19. Juno
19
Juno
I'm sorry for bailing on you and for not calling earlier.
Juno had been staring at Alex's text for nearly twenty minutes, fingers hovering over the key pad, then retreating.
Melissa is MIA, so I'm staying here with Lena for now.
There was no better reason for him to bail on her, was there? Her thumb hesitated over the heart reaction, then drifted away.
It's late, so please don't worry about responding.
What would she even say? No problem, I completely understand why you'd keep your daughter a secret. Or maybe: Don't worry about standing me up, I'm used to it.
She rolled to her side, the covers tangling around her legs as she gazed out the window at the dark sky. The last twenty-four hours had been quite the rollercoaster, starting with Alex and The Beast parked outside her door, and ending with the revelation that Alex had an eight-year-old daughter with his caramel-streaked hair and easy smile. A bright, articulate little girl who clearly adored him despite only seeing him sporadically.
She closed her eyes, remembering the panicked look on his face when she'd spotted them outside the bookstore. And then Lena's innocent words: It's our secret, but I think it's a dumb thing to keep secret, don't you, Miss Juno?
Amen and amen, child.
Juno hated secrets. She knew exactly how heavy secrets could be. She knew the taste of them—like blood in the mouth. She knew the smell of them—like the odor of cheap vodka and fear. She knew the weight of them—like stones in the pockets of a drowning person.
Her thumb hovered over the phone screen again, then she pressed the power button instead. The room plunged into darkness.
It was well after midnight; she was tired, unsettled, emotionally drained, and more than a little disillusioned. Right now was not the time to make decisions about how to handle difficult matters. She set the phone face down on her nightstand. Whatever Alex had to say, whatever explanation he might offer, it could wait until morning. When the sun was up. When they could both see clearly.
How well she knew, from personal experience, that post-midnight decisions were rarely good ones. How many times had her father woken them in the darkest hours, demanding they pack and leave with no explanation? How many terrible choices had she witnessed being made after the sun went down?
The memory surfaced like something dark and bloated rising from the depths, bringing with it the acrid taste of fear in the back of her throat. The beam of a flashlight in her face, her father's voice—urgent, demanding. Not this time. Not again.
Fifteen Years Earlier… Juno jolted awake in a panic, a blinding light in her eyes, a rush of cold air against her legs as her covers were ripped away.
"Get up. We're leaving." Her father's voice was low, urgent. Not raised—they'd learned years ago that shouting attracted attention.
"Dad, what—"
"No lights. No questions. Grab your pillow and whatever you can fit in a backpack. That's it." He swung the flashlight toward her closet with its crooked door that wouldn't shut. "You got five minutes."
Juno's body responded with practiced efficiency. She didn't bother arguing that he'd promised they'd stay this time, that she had finals next week and a date to the Spring Formal. She'd learned the futility of such protests, and she should have known not to believe his promises. The only thing she should have counted on was that he wouldn't be able to stay away from the bottle or the gaming tables, no matter what he said.
She reached for her pillow, unzipping the lining and shining her phone light inside the case to make certain all her most treasured possessions were there. The only doll she'd managed to keep, her two favorite books, her journal. Her emergency stash of cash from the coffee shop tip jar. She'd been forced to hand over her paychecks as part of her contribution toward rent on the dive apartment they lived in.
She slipped into a pair of jeans, layered on three of her favorite shirts, followed by her dark blue hoodie, then dragged her backpack out of the closet, and began methodically filling it with her toiletries bag, her good work shoes, and a few more items of clothing. She knew better than to toss in her Lakeshore Coffee work shirt; she was never allowed to bring anything with her that might tie them to their past. On the floor by her bed she saw the paperback she'd borrowed from the school library and she shook her head in helpless impotence. The book would become yet another casualty, another debt that would follow her to the next anonymous town.
Juno sat on the edge of her bed and shoved her feet into her high-tops. They were the nicest pair of shoes she'd ever owned, thanks to her after-school job. She had just stood and was taking one last look around the room, when a muffled sob from her parents' bedroom cut through the silence. Juno froze, her hands tightening around the straps of her backpack. Her mother didn't usually complain about their midnight flights, but she'd been sick a lot, lately, and Juno knew she wasn't feeling good. She was also presumably under the influence of the oxy her dad kept supplying her with, which meant her emotions were all over the place.
The sobbing grew louder, followed by a crack like a gunshot, then a crash. Something—or someone—had fallen to the floor.
Juno flung her pack over her shoulder and snatched up her pillow, then hurried to her parents' room, her steps quiet even on the threadbare carpet. The door was ajar, and by the beam of her father's flashlight, she could see her mother crumpled on the floor beside the bed, holding her cheek. A thin trickle of blood ran from her split lip.
Her father stood over her, car keys dangling from one hand. "Get up, Celia. We need to go."
When her mother made no effort to move, Juno made a noise to draw his attention away. He almost looked relieved when he saw her.
"Pack her things," he ordered, tossing another backpack at her feet. "She goes with or without her stuff. Two minutes."
Juno knelt beside her mother, whose eyes were glassy and unfocused. The familiar signs of an oxy high—the constricted pupils, the slack mouth, the faint sheen of sweat despite the chilly air from the open window.
"Mom," she whispered, stroking her mother's hair back from her forehead. "Mom, we have to go."
Her mother's only response was another gurgling sob.
Juno's jaw tightened as she turned to the closet. She'd done this enough times to know what her mother would need. Comfort clothes. The flowered blouse she favored. Underwear. Toothbrush. The prescription bottle from the bedside table that was always close at hand.
Her father returned, standing in the doorway. "Time's up."
"She needs help getting to the car," Juno said, not looking at him as she zipped the bag closed.
"Then help her," he spat, hurrying out of the room.
Juno couldn't shoulder both bags, their pillows, and the cumbersome weight of her mother, too, so she left their pillows on the bed, hoisted both backpacks over one shoulder, then got her other shoulder under her mother's arm, and dragged her to her feet. Celia leaned heavily against her, her head lolling to the side. She continued to weep quietly, and from her peripheral vision, Juno could see a string of blood-tinged saliva dribbling down the front of the nightshirt she still had on.
Juno maneuvered her mother out the back of the apartment and across the small parking lot and to the salvaged Escalade backed into a spot close the dumpster where most folks didn't care to spend too much time. Juno longed for the old sedan they'd driven into Autumn Lake; getting her mother to climb up into the vehicle was a challenging feat.
Juno finally got her strapped in, then she shoved their bags onto the floorboards, and turned to race back inside to grab their pillows.
Her father was just pushing out the back door of the apartment, two large duffels stuffed to capacity, one with its zipper still half undone. Juno didn't like the look on his face, but she hurried back the way she'd come.
"Where you going?" he challenged, stepping in front of her.
"Our pillows," Juno said. "I left them on your bed."
"No time." His voice was flat.
"But I need our pillows—" she protested, panic rising in her chest.
"And I said no time," he snarled. "Get in the car. We gotta get outta here."
"It'll just take a second!" She tried to push past him, but he dropped one of the duffels and caught her arm, his fingers digging into her flesh.
"Now." His voice came out sharp, raw with something that might have been desperation. "Do you have any idea what they'll do to me, or to a pretty girl like you, if they get here before we leave? Get it in the car, Juno."
"Please! It's got all my stuff—" Panic set it. She couldn't just leave it all there in that dumpy place for someone else to find, to paw through. Her small cigar box of pretty stones, feathers, buttons, bottlecaps, and keys, things she'd collected from the different places they'd lived. And her journal, filled with the written treasures of her heart. Notes from Alex that she'd so carefully tucked between the pages, ticket stubs for the movies they'd seen, her first paystub. The secret stash of money she'd been saving.
Her father's face hardened. "Give me your phone."
She took an instinctive step back and pulled the device from her back pocket. "No."
"Juno." Her name was a warning.
She shook her head and pressed her phone to her chest.
"Give me the phone," he roared, his voice echoing off the back wall of the three-story building.
"Let me at least text Alex first," she begged. Tears streamed down her face. She wanted to run, to escape into the night. Her father would never catch her, not if he wanted to get out of town before whoever was after him caught up to him. But she couldn't leave her mother. She just couldn't.
Her father's head swung back and forth as he checked for signs that he'd been heard. "You're going to leave that boy behind," he hissed.
"Daddy, please—"
It came out of nowhere, a backhanded blow across the cheek with enough force to send her staggering. Her phone flew from her grasp, and went scuttling across the pocked and rutted asphalt.
Her father strode over to it, then brought his boot heel down hard again and again.
Juno stood frozen, her palm pressed to her stinging cheek, tears blurring her vision. Her father had never hit her before. Never.
"Get in the car." His voice was now devoid of emotion.
She looked past him to her mother in the backseat of the car, her head resting awkwardly against the window, almost like she was watching their bitter exchange. But Juno knew better. Her mother was probably passed out cold, completely oblivious to the fact that her husband had just assaulted her daughter.
The fetid darkness of the swampy wooded lot behind the apartment was unnerving, and beyond that was the unknown—another town, another fresh start that would only end in disaster again.
Behind her was everything that mattered to her. Alex. Claire. Her job. The place she wanted to call home.
Her father had promised things would be different this time. He'd lied. And he'd keep lying. And if she knew anything about the way evil progressed, he'd keep hitting Juno and her mother, too.
Juno had no choice. She got in the car.
As they drove away from Autumn Lake, Juno watched the lights recede in the side mirror, taking with them the last traces of her childhood. The last of her innocence tucked inside that pillowcase.
Present Day… The sting of phantom pain on her cheek yanked Juno back to the present. She touched her face, half-expecting to find it tender, but there was only smooth skin warmed by tears. She didn't like to cry—it always felt like such an unproductive response to her—so even though there was no one to witness them, she sat up in bed, and wiped her face with the edge of the sheet.
She hadn't thought about that night in years—had trained herself not to. What purpose did it serve to relive the moment she learned how brutally her trust could be betrayed?
Juno reached for the glass of water on her nightstand and took a slow sip, letting the cool liquid wash away the memory's bitter taste. Her phone still lay face down where she'd left it, Alex's unanswered text waiting on the other side.
Men who made promises, then broke them. Men who kept secrets. Men who left. Why was she drawn to men with darkness in their eyes?
Not that Alex would ever raise a hand to her—she knew that with bone-deep certainty. But hurt came in many forms.
Omission. Deception. Disappointment.
But Alex… well, even the messed up version of Alex that he claimed to be was nothing like her father. Alex apologized for drinking, for being a mess. He asked for help, for forgiveness, and he pursued restitution. Wasn't that why he'd, in such a bumbling, messy way, been outside her door Friday night? Coming to see her because he wanted to fix things?
Alex hadn't lied about Lena, not exactly.
But he'd committed the sin of silence. For years. He may not have known about Lena himself until she'd been five or six years old, but even the child knew she'd been a secret all this time. It was heartbreaking.
Restless, Juno plumped her pillow. She'd accused him of being a terrible father, and he'd tried to explain. Now, hours later in the quiet darkness, she attempted to recall exactly what he'd said.
I only learned about Lena three years ago.
There was more to the story. There had to be. But Juno had been too busy projecting her own childhood wounds onto Alex's situation.
Melissa hadn't let him meet his own daughter until he'd paid up.
But that wasn't the whole picture either. She'd seen that Lena loved her mother, heard her talk about the trips they'd taken, the places they'd lived. She wasn't an obviously neglected child.
The look on Alex's face when he watched Lena talking about books she'd read. The way he'd knelt in front of her, bad ankle and all, to steady her when she was upset. The absolute adoration in his eyes.
And Alex had never gotten her letters. He'd never known how desperate she'd been. He hadn't intentionally turned his back on her when she was in so much pain.
He wasn't Leonard Thomas. He wasn't Juno's father. Alex wasn't a monster, and Juno had to admit that she'd never really it of him.
The realization settled over her like a warm blanket. Alex Frampton, for all his flaws, was trying. He might be fumbling his way through fatherhood, might have made compromises he shouldn't have, but he was there. He showed up. He clearly loved his daughter.
He might be stumbling through rebuilding a relationship with Juno, too, but he'd been the one to show up at her door, to take that first step. A step that, she hated to admit, she might never have taken in his direction.
She let out a self-deprecating snort. Didn't that, on some level, make him the better person?
Juno drew her knees up to her chest and wrapped her arms around them. She'd promised him he didn't have to face things alone. Had she meant it? Or was that just something she'd said to make herself feel better about helping a hungover man in her apartment?
"Whatever's going on, whatever it is that's harder now—you don't have to face it alone."
Her own words echoed back to her, and she realized with startling clarity that she'd meant every syllable. And not because she expected anything in return. No one should have to face their demons alone.
Alex needed a support system and she wanted to be a part of it. She wanted to be his friend, someone he could count on to remind him of how great a guy he was, that he was worthy of good things, of people loving him and standing by him.
With that resolution, Juno felt the knot in her chest begin to loosen. She slid back down under the covers, suddenly aware of how exhausted she was. Tomorrow she'd wake up, go to church, and then wait for Alex's call. She would listen— really listen—to what he had to say.
No judgments. No accusations. Just one friend being there for another.
She could set aside her own feelings—the hurt, the attraction, the history—and simply be there.
It would be enough. It had to be.