewalk and then I’m sprinting. I reach Justine’s car and whip open the door. I pull a three-point turn and then screech off down the road, leaving behind the smell of rubber. I press the gas and speed back to what has been my home. I need to get back and into the routine I’ve established for myself. The day-to-day routines that have kept me sane for the past year.

But somehow, something’s been broken. I’m pretty sure the routines aren’t going to help. There’s only one thing that will, except I’m not ready and I don’t know if I ever will be.

I stand outside the door to my house. The cape is small but until this past year, it’s all I’ve known. Most of my memories are happy, with a family I love. Emotion squeezes my chest, and I feel a sliver of regret for leaving them out of my life for the past year.

My hand has been on the doorknob for about five minutes. If there’s one thing I’ve learned working with the kids this past year it’s that you have to forgive. I’m not their therapist. I don’t tell them to forgive some of the horrible things that happened in their lives, but I see it. I see the hatred and bitterness crawling through them, sucking the joy from their life.

It’s much harder to forgive yourself. I can’t hold others accountable—I know that now. But I can hold myself accountable and hold on to that blame so I never forget.

But Mom? I need to face this. Her. I need to forgive. Because right now, back in the area, I need my family. Because this, this part of my past, is the root of everything.

Before I can knock, the door opens. Mom stands, her brown hair is a bit longer, and there’s a spark in her eyes that wasn’t there when I left. She pulls me into a hug before I can say a word. She draws me close, and I can smell her perfume. It surrounds me.

“Hi, Mom.” I can’t meet her eyes. “Sorry I didn’t stay long when I dropped off Katie.”

She pulls away and squeezes my hand, then lets go. “You’re here now and that’s what matters. Come in, come in. I have some cookies somewhere.”

I follow her into the kitchen. She’s nervous. She bangs around in the cupboards and finally pulls out packaged cookies that are probably weeks old. She places them on the kitchen table and gestures to a chair.

“Is it working out with Katie?” I ask.

“Oh, yes. I love having her, but she’s gone a lot. Glad she could use the extra bedroom.”

“Good. I thought you two would get along.”

“Please, sit. Would you like some tea or coffee?” She twists her fingers in her other hand. “If I’d known you were coming I’d have made some homemade iced-tea that you like.” She keeps rambling on, apologizing for the state of the house and the fact that she hasn’t vacuumed. She’s patting her hair as if trying to find a spot for every loose strand.

“Mom.”

She stops fiddling.

“Sit down.”

She sits, but keeps smoothing down her hair.

“It’s okay. I didn’t come for the cookies.” My throat is dry and I swallow what little spit is left in my mouth. I tap my fingers against table. I’m the one who’s nervous now. “How’ve you been?”

While she searches for an answer, I glance around the kitchen for signs of my dad. But I don’t see his wallet, keys, or sandals by the door. That’s why there aren’t any cookies. “Dad’s not here, is he?” I ask softly.

Mom shakes her head. “We’re still working things through.”

I ask the tough question, the whole reason I’m here. “Are you still…” I can’t say it. I can’t ask if she’s still hooking up with Carly’s dad.

She shakes her head no.

This is so awkward. I stand up, desperately needing air. She stands too and follows me to the door. I turn and see the hope written on her face. Any remaining anger leaves me.

“We should get together for breakfast next week,” I say.

Mom’s eyes light up and sparkle in a way they weren’t when she answered the door. “I’d love that.”

“Great. I’ll call.”

I’m standing on the front steps and the awkward silence hangs between us. As I’m about to turn, she grabs my arm and pulls me into a fierce hug. “I’m sorry, Seth. For everything. I’m sorry this had to happen right when you were graduating. I wish I could take it back.”

I cringe, remembering how angry I was last year, the night of graduation. Blinded by anger that my parents would do this to me. “No, I’m sorry. I understand.”

And I did. Even the closest of relationships can go off track. No one wants them to, but all it takes is one word, one misunderstood conversation or one mistake. And then, something that was so wonderful gets derailed.

I give her one last hug. “I’ll call you next week.”

I climb into my car and hit the road. I feel a bit lighter, but at the same time, depression hits. My mistakes with Haley can’t be smoothed over with one short conversation. I’m not ready to go back to my grandfather’s shabby cabin, so I head to the pool hall. Yes. I have lots of memories here, but I deserve to feel rotten.

I walk in and the first thing I notice is Noah sitting at the bar. He stares in front of him but doesn’t seem focused on any one thing in particular. All I want to do is hide out in the back and shoot some pool. I’m not looking for a fight. Especially not with Noah. But when the door slams closed behind me, he looks up. Our eyes connect, and I see the mixture of grief and anger pass over his face.

The way this day is going, the universe seems to want me to face every person in my life I’ve hurt or let down. Now that we’ve both recognized each other I can’t ignore it. I walk over and slide onto the stool next to him.

He says nothing but signals for another beer. His fingers curl and uncurl into a fist while he waits. I expect him to turn any second and slug me one.

We sit in silence but it’s not awkward. He doesn’t want me here, or anywhere near Haley, but it’s different this time, because I do plan on telling her everything, just not yet. I need at least a couple days when she doesn’t completely hate me.

“Have you talked to her?” Noah breaks the silence.

“Earlier today.”