18. Muddied
eighteen
Muddied
I stop at the base of the steps as Mom’s eyes travel over me–taking in the mud-stained clothes, the tangled mess of hair, and the rip in my jeans. Her gaze moves to Jacob and rests there with a heavy, accusing look.
Maybe he doesn’t see it, because he greets her with his usual smile and, “Hi, Mrs. Roberts.”
Instead of answering, she turns to me. “What happened to you and why aren't you at school?”
I step back, bumping into Jacob. His chest against my back feels warm and supportive, but I immediately step away. “I didn’t feel well, so I came home.”
“You didn't feel good, so you called–” she gestures toward Jacob, like she’s too mad to remember his name, “to come get you? Why wouldn’t you call me?” She’s about to boil over. I’m preparing myself, suddenly wishing I were anywhere else. More than that, I wish Jacob were anywhere else.
I work to come up with something that will diffuse the bomb that’s about to go off. I'm stuck with the truth. “I didn’t call Jacob. I walked home. He saw me on the side of the road and gave me a ride. I fell again, and he helped me.”
“You fell? Again?” The words are for me, but the disbelief in her gaze is for Jacob.
The words keep tumbling out. “I’m sorry, Mom. It was stupid for me to try to walk home, I–”
“But why are you here?” Mom says to Jacob.
If Jacob notices the change in Mom’s attitude toward him, he doesn’t show it. “The parts I ordered came in. I was coming to fix Jess’ car. I saw her on the road, like she said. I stopped to give her a ride.”
Mom finally looks at me. “Jess, inside. We need to talk. Jacob–”
“I’ll go get started on the car. I don’t have much time,” Jacob is already moving away. Maybe he sense the tension.
“Thanks Jacob, I–” but Mom shuts the door before I can finish.
She turns on me. “What’s going on here? The truth.
” Her voice softens and that scares me more than the anger that was there before.
I get the idea that she's more afraid than mad.
“I got a call from the counselor at the high school. She told me something about you having an abusive boyfriend, some guy from base? I told her you don’t have a boyfriend, and she started lecturing me about parents always being the last to know.
I've given that same line to other parents. I never imagined I'd have it thrown back at me. I was sure she was wrong, but then you show up with Jacob, looking like...” she looks me over again, “like this. Please tell me what’s going on. Whatever it is, I just want to help.”
“It’s not what it looks like.” I lean against the wall for support.
My arm hurts; my head hurts. I’m exhausted and frustrated, and I want to cry, but if I do, I’m sure she’ll decide the counselor was right and Jacob will be banned from our house forever.
“It's a stupid rumor that started at school because I walked in with a broken wrist, but you know how that happened. I didn’t feel good after I talked to the counselor, and I just wanted to go home.
I didn't want to make you leave work, so I walked. Jacob saw me on the road and stopped to pick me up. When I turned around to see who was following me, I tripped and fell in a ditch.”
She stares at me for a long time, like she’s trying to decide whether she's one of those 'last to know' parents.
“I guess I believe you; it's just…" She brushes a lock of hair off my cheek. “There’s something different about you. Something's going on that..." I work to keep my expression neutral as she continues. "I noticed it a while ago, even before Jacob showed up, but senior year can be so hard, and you’ve been so busy, I thought maybe it was that.” She stares at me for a long moment, like she’s trying to read my mind. “But I keep getting this nagging feeling that there’s more. You know you can tell me anything. Right?”
I hold my breath. For a second I consider telling Mom everything–about Brad and the party and the drink that may or may not have been drugged.
About how since then he's alternately played my chief tormentor and the wounded ex-boyfriend trying to win me back.
About how I don't know what kind of game he's playing, but I know it won't end well.
I can’t. She’d make a big deal about it, insist on going to Brad’s parents or the school, maybe even the police. That would just make everything worse. She’s waiting for a big revelation, but I can see in her eyes that she hopes she’s wrong, and that I'm fine and everything is normal.
I give her what she wants. “Nothing big, just school and work and trying to figure out life after high school. Isn’t that enough?”
She hesitates, hovering between uncertainty and relief. “I guess it is.” She hugs me for a long moment and then pulls away and looks into my eyes. I pray she doesn’t see anything there. She pushes me toward my room. "Go. Get cleaned up and then take a nap, you look like you could use it."