20. Michelle
Chapter 20
Michelle
“ E m—”
“I don’t want to talk to anyone.”
“Emily,” I sigh.
“Leave me alone !”
Our small crew scrambles through the house behind her—me with Rocket hoisted in my arms, Josh with his crooked puppy-dog tail bouncing by his side, and Carol now rousing from the couch. Her orange bowl of candy drops and empties onto the carpet.
“What happened?” she asks.
“Too many things,” I say stiffly.
So much.
I can’t begin to wrap my head around tonight. The scary house. Brittany’s cut. Emily. Cliff.
Cliff .
His hands gripping my waist. His hard, desperate lips. My heart beating at an erratic rate, so high above normal range that I’m worried it might explode.
And now, I’m chasing his daughter through his house, barreling up the stairs, only to have the teenage girl’s door slammed in my face.
My, Josh’s, and Carol’s heads all jerk back in unison. We exchange glances. Carol’s intensely wide eyes. Josh’s borderline scared expression. And me, determined and clutching Rocket to my chest.
He squirms, and I set him on the carpet. He lowers to his belly between my legs.
“Brittany fell on the ground,” I explain to Carol, pulling my hair up and tying it back. It needs to get off my sticky neck, coated in overheated attraction and sweat from running down the street after Emily.
“Where is she?” Carol asks.
“Cliff took her to the ER.”
“Oh my God , is she okay?”
“She probably needs stitches,” I say, the words hurrying out of me before I swallow them down.
She needs stitches .
I had Cliff pulled in the bushes, making out with him behind Winston’s house, while my dog dragged his six-year-old daughter across the concrete.
I glance down at Rocket. He won’t look at me. His nose is buried in his paws.
After a full month of us taking alternate routes in the neighborhood to avoid those ghosts, I should have known better than to leave him alone. I should have looked out for him. I should have looked out for Cliff’s daughter.
I kept Cliff from his girls. I was selfish—wanting more, more, more, like I always do. More things for me . It comes barreling in like a tidal wave, pushing me against the wall, and I pinch my eyes closed.
“You okay, Miss Michelle?” Josh asks.
I peer open and tongue my cheek. I nod silently, then rush forward and rap my knuckles on Emily’s door.
“Hey, open up, Em.”
“No!” Her voice is sharp.
Josh curls his lips in, taking small steps forward. “Sunshine?—”
“Don’t sunshine me, Joshua.”
He cringes, and so do I.
I knock again. “Emily?—”
“No.” This time, her protest is shakier.
“I promised your dad I’d talk to you.”
Carol steps forward beside me, palming the door. “Hey, Em?—”
“Shut up , Carol!”
Carol recoils and nods to herself, murmuring, “Yeah, about what I expected.”
I can already see her patting her pocket for smokes.
I huff out a breath and grit my teeth, pounding my fist on the door.
“Emily, I’m talking to you either way. Do you want it in front of everyone or alone?”
There’s a beat of awkward silence, followed by the squeaking of a mattress and then the clicking of a lock turning.
The door creaks open a sliver, and my heart sinks.
Her painted-on cat whiskers are bleeding down her cheeks through streaks of tears. Her eyes are red. Everywhere around them is pink and blotchy.
I soften. “Can I come in?”
She sniffs, darting her eyes to the side and opening the door to let me in. “You’re going to anyway.”
I shrug because, well, she’s not wrong.
I catch Carol’s and Josh’s eyes. He leans against the wall. His paper puppy ears, attached to a headband, flop over his long hair. Carol folds her arms over her chest and nods solemnly. Rocket lies on the floor, his cheek between his paws.
I cross the threshold, and immediately, Emily slams the door closed behind me.
I glance around. I’ve never been in Emily’s room. It’s a scrapbook of girlhood phases. The walls are painted baby pink. Stuffed animals are scattered across the floor and on the unmade bed. The ceiling is coated in glow-in-the-dark stars, along with a yellow smiley face poster and another one of Leonardo DiCaprio from Romeo + Juliet . Scribbled notes on scrap pieces of paper layer the walls with torn-out pages from album booklets between them. Bookcases, filled with Goosebumps and The Baby-Sitters Club, line either side of the doorframe.
Emily sniffs. “What did my dad want you to tell me?” she asks, her tone oozing with disdain.
“He didn’t tell me to say anything. I told him I’d check on you.”
“Well, I’m here. I’m alive,” she sneers. “Happy?”
“Don’t take your anger out on me,” I say, leaning my head to the side and crossing my arms. “Tell me what’s wrong.”
“You wouldn’t understand.”
“Make me understand.”
She scoffs so gutturally that I wonder if it hurts. “I wasn’t picked. Again. I was pushed to the side. Again. Dad didn’t trust me. Again.”
“Your dad trusts you, but he was overwhelmed.”
She stares at me. “Brittany is more important.”
I can hear the same words leaving my lips when I was her age. The angry whine breathed in my dad’s face as I watched Mom outside with Sara, lying in the grass together as I sulked in my room.
Dear Sara.
It was never Sara’s fault though. I know it wasn’t Mom’s either, but it still stings.
“Brittany is younger,” I say. “She can’t drive herself to the hospital.”
Emily blinks. “I know that, Mom .”
My body stiffens. I’m at a loss for words, and somewhere in the silence, Emily looks up with worried eyebrows.
“I’m sorry,” she whispers.
I shake my head. “It’s fine.”
“I don’t want to be second pick anymore,” she says. “I’m tired of it.”
My stomach drops.
I took Cliff for myself.
And why? To only leave in two months? To disrupt the precarious balance of this family?
I sit next to her on the bed. “He would never pick favorites, all right?”
“Mom does,” she mumbles.
“Your dad wouldn’t. That’s not the kind of man he is.”
She sniffles, blinking at me through watery eyes. Then, suddenly, she buries her face in my shirt. I freeze. I’m not sure what to do. I’ve never been hugged like this by anyone except my sister. My arms hang in the air, and slowly, I let them fall around her back, holding her close.
The door creaks open, and Carol pokes her head in. Emily loosens her arms around me. I expect Emily to yell at Carol again, but with her bottom lip poked out, she gives a silent nod to her aunt. Carol crosses the threshold, and Emily gets up and barrels into her arms.
My head swims as Cliff’s daughter cries while her aunt holds her. I swallow back a lump in my throat. I feel like an intruder on this moment. I want to leave.
This is what Emily needs—what Cliff’s daughters’ need. I have a life I’ve worked for in Seattle. A good life that I love. Why am I here, stepping into the shoes of a motherly role with these girls? It’s irresponsible. It’s selfish when I know I’ll be leaving.
“Your dad’s not the bad guy,” Carol whispers. “Promise.”
Emily sniffles and quietly nods against her chest.
Copper Run is a fleeting moment for me, but for the Burke family, this is real.
I’m indulging in temporary happiness at the inn. I can’t distract Cliff from what really matters. I haven’t had many close friends in my life, but I imagine that’s not what friends do.