5. Chapter Five
Chapter Five
Silas
I shove the door open with one hand, digging into my shirt pocket for my cigarettes with the other—even though I told myself I was going to cut back. But I need a distraction. I feel like I’m going to blow. Like I’m going to punch the next thing I see and once I start, I won’t be able to stop.
Outside, I lean against the diner’s peeling siding and light my smoke like it might evaporate into thin air if I don’t get it lit in the next two seconds. I’m that desperate. I can already feel the memories shoving their way back in.
I inhale a lungful of nicotine and imagine the smoke slowly filtering through my body, shrouding everything in a thick haze.
It helps. I breathe a little easier.
I’m hungry as hell, though. But there’s no way I was going to let Jackie buy me breakfast. Especially when she’s already paying for more than half my bus ticket back. Still, I’m glad I got out of there: it would have been torture sitting there surrounded by the smell of bacon and hash browns, just watching her eat.
It’s hard enough being around her as it is: all sweet and glass-half-full, and oblivious to the fact that we no longer have anything in common beyond that terrible afternoon seven years ago. And even more oblivious to the fact that she only knows half the truth about that day, and that she sure as hell wouldn’t be treating me so nicely and putting up with my shitty attitude if she did.
But also, maybe if she hated me then I wouldn’t feel so guilty for hating her right now—for moving on like all that stuff from the past hasn’t affected her. And making me glaringly aware that I’m still so trapped by it.
The soft shhhlack… shhhlack… shhhlack of flip-flops against warm pavement pulls me from my thoughts and I look toward the door, which is already swinging closed behind Jackie. She walks slowly, her gaze scanning for me across the parking lot. Her eyes widen and her face breaks into a smile when she spots me leaning against the side of the building.
She’s still got one of those faces where every muscle gets in on her expressions. Like an anime character: if she’s scared, her mouth forms a perfect circle, or when she’s pissed, her cheeks hollow and her jaw juts out. And when she smiles, like right now, her eyes go big and her cheeks suddenly get rounder, too.
A breeze picks up as she walks toward me and a few strands of pale brown hair blow around her cheeks and across her eyes. She tucks a lock behind her ear as she stops beside me and I realize that she always had long hair when we were kids. Like, down to her ass kind of long. But now it’s short; just about chin length—and it suits her. It’s neat and put-together. Like her. This new version of Jackie is so damn wholesome . Light and breezy, with hardly any signs of the worry she used to wear on that crease above the bridge of her nose. She looks good. And I don’t know how to feel about the fact that she turned out to be so pretty.
The breeze dies down a little and her hair stops fluffing and floating around her face, and she stops beside me. I don’t miss the way her eyes stray to the cigarette perched between my lips and I wait for her to make some comment about it, but she doesn’t. I know she’s dying to, though.
Instead, she says, “We have time for you to take a shower before we hit the road, if you want.”
I take a final puff, then turn and blow the smoke away from her.
“I’m good, thanks.”
I grind the butt out with the toe of my boot against the cracked pavement.
“I have a spare new toothbrush too,” she says.
Of course she does.
“Anyway, you’re welcome to use it.”
“Cool. Thanks.”
She peers up at me and the left corner of her mouth lifts into a tentative truce-smile. But being the asshole that I am, I look away. And before she has a chance to say anything that might touch on any of the thousand-and-one things I don’t want to discuss with her—or with anyone for that matter, I stretch my arms out in front of me and clasp my fingers together, palms out, in a satisfying stretch, and then head back toward the camper. I can hear her flip-flops making those little slapping noises again as she follows close behind.
When I lift my eyes, my vision is assaulted by a wall of banana yellow. It’s a lot to take in when you have a hangover and a throbbing headache. Actually, it’d be a lot to take in no matter what state you’re in.
I shake my head. “Fuck me, that’s bright.”
“It’s cheery,” Jackie corrects.
And maybe she’s right—if ‘cheery’ means Pac-Man puking his guts out all over the exterior of her camper. But I don’t say that out loud. I’m saving my energy for the bigger arguments waiting for us back in the camper. Because I know Jackie is just biding her time: she’s on a mission to figure my life out for me. And I’m on a mission to get her to back the hell off.
The air feels warmer in the truck. Muggier.
I don’t mind, though. It’s kind of calming. Jackie’s taste in music, on the other hand, is not. Let’s just say it isn’t just paint colors she picks out based on how cheery they are. Or maybe she has other playlists too, and this one just happens to be her Cheerful Mix. And I just happen to be the unlucky bastard trapped inside her camper-turned-food-truck on the day she decided to put it on a continuous loop.
I’m dying to turn the volume down, but the fact that I single-handedly crashed the first day of her self-discovery road trip, or whatever the hell this is, means I’m hardly in a position to be asking her for favors right now. Plus, there’s the bus ticket she’s pretty much covering. So yeah, I just leave it.
She’s tapping her fingers against the steering wheel now and grooving along with her shoulders, popping them up and down and nodding her head to the beat. New Jackie does ‘cheery’ well. Old Jackie was high-strung and serious and easily stressed .
Oh, how the tables have turned, and all that.
She looks tiny behind the oversized steering wheel, like she’s at the helm of a pirate ship or something. It almost makes her look bad-ass. In the same way that a snail might look bad-ass.
“So, if you don’t play baseball anymore, what are you into, then?”
Great. We’re back to the get-to-know-you questions.
Jackie’s fingers have stopped tapping, and she turns the music down. Guess I should be careful what I wish for next time.
I sigh. “Nothing, really.”
I’m guessing girls and liquor are not the sort of interests she’s looking for, here.
“You don’t play another sport or something?” She tries again.
I lean my head against the window. “Nope.”
She lets up on the interrogation for a few minutes after that, but she also doesn’t turn the music back up, so obviously she’s just re-grouping. Strategizing.
The music pauses briefly and I think maybe God has finally answered one of my prayers, at least. But turns out the brief respite is only because her cell phone is ringing. The phone vibrates from the speakers and it doesn’t escape my notice that she pauses for a second before answering, glancing unsurely in my direction. My impromptu presence is awkward on all fronts, whether she tries to hide it from the caller or not. But Jackie’s a good girl, so of course she answers.
“Hey, Richard!” She infuses a little too much enthusiasm into her voice and it sounds borderline fake. Or maybe that’s just part of this new cheery version of Jackie that I’m still not used to.
“Well, good morning to you, sweetheart. How’s the intrepid traveller?”
She glances my way for a brief second, but I pretend to be scrolling through texts on my phone.
“Good!” she chimes. “Really good! I’m making great time. I’m about two-and-a-half hours from Provincetown.”
“Well, that’s great. You got some sleep, though?”
“Yeah… Yeah, of course. How are you? How’s Meryl? ”
“We’re doing well. We miss you already, but we’re doing okay.” There’s a pause, then he continues. “I’m actually calling about Silas.”
My head jerks up.
What the…
Jackie’s gaze snaps to meet mine, clearly just as shocked.
“Silas Carmichael?” She asks, as if there are a dozen other guys named Silas he might be referring to.
“Mmm. Apparently, social services got a call from his aunt at the beginning of last week,” Richard says. “She’s rescinded custody.”
Jackie darts me another look, but I just close my eyes and let my head fall against the headrest, cursing inwardly. Why the hell is he calling to share all of this shit with Jackie?
“ What? ” Jackie exclaims. “Why? Why did she do that?”
There’s a pause on Richard’s end, as if he’s deliberating what to say next. Or how much to say.
Tread carefully, old man.
“There have been some, uh… some issues. It’s been tough for her and her husband.” Then after a beat, he adds: “For Silas too, I’m sure. For all of them.”
I open my eyes, but they’re narrowed now as I stare straight ahead.
“Look, I’m calling because I said I’d check with you in case you happen to have seen him lately. I’m told he’s been missing for over a week and he’s not answering any of the calls or voicemails from his social worker. Or his probation officer,” Richard says.
“ Probation officer? ” Jackie blurts. “Isn’t that for people who’ve been in jail?”
I curse under my breath again, because this is just fucking wonderful. Like my life wasn’t already enough of a mess without finding out that it’s now being broadcast to the entire freaking state. Hell—two states over.
“Well, you remember Silas was in a juvenile detention facility for almost two years, right? Until just a few months ago?”
I’m guessing, based on her expression, that no, she did not in fact know this.
“Jackie… sweetheart? Are you still there?”
She pulls off the road and into the parking lot of a dry-cleaners. She puts on the break and I can feel the weight of her stare on me now. I still don’t look at her, though.
“Oh, Jackie…” Richard says in his soft, guided-meditation-style voice. “I’m sorry… You didn’t know.”
He’s a quick one, this guy.
“But how did — Why was he in a detention center? ”
She sounds as shell-shocked as if she just found out I was off at Hogwarts. Or Gladiator School or something. To be fair, I’m guessing not a lot of kids from Sandy Haven Prep get shipped off to juvie every year. Or, let’s be honest—ever.
Richard sighs. “Well, I don’t know all the details. But there’s been a string of incidents over the years. Fights, underage drinking, disorderly conduct… That sort of thing. It was a break-and-enter that got him sent away, as far as I remember.” He sighs. “I’m sorry, sweetheart. I assumed you knew. But of course, how would you?”
And then he apologizes again. “I’m sorry, Jackie. But I need to know if you’ve talked to him recently… Child Services found out he was at Scarlett Thiel’s party last night and I know you were there—which is why I called. Did you speak to him at all at that party?”
Jackie’s still looking at me. She hasn’t shifted since she found out about the whole juvie thing. But if she’s waiting for some sort of clue from me on how to answer, she’s going to be sitting there for a hell of a long time.
She licks her lips and lets out a slow breath.
“No,” she finally answers. “I was outside most of the time. And he had already, um… he’d left by the time I got inside.”
Eyes still boring in to me, she asks: “Is he in trouble for something? Is that why they’re looking for him?”
“Silas is a minor, and he needs a guardian,” Richard answers.
Which sounds pretty evasive to me.
Then he adds: “We need to make sure he’s somewhere safe until they find him a permanent placement, that’s all. So you do need to tell me if you have any idea where he might be. ”
“Oh.” is all Jackie says. Still not giving me up, but still not realizing that she’s making it pretty damn obvious she knows exactly where I am right now.
“We just want to make sure he’s safe,” Richard repeats.
“So are they going to send him to a group home or something?” Jackie asks, because clearly she’s on a mission now to be my advocate. I shouldn’t resent her for it, but I do.
There’s a longer pause this time from Richard.
“Possibly a group home, yes. Right now, they’re actually looking into finding a space for him with a foster family.”
Wow. Sounds lovely. Maybe they can make my life into a bad after-school special while they’re at it—use one of the songs from Jackie’s wonderful playlist for the closing credits.
“So what will he do until they find a foster family?” Jackie pushes. “Where will he live?”
Yes, question of the day, folks: where will Silas live?
I can tell by the pause before Richard speaks that the answer is going to blow, even by his forest green sweater-vest standards.
“He’ll have to go back to Trenton, sweetheart… The detention center just outside Springfield.”
Back to Trenton?
What. The. Actual. Fuck?
“ What?!? ” Jackie echoes my reaction. Well, a censored version of my reaction.
“Just for now. Just until they find a suitable foster family,” he explains calmly.
Ohhhhh. Well, that’s totally fine then.
Except for the fact that there is no way in hell I am ever going back to that place.
“Silas is considered a flight risk right now. And unfortunately, given his, ah… history, Trenton is the safest place for him until they find a more permanent placement.”
I look down and notice that my hands are shaking. I’m struggling just to fight off what feels like a hundred different emotions pulling at me. I turn my head and stare out the window because I’m scared which one Jackie might be able to decipher if I look her way. Probably not anything I’d want her to see. Definitely not anything good.
This whole thing is humiliating as hell and I want to punch something so badly right now. But also, I don’t want to move an inch. I’m exhausted as hell. I’m so goddamn tired. I’m always so goddamn tired.
But then, with her next five words, Jackie jolts me so harshly, I’m suddenly wide awake:
“I know where he is.”