Chapter 8
River
“I can’t believe I wasn’t home,”
I say, panic threatening to completely derail me. “I’m always home when the van drops her off from Caring Souls. Always. And how did Lunchie get out?”
I toss a look at Gabriel, his hands gripping the steering wheel as he drives. “Skye usually does fine while I’m at work. She has her routines and the neighbor is there most of the time. But with the dog out and missing? And I’m not there?”
I shake my head, and then press my thumbnails into my palms. Maybe that will stop their shaking.
“Hey.”
His voice is calm. “It’s not your fault you couldn’t get home. It’s the Civic’s.”
“I used to go out. Before they died, my parents always wanted me to include her in my plans, and man, was I resentful over that.”
I don’t know why I’m saying this aloud. Gabriel doesn’t respond. He just drives, glancing over at me every once in a while as if to assure me he’s listening. Or maybe he’s just catching glimpses of the unhinged woman in his Bronco.
“Sometimes, I didn’t mind bringing her along.”
I groan, rip the elastic out of my wild bun, and start tugging my fingers through my hair. Might as well look the part of the deranged, right? “But most of the time, I did resent it. And let me tell you, having your parents die and getting to relive all those times you weren’t very nice about needing to share your life with your sister? Yeah. Fun times.”
I try not to spiral. She has left the house before without me knowing. She’s always come back quickly. But if she decides to go looking for the dog, who knows where she could be?
“This is my bad luck screaming at me.”
I dig a fist near my eye and massage my temple with the other hand. “The one time my car breaks down, Lunchie gets out! My luck never ceases to amaze me.”
My laugh is humorless. Gabriel gives me an empathetic look, but he seems to understand I don’t want to elaborate.
My parents would have never gotten caught up in talking to some rando and forgotten about Skye. Never. And they never would have shipped her off to a group home, either.
When we reach the house, I’m full-on nauseated. I run inside, telling myself over and over to regain a sense of calm. Despite my best efforts, my heart drops to my toes. “Skye!”
I scream. Her timer is sitting on the mantle, still going, and it says two minutes left.
Thank you, Gabriel, for getting me here when you promised.
“She might be out looking for Lunch Lady Liz,”
I toss behind me, as Gabriel stands in the entryway. I dash to the doorway of every room, calling Skye’s name.
When I come back to the living room, Gabriel’s gone. I’m out the front door when I get a call from him. “I thought I’d start looking outside,”
he says. My gaze finds him in front of a house down the street. I run to catch up.
“Should we split up?”
I yell out. I’m having trouble thinking rationally, but I do know a few things with crystal-clear clarity, and they tumble out of my mouth before I can stop them. “Skye is vulnerable. She’s trusting and loving. It’s dangerous.”
My voice cracks at that last word, and tears burn my eyes. I turn from Gabriel and point back up the street. “I’ll go back the other direction.”
My lips feel stretched thin, like they’re beginning to freeze over. It’s not even cold out.
Gabriel gives a swift nod and starts jogging down the street in the opposite direction. “Skye! Lunch Lady Liz!”
Something about him yelling that ridiculous name in his manly voice brings a sob up from my chest. I turn the other direction and start to cross the road. When I’m halfway across the street, I rotate and begin walking down the middle. That’s got to be more effective, right? I can more easily see both sides of the street and there aren’t many cars out this time of night.
Soon, the panic causes my voice to rise again. “Skye!”
She could have left a couple of minutes ago or right when she got off the phone with me. That window of time is concerning. She could be anywhere, especially since she’s panicked about her dog.
I round the corner and start down the next street over when I get a text from Gabriel.
Gabriel: I found Skye. We’re looking for the dog.
I blow out a breath, my legs close to collapse.
Me: Is she okay? Where are you? I can catch up to you.
Gabriel: She’s absolutely fine. We’re on Fifth Street.
He managed to get far. I turn around and jog to catch up with them. But I’m slow. Just from his body type, I imagine Gabriel squeezes in a few-mile run every morning.
I had caught a glimpse of his long, effortless strides. And entertaining memories of them is a nice diversion from my own intrusive thoughts about my incapacity to take care of my sister. I make my way to Fifth Street. Soon, I see Skye up ahead, barefoot, in a tank top and her Hello Kitty pajama bottoms.
She’s cradling Lunch Lady Liz to her, who looks a little uncomfortable. I’ve got to break Skye of the habit of carrying the dog everywhere.
“Gabriel found me and Lunch Lady Liz.”
At Skye’s calm, wide grin, anger boils up inside of me. “Skye!”
I know, logically, that I shouldn’t be angry with her, but I’m on a train to I-don’t-care-ville and it’s not stopping anytime soon. “I’ve been calling you and looking everywhere for you. I told you to stay at the house!”
I scrub my face to move my errant strands of hair. “I told you I’d be back home in ten minutes and I was.”
My glance darts to Gabriel. “He got me here before the ten minutes were up, but you were long gone! You can’t do that, Skye.”
I start to entertain the thought that I should rein it in. She doesn’t understand. I can’t be mad at her. But the relief of finding her safe made every emotion I have bubble over.
I’ve hurt her feelings, though, and she starts to cry.
“You can’t yell!”
She yells at me. She starts bouncing up and down and patting poor Lunch Lady Liz’s back, like she’s holding a baby. Her tears drip down her face.
“Come here,”
I whisper as I gather her in my arms. I smell peanut butter, her go-to when I’m not around to cook something else.
Skye relaxes in my arms and tells me she loves me over and over again, kissing my cheek.
“Okay, okay,”
I say with a giggle, wiping my face with the back of my hand. “I love you, too, you little pill.”
“I’m not little. You’re little,”
Skye insists.
“Yep. She’s got you beat by at least an inch,”
Gabriel supplies, most unhelpfully.
“I’m well aware,”
I say, with a hint of a sneer.
We get back to the house and Gabriel goes straight to my kitchen and opens the cupboard.
“Make yourself at home,”
I toss, giving him a once-over before trying to curb my smile.
“I’m looking for a glass to get Skye a drink of water.”
“Good luck with that. She doesn’t drink water.”
I’ve tried everything to get her to. Sticker charts. Incentives. Adding flavored powders. But she still doesn’t drink nearly enough. Yet another reason I don’t want her living away from me. No one cares as much as I do about Skye’s dietary needs.
But I can’t have her here by herself. And she wants to go to Caring Souls so bad. If she’s not able to move there soon, I could totally see her deciding to try to walk there herself.
The fear of that hits me so swiftly, I’m dizzy and have to grip the edge of the counter.
I’m not capable of taking care of Skye on my own. I need help. My parents managed, and even thrived. But I’m not them, and I can’t do this. I can’t keep her safe and happy on my own.
I’ve always done what I had to do for Skye. Even when I didn’t want to or didn’t have the slightest idea how.
And like a lightning bolt to my spine, I know what I have to do.
I have to say yes to Gabriel.
My extremities lose half their strength at this knowledge. I can only stare at my sister.
She not only drinks the cup of water Gabriel brings her, she even drains another one, like she’s trying to impress him. I’ve been begging her to better hydrate for years and all it takes is Mr. Tall, Blonde, and Handsome to bring her a cup and she willingly drinks two? That’s so unfair!
As soon as Skye goes to bed—she’s tired from all the walking and all the stress of losing Lunch Lady Liz—I clench my hands into fists.
I have to do this. It’s now or never. I have to do what’s best for Skye, even if that means marrying Gabriel Tate.
Not a real marriage, mind you. And as hard as it will be to do this, it will be harder still to see Skye’s grief when he leaves. At least she’ll be living with her friends at Caring Souls when that happens.
If we have to live apart, and if we have to lose the only house we’ve ever known, at least she’ll be where she wants to be.
I remind myself that how I feel about this is beside the point. My feelings became mostly irrelevant the day my parents died. Fissures—long and cruel—splintered my insides then. Skye fell apart and I let her, over and over again. She cried for months. One of us had to be strong.
The cracks inside of me have calloused over now. I do what I have to do when I have to do it. There is no other choice.
I just have to figure out how I’m actually going to tell him.