Chapter 3 #3
I tossed a seasoned frozen roast with cut potatoes and onions in the oven. Then I called Mama.
“Hello, Jonah. How is she?”
Of course, Mama had Jonah as a contact. She let people go when they wanted to be released, but she was always ready to let them back in. “No, Mama, it’s me, and I’m fine.”
“Summer, oh my god. I’m so glad to hear your voice.”
“I didn’t mean to worry you.” I had so many apologies to make.
“Don’t ever regret doing what you need to do.”
“I shouldn’t have—”
“Boyd hit you.”
My throat closed up. I hated to confirm her suspicions, but she also sounded certain. “Yes,” I whispered.
“Autumn went to make sure you were okay and she heard you cock off to Corinne. Good job on that.”
Jonah wasn’t the only witness, but at least Autumn hadn’t seen the slap. That moment had made me feel as powerless as when our parents had crashed when we were kids. Scared. Helpless. Unsure what to do. I never wanted to be in that place again.
“I’m sorry I didn’t go home,” I blurted. Mama had been there for everything after the worst time of my life. She’d been there for all of us. And I’d run from her.
“Honey, I know how you are. Can’t let your sisters see you crumble. But I am surprised you went with Jonah. I didn’t think you two got along.”
We’d bickered when we were younger. First, I’d been his friends’ annoying little sister.
Then I’d been a cocky senior dating his brother, and finally an arrogant college freshman who refused to be told what to do.
Jonah had been the uptight older brother who didn’t go to college and thought I was annoying.
At that age, I’d had complicated feelings I’d been trying to sort out.
Then after the accident . . . Well, I’d thought Jonah hated me too.
“We didn’t talk much, but he saw what Boyd did and stopped him from doing worse.
I guess after that, I felt comfortable with him. ”
“I don’t see Jonah tolerating behavior like that.”
“He didn’t.”
“Good.”
Mama’s righteousness soothed me. “With the snow and wind, I don’t know when I’ll be home.”
“You’re safe there. Jonah will make sure of it.”
“He has coffee and internet or I would walk home,” I joked.
Mama chuckled. A moment later she went quiet. “How are you really doing?”
“I’m . . .” I should brush off her concerns and insist I was fine.
But I wasn’t, and I didn’t want to lie to her.
She knew. I also didn’t want to get into the way I felt.
I wanted to pull the blankets over my head.
I’d give Mama a little of the truth. “I feel like a fool. I feel depressed, and I get these weird moments where I want to panic, and then I’m ashamed because you all had to deal with the fallout, and then I’m embarrassed I even got that far.
I should’ve seen Boyd for what he was—and I know.
I know.” Jonah’s comment about Boyd abusing my trust flittered through my head.
I knew I shouldn’t be ashamed. But I was.
“So for a few days, I’d like to watch movies and not have to face reality. ”
“You do that. I’ll talk to your siblings.”
“Thanks, Mama.”
I was setting the phone down when Jonah walked in from the garage on a swirl of cold air. The rumble of the garage door shutting cut off when he closed the door to the house.
He stepped out of his boots and shrugged out of his coat.
When he plucked the black stocking hat off his head, his dark hair stuck up in a million different directions.
He should look silly, not sexier and more approachable than when every strand was combed into place.
This was the Jonah I was used to seeing.
The older boy who used to hang out with my brothers.
Shoving a hand through his hair, he caught my eye. Then he sniffed. “Are you cooking?”
“I hope you don’t mind. I even found vegetables.”
He narrowed his eyes. “Where?”
“Under the stairs.”
He relaxed. “Oh. I thought you meant like lettuce and apples when you asked.”
“I did, but potatoes and onions are nice too. I cut some up with the roast.”
He brushed snow off the bottom of his jeans and crossed through the kitchen. I had quit hearing shoveling, but he hadn’t been in the garage.
My curiosity got the better of me. I’d always been in Jonah’s business when I’d been younger. “What were you doing?”
“Working.”
I got that he was closed off and private, but it’d be a long weekend if he didn’t converse more. “What do you do for work?”
He glanced over his shoulder before he rounded out of the kitchen to the hallway that ran on the other side of the stairs. “I make things.”
I got up and followed him, stopping at the foot of the stairs. “Top-secret things? If you told me you’d have to kill me?”
He stopped outside the door across from what must be his bedroom and gave me a flat look. “What do you think I do all day out here?”
I lifted a shoulder. “Mountain-man stuff?”
His expression remained unreadable. “Yep.”
He disappeared into his room.
What had I said wrong? And why did his reaction kick up my stomach acid again?