Chapter 15 #2
“You heard me,” she said, her lips curling into an ugly sneer. “You’re so self-absorbed that you blame your problems on everyone but yourself. You treat me like crap because you’re too afraid to take responsibility for your own unhappiness.”
Her words struck me like a sledgehammer.
I lurched back a step as my stomach tightened, forcing the air from my lungs.
How was it my fault that Dad never had time for me?
Or that I’d lost my best friend when she chose acting over her own sister?
If this was what our relationship boiled down to, then I couldn’t do it anymore.
“I’m done with you,” I said flatly, even as my eyes burned with tears.
Without another word, I spun on my heels and marched over to the bench where Xander was sitting. He looked shell-shocked, his eyes wide and mouth parted slightly. I snatched my purse off the bench and darted toward my car, not bothering to say goodbye.
“That’s right,” Violet yelled. “Run away like you always do!”
The volume of her voice must have jolted Xander out of whatever fog he’d been stuck in, because I suddenly heard his feet slapping against the pavement as he chased after me.
“Indie, wait!” he called, but I ignored him.
After unlocking my car door, I threw my purse onto the passenger seat and whipped out of my parking spot as fast as I could. I glanced in the rearview mirror and saw Xander standing in the middle of the lot, watching me drive away, but I didn’t stop.
I couldn’t.
I needed to get away.
* * *
I cranked the volume up on the radio and drove.
And drove.
And drove.
All over LA. Down to Santa Monica Pier. Then all the way up to Griffith Observatory. Eventually I wound up on the interstate heading out of the city.
At first, I didn’t know where I was going. What I did know was that with each mile I put behind me, the quieter the pounding in my ears became. I couldn’t control Violet’s or Dad’s actions, but at least here, in the driver’s seat, I was in charge.
It wasn’t until I saw the first exit sign for San Bernardino that I realized where my subconscious had led me—home. Not Violet’s sleek beach house but the cookie-cutter ranch my parents bought as their starter home. The place where I grew up, where I’d been happy and my family whole.
By the time I arrived, it was nearly dark.
The neighborhood looked older than I remembered, the trees fully grown and a few of the properties in need of some TLC.
But nothing could prepare me for when I laid eyes on our old house.
The cheerful sky-blue exterior was now a boring tan, and someone had redone all the landscaping, replacing the dahlias and marigolds Mom planted every year with sturdy bushes.
Even more unsettling was the new addition over the garage.
Had I not known the address by heart, not biked these streets so often as a child that the route was forever ingrained in my memory, I would have driven straight past.
But the part that broke my heart the most was when I snuck into the backyard, scanned the forest edging the lot, and noticed a gap in the trees.
There was a wrongness to that gap, and it took three full seconds of staring at the empty space before my mind registered that the tree house Violet and I played in as children, back before there was any ill will between us, was gone.
The towering oak tree it was built in had been cut down.
All that remained was a broad stump, a symbolic gravestone, if you will, marking the end of my childhood.
I ran back to my car. Tears were running down my face in silent streams by the time I reached the door, but I didn’t let the floodgates go until I was safely inside.
Only then did I allow great heaving sobs to rack my body.
Too upset to drive but not wanting anyone to see the blubbering mess I’d become, I leaned my seat all the way back until I was staring out the sunroof.
Then I cried and cried, letting my anger and heartbreak pour out of me.
* * *
I woke with a start, not knowing where I was. It took me several bleary moments of blinking at the steering wheel to realize I was in my car and not my bedroom. My cheeks were tight and gritty with that uncomfortable postcry feel, and there was a painful kink in my neck.
What the hell am I doing in here? I thought as I rubbed my eyes.
But then the events of the day came rushing back to me, and I glanced across the street at the unfamiliar building that had once been my home.
I’d come here seeking comfort, some sense of familiarity, but only found a strange coldness.
My life had changed drastically when my family moved to Laguna Beach, but I never considered how what we left behind might change too.
In my mind, this place had remained the same.
I should have known that, given time, everything evolved, for better or worse.
I kneaded my chest, right over my heart, but the pain there wasn’t physical.
Not wanting to spend another second here, I righted my seat and pressed the engine start button. As the dashboard flickered to life, I glanced at the digital clock—11:51 p.m.
A sudden sinking feeling pressed against my chest. I paused in thought, then yelped in alarm as it dawned on me.
I had less than ten minutes to submit my Juilliard application!
The plan had been to submit it once I got home from the recording studio, but now I’d have to do it from my phone.
Thank God everything was already uploaded and ready to go.
With my heart stampeding inside my rib cage, I snatched up my purse and rummaged through its contents.
When my cell didn’t turn up, I patted my pockets and checked the cupholder where I usually stashed it while driving.
It wasn’t there. I even climbed out of the car and looked under all the seats, but… nothing.
My phone was missing.
The last time I’d had it was…at the freaking recording studio.
I must have left it on the bench in my hurry to leave. By the time I drove back to LA and retrieved it, I would miss the deadline. I glanced around in panic, but there was nothing I could do, so I climbed back into the driver’s seat and watched the clock hit midnight.
And just like that, my lifelong dream slipped away.
* * *
An hour later, I pulled into the driveway at Violet’s house.
Even though it was nearly one o’clock in the morning, every light on the main floor was on, and I got a sinking feeling I was in major trouble. Dad kept a strict schedule and was always in bed by ten on weeknights, so why else would he be up at such a late hour?
After maneuvering my car into its spot in the garage, I slumped back in my seat and released a long sigh. Today had been the very definition of exhausting, and I needed a minute to prepare myself before facing whatever punishment waited for me inside.
I only got thirty seconds.
Before I could rally the remaining embers of my energy, the mudroom door was yanked open, casting a golden wedge of light through the gloom. Dad stood at the threshold, his lips pressed together in a way that made my stomach twist.
“Inside,” he mouthed to me. “Now.”
Yikes. This wouldn’t go well.
Not bothering with my purse, I climbed out of my car and followed him into the kitchen.
He pointed at the breakfast nook. “Sit down.”
There was a scary edge to his voice, so I scrambled onto the bench while Dad slid into place across from me. Two empty mugs were perched on the edge of the table, waiting to be carried over to the dishwasher, and I wondered how long he’d been waiting for me. Hopefully not too long.
Instead of diving right into another tongue-lashing, Dad just stared at me. Like an FBI agent about to interrogate his subject. A heavy, uncomfortable silence filled the space between us, and my heart started to pound against my chest.
“Do you have any idea how worried I’ve been?” he finally asked.
Despite the seriousness of the situation, I felt myself bristle. “Why?” It wasn’t like I had a curfew. Dad was always too busy to care.
“Because no one has been able to get a hold of you for hours, Indigo! I’ve spent the entire evening calling all your friends, but nobody knew where you were.”
I winced so hard my left eye closed. “Yeah, about that… I maybe sorta lost my phone.”
“I know.” Dad retrieved something from his pocket.
“I—how did you get that?” I stuttered, staring at the Lady Phoenix stickers decorating the back of my phone case. My fingers itched to snatch it away from him, but I didn’t dare. Not when Dad was glaring at me like I’d committed a felony.
“You left it at the recording studio after your fight with Violet,” he explained. “She found it and brought it home.” And told me what happened, the look on his face seemed to say.
Good. It was about time I aired my grievances. “Sooo…” I said, nodding to my phone. “Can I have that back?”
“I think the more pressing question that needs to be addressed,” he said, his grip on my phone tightening, “is where have you been?”
“Just driving around. I needed to clear my head.” No way was I going to tell him I drove out to San Bernardino to visit our old house. Or that I fell asleep in my car. Either confession might put Dad, who looked like he was about to have a coronary, over the edge.
“For nine hours?” he demanded. “Indigo, how could you be so irresponsible, especially after the conversation we had three weeks ago? I was about to call the police.”
A brief image of myself in the back of a cop car flickered through my head. That would have been mortifying, but at least then I’d know he cared.