A Midsummer's Nightmare Page 14

  “She misses having someone to bitch to.” I snorted. “Not me.”

  Trace sighed. “You’re too hard on her. I mean… Okay, I don’t live with her. I know that. I know she fucked up a lot. But she loves you, and it just kills me to see you putting Dad up on a pedestal when he’s just as bad as she is.”

  “He is not,” I argued. “At least Dad’s fun to be around.” Not that he’s around often anymore.

  “He uses you as a drinking buddy, Whitley,” Trace said. “You grill burgers with him, and you drink together and hang out on the beach and drink together and, oh yeah, drink together. Whatever; I’m fine with a parent allowing his kid to drink at home, but the way you talk about your summers together, it sounds like he’s more of your brother than your dad.”

  “Well, Trace, you’ve been gone for a long time. Maybe I need someone to act like my brother.”

  There was a long pause.

  “Sorry,” I said. “That was me being defensive. I’m kind of hungover and bitchy.”

  “I can tell.”

  “Look, no matter how Dad screws up, it’s still better than Mom’s bullshit. At least he didn’t tear the family apart.”

  “Yes, he did.”

  “No, he didn’t,” I said. “Mom’s the one who left him. Mom’s the one who moved to another state. It’s her fault, Trace.”

  I heard him let out a long breath. “I shouldn’t tell you this,” he said, “but you’re eighteen years old, and that’s old enough to know, and, God, I’m just sick of hearing the way you worship him. Whitley, Mom left because Dad cheated.”

  “He… what?”

  “A few times,” Trace said. “You were too young to know, but I figured it out. Mom asked me not to tell you then, but… Look, I know she bitches about Dad a lot and has told you things she shouldn’t have, but she didn’t want you to hate him, even if she does—even if he deserves it.”

  I didn’t say anything. I just sat there, stunned.

  “Mom left, but she wanted to reconcile,” he continued. “Dad said no, that he’d rather be single for a while, anyway. She got pissed and moved far away. Which was wrong, I know, but… This was Dad’s fault, Whitley.”

  Still, I couldn’t say a word.

  “Sorry,” he said. “I know I shouldn’t have told you that. Don’t tell Mom. She never wanted you to find out. She’d kill me.”

  “I… I have to go.”

  “Whitley?”

  “I’ll call you later, okay?”

  I hung up the phone before he could answer. I just sat there for a long time, staring at the blank wall. I didn’t know what to think or how to feel. Trace wouldn’t lie to me, I knew that, but as the clock ticked the hours past and Dad still didn’t come up the stairs to see me, I really wished that I didn’t know the truth.

  20

  I didn’t leave the guest room until two o’clock the next afternoon, when I finally decided waiting on Dad wasn’t doing any good—and I was hungry. When I came downstairs, I found Nathan sitting at the dining room table, hair still wet from the shower, working on his laptop. My stomach tightened.

  “Are there more pictures?” I asked him from the doorway.

  He looked up at me. “What?”

  “On the Facebook page—are there pictures from Harrison’s party?”

  He sighed. “A few, but nothing too bad.”

  “But I bet the comments—”

  “Whitley,” he said, cutting me off. “Don’t. Don’t think about them, okay? Fuck those people and whatever they have to say.”

  “You agreed with them,” I reminded him. “A few days ago, you called me a whore, too.”

  He looked down, staring at his lap for a moment. “Well,” he said at last, “I was an asshole.”

  “No, you weren’t.” I walked over to the table and sat beside him. “You were worried about your little sister. I get that now. After last night… Christ, I’d hate myself if something like that happened to her. I hate myself as it is for what little did happen to her that night. Maybe I’m not as slutty as those comments make me out to be, but…”

  “Don’t get me wrong,” he said. “I’m still pissed at you for not watching her that night. You screwed up. But that doesn’t give these idiots the right to say the shit they’re saying. I mean, seriously? How lonely and pathetic do you have to be to waste time gossiping about some girl you probably haven’t met? That’s pretty lame.”

  I smiled a little. “I guess.”

  “It’s the truth.” He paused. “So, are you okay? After what happened the other night? Harrison filled me in, but do you want to…?”

  “I want to forget it ever happened,” I said. “I know I won’t, but I just need to think about something else for a while.”

  He nodded and cleared his throat, leaning back a little and clicking a few buttons on his laptop. “So, I’m looking at UK’s course catalog online—checking out some classes I might want to take.”

  “I should do that soon,” I said. “And pick a major.”

  “You don’t have one yet?” he asked, surprised.

  I shook my head. “Nope. What about you?”

  “Yeah. I’m going into computer science—hoping to focus in web development.”

  “Oh… that’s cool.”

  He looked at me, one eyebrow raised. “You’re not going to make fun of me? Call me a nerd or anything?”

  “No. Why?”

  “I don’t know. It just seems like something you’d do.”

  I laughed and stood up, walking into the kitchen. “Yeah, well, I probably would normally.” I opened the fridge and pulled out an apple. “But I’ve decided to try this new thing and be nice to you.”

  He grinned at me when I sat down next to him again. “Is this because you feel guilty after what I told you at the diner?”

  “Mostly,” I said, chewing on my apple.

  “Wow. Pity kindness. I’m flattered.”

  Nathan nudged my arm playfully, but the truth was that I really did feel guilty. I knew what it was like to give up something that intimate and have the person completely abandon you. I knew how shameful and hurtful it could be.

  “Can I ask you something?”

  He nodded. “Sure.”

  I took another bite of my apple and swallowed before asking, “Why did you sleep with me graduation night?”

  “Because I was really drunk.”

  “Gee. Thanks.”

  He chuckled, scratching his head for a moment. “I told you I was waiting for someone special, someone I really liked, right? Well, believe it or not, you’re incredibly charming when you’re drunk.”

  “Only on tequila,” I said. “I learned the other night that vodka makes me a little bit of a bitch.”

  “Well, you were charming that night,” he said. “You were friendly and funny and… and gorgeous.”

  I blushed.

  “Then, when we were talking about that Van Morrison song and you told me all the songs about blue eyes… I don’t know.” He looked at me, our eyes meeting as he spoke. “I loved that you knew the old songs and that, even hammered, you could put me in my place. A lot of girls act ditzy when they’re drunk, and I guess some guys think that’s cute, but I don’t. And you weren’t like that—you seemed… real. We laughed a lot that night. And when you led me back to the bedroom and I knew what you wanted to do, I just remember thinking, If this girl isn’t perfect for me, no one is. So, I guess the short answer is, I liked you. A lot.”

  We were still staring at each other, his brown eyes steady on mine. Suddenly, I was aware of just how close we were sitting. Our arms were almost brushing. My knee was just inches from his. I opened my mouth to say something—I had no idea what.

  “Hey, kids.”

  I jumped and turned to look as Dad walked through the dining room. When I glanced at Nathan, I thought I saw him blushing a little. But he was back to work on his laptop, as if we hadn’t been talking at all.

  “Hi, Dad,” I said.

  “
How are you this afternoon, munchkin?” he asked as he headed through the kitchen archway.

  “I’m… okay. I guess.” I stood up and followed him, leaving Nathan at the dining room table.

  Dad moved to the counter and started sorting through a stack of mail piled there. I watched him for a moment. I hadn’t seen him in days, since before he’d ditched me for Nathan and Trace had told me the truth about the divorce. It felt a little like looking at a different person. Not only had Dad changed since getting engaged to Sylvia, but he hadn’t even been the man I thought he was to begin with.

  He was the one responsible for our family falling apart. He’d cheated on Mom. He hadn’t wanted to be with us anymore.

  But he was still my dad… right? He was still the man who’d taught me how to play poker with pennies, the man who’d bought me my first Joan Jett CD, the man who’d made me watch Animal House and Fast Times at Ridgemont High and all those other R-rated classics Mom hated. He was still in there somewhere, wasn’t he?

  “What’s up, munchkin?” he asked.

  I realized I’d been standing behind him, just staring, for too long. “I, um… I was wondering if I’m grounded?”

  “No,” he said. “I don’t think so.”

  “Oh,” I said. “Well, Sylvia didn’t tell me either way, so I thought I’d ask.”

  “Right,” he said, still flipping through the mail, not even glancing my way. “I think we can let it slide this time.” He picked up an envelope and tucked it under his arm. “I’m off to get some work done. Have a phone call with the station manager in half an hour. He wants me to pitch in the network softball game against 97.5—that Top 40 radio network. Might be fun. Anyway.” He turned and kissed me on the top of my head. “See you at dinner.”

  He walked out of the kitchen, clapping Nathan on the shoulder as he passed through the dining room.

  “Hey, Greg.”

  “Working hard, Nate?”

  “Of course not.”

  Dad laughed. “Oh, to be eighteen again.”

  I stood in the kitchen for a long moment after he’d gone. I’d been waiting for him to come upstairs, waiting for him to talk to me about those pictures. Sylvia had, but Dad had just ignored them.

  All summer I’d thought Dad’s distance from me was a new thing, but maybe it wasn’t. Maybe I’d just been making excuses for him. For why he never called, why he could only see me once a year.

  Trace said Dad hadn’t reconciled the marriage because he wanted to be single, because he didn’t want a family. I remembered being fourteen, begging him to let me live with him. Mom was always either yelling or sleeping, and I didn’t have friends. I was miserable and I needed him. It dawned on me just then that he hadn’t said no because he cared for Mom. He’d said no because he didn’t want me.

  A few minutes later, when I was back in the guest room, I pulled out the bottle of Margaritaville. I stared at it for a long moment, thinking of finishing off the last little bit. It would be nice to get buzzed right now. It would make me laugh and smile. Like Nathan said, I was fun when I was drunk.

  I thought of Bailey, of how I hadn’t protected her. I thought of Nathan’s hand reaching across the table at the diner, his fingers covering mine. I cared about Bailey and Nathan cared about me. This wouldn’t make things with Dad any better. This wouldn’t make me forget. It would just hurt them. And I didn’t want to hurt them. Not more than I already had.

  I carried the bottle into the bathroom, checking to make sure the hallway was clear first. I poured out the last few drops of tequila, watching as the only thing that had made me happy over the past few years trickled down the drain. Going, going… gone.

  21

  I didn’t leave the house at all over the next week. I spent most of my time locked in the guest room or watching Bailey practice her cheers. Occasionally, Harrison would come over and hang out, but we never went to the Nest or to parties or anything after the Fourth of July.

  But that didn’t stop people from posting on the Facebook page.

  Nathan usually wouldn’t let me look on his computer, but sometimes I’d sneak into his room when he had run downstairs. He had a bad habit of leaving his computer on, and he was always logged on to Facebook.

  Pictures from Harrison’s party; speculations of what I’d do next; insults about my clothes, my hair, the size of my ass. Everything. And Dad was tagged in so much of it. Tagged one day, untagged the next. And still not a word to me. Not that I expected it anymore.

  Every time I saw him in the house, every time he asked me to pass the rolls at dinner, every time he called during a break at work to ask Nathan to pick something up at the grocery store and I answered the phone—I wanted to scream every time. To throw things. To ask him why he loved them more than me. But I held it in. I didn’t want to know the answer to that question.

  He must have been counting down the days until I left, until it could just be him and his perfect family and he could go back to pretending I didn’t exist.

  As angry as I was, part of me didn’t blame him.

  I stood in the living room and watched them through the screen door. Sherri was visiting for the afternoon. She and Sylvia sat in lawn chairs, drinking lemonade while Dad and Nathan played one-on-one basketball in the driveway. Bailey was doing back handsprings in the grass, as if she were a cheerleader at a big game.

  Sherri and Sylvia clapped and laughed as Nathan threw the ball into the hoop above the garage, sinking it perfectly. Dad’s lips were moving quickly, clearly arguing that, somehow, that shot hadn’t been fair.

  I felt like I was watching a home movie. A good one. It was like you could see the joy and the love. They were palpable.

  Nathan saw me standing in the doorway. He raised a hand and waved, gesturing for me to join them.

  But I shook my head.

  I ran upstairs before anyone else could turn around and see me.

  Later, after dinner, Nathan followed me into the guest room. “Why didn’t you come outside earlier?”

  I sighed and sat down on my bed. “I had a stomachache.”

  He frowned at me. “Really, Whit?”

  “Whitley,” I corrected automatically.

  “I don’t believe you,” he said. “About the stomachache.”

  “I just didn’t want to, okay?”

  That wasn’t entirely a lie.

  The truth was that I hadn’t wanted to ruin it. Dad and the Caulfields were perfect together. They were a family. A beautiful family. More of a family than Mom, Dad, Trace, and I had been, even before the divorce. Nathan and Bailey had both tried to make me feel welcome, but I still didn’t belong. I was the puzzle piece that didn’t fit.

  Nathan watched me for a long moment. Then he sat down on the bed next to me, one arm curving around my shoulders. I couldn’t tell if the gesture was meant to be platonic or romantic. I couldn’t tell which I wanted it to be.

  “Well, I hate for you to miss out on all the fun,” he said. “So why don’t you join Bailey and me for movies tonight?”

  “Nathan…”

  “I want you to,” he said firmly. “And so will she.”

  I forced a smile. “Okay. But I’m not watching Bring It On again.”

  “Damn. I am just so heartbroken by that,” he joked.

  I tried to call Trace after Nathan had gone, but I only got his voice mail.

  Trace had a family now, too. A gorgeous wife and daughter. A family of his own. One I wasn’t part of.

  And no matter whose fault it was, Mom and I hadn’t been a family in a long time.

  I didn’t know who I was without the parties or drinking or boys that had been my life for the past four years. I had nothing. No one. I didn’t know where I belonged anymore.

  “You have one unheard message…. First unheard message.”

  “Whitley, it’s your mom. I haven’t heard from you in a while, and I just wanted to check in. Trace says he’s talked to you a few times, but I haven’t, so… give me a call? I miss you
, honey. I hope you’re having fun…. But listen, if anything’s going on with your father, you can let me know and—”

  “Message deleted.”

  “Physics?”

  “No. No science.”

  “Politics?”

  “No.”

  “Psychology?”

  “I’m too screwed up to be a psychologist.”

  “Oh, what about Russian? Russian could be cool.”

  I looked at Harrison over the top of my sunglasses. We were lying in lawn chairs by the pool. The UK course catalog was in Harrison’s lap, and he’d flipped to the list of majors.

  “Russian? Really, Harrison?”

  “I took Russian in high school,” Nathan said, climbing out of the pool. He’d decided to swim laps that afternoon instead of going to the gym.

  “Did you?” Harrison asked, grinning at him.

  “Yeah.” Nathan grabbed his towel from the little patio table and began dabbing at his face. “But the only thing I remember is, Mozhno li kopirovat vashi domashnie zodaneeye?”

  “Let me guess,” I said. “You just asked me where the bathroom is, right?”

  “No.” He scoffed, flicking his wet towel at me. “I was beyond that basic stuff. I took two years of it. Give me some credit.”

  “Then what does it mean?” I asked.

  “It means, ‘Can I copy your homework?’ ”

  Harrison laughed, as if this were the funniest thing in the world. I just smiled and shook my head. “Did you say that a lot?” I asked Nathan.

  “Every morning before class started.” He grinned at me before slinging the towel over his shoulder. “All right. I’m heading inside. You two have a good time.”

  “Have a nice night, Nathan!” Harrison called out. We both watched him go, and when the screen door closed, Harrison added quietly, “Now, I would major in that.”

  “Shut up.”

  “I’m just saying.” He looked down at the catalog again. “We’re almost at the end of the list, Whitley. Unless you want to look in the Engineering school—but I’m assuming you don’t.”

  “Definitely not.”

  “You like music,” he said. “Ever thought of majoring in it?”