THE NOTEBOOK #2
I gape at the page, her words vibrating between what was about to happen and what never did.
Pressing my hand flat against the page, I search for a trace of her warmth still trapped in the paper.
My other hand clamps over my mouth, where a sound is caught between a sob and a gasp. I swallow it down.
It wasn’t my imagination. She saw what he was. She wanted out. And then she died.
The strap of my duffel peeks out from under the pile of clothes as I take in the wreck of my room. That’s it: my exit.
I tug it free and cram in any clothes I can grab, making sure to include Mom’s old hoodie, still carrying her memory, and her diary. I clamp down hard, teeth clenched, until the zipper bites shut.
Shit, now it’s too big to haul on a bike. This day has not let up once.
Think, Sara, think. I need a new plan before this adds another failure to my list. I run through my options fast, then race down to the landline.
With what little cash I have stuffed in my pocket, I call a cab to pick me up from down the block.
The taxi drops me at the station. I know the schedule by heart. In my head, I’ve run through this escape a dozen times. Now it’s real. I catch myself hoping. After a day of turmoil, steadiness returns. I’m almost in control again.
The sense of being watched still lingers. Is Gabe after me again? He’s nowhere in the crowd. I make straight for the platform, no ticket in hand. Is that what’s clawing at me, the risk of a fare inspector catching me?
I’m gambling.
As I board, I already scan the rows until I spot her: the sleepiest passenger on the train. Her head is tipped against the window, a travel pillow wedged under her neck, already halfway gone.
No small talk. Awesome.
After wrestling my bag into the overhead storage, I settle into the seat beside her and flash her a smile when she cracks an eye open. She gives the tiniest nod, yawns, and drifts off. Her hand droops against her lap, fingers curled around what might be a ticket. Even better.
The train rolls out of the station, and I plant my eyes on the entrance, waiting. My leg bounces, jittering the seat. I clamp down on it, locking every muscle in place. The car is nearly full. That either means too many witnesses, or just enough camouflage. I can’t say.
Time inches forward unbearably slowly.
At last, the door does rattle open. A sturdy man in a blue uniform steps through, belly straining his shirt, holding a ticket scanner.
My right hand creeps toward the ticket in my neighbor’s slack grip as carefully as I can manage. My heart’s in my throat. One twitch of her fingers and I’m screwed, but the paper slides free without causing her to stir.
The inspector’s scanner beeps with every seat he passes. My chest thunders harder with every sound. When his eyes finally cut to me from only a few passengers away, I give him a guilty stare and peel myself out of my seat so as not to disturb the sleeping form next to me.
He’s already on his way, taking the bait. I bolt for the back, forcing myself not to turn around and face him. I duck into the restroom and slam the lock the second he barks, “Miss!”
My reflection in the mirror is all black eyeliner and wild hair. Not ideal. I scrub my eyes, smooth my hair, practice a friendly smile. Someone else stares back at me, someone approachable.
When I step out, he’s waiting, arms crossed. “Ticket.”
My hand remains firm when I pass it over. Please, let this work.
His scanner blinks green. Relief floods me so fast I almost laugh.
“Have a nice day,” I chirp, sliding past him.
He continues to the next car and doesn’t follow me back to mine. If anyone there doesn’t have a ticket, I’ve bought them a free ride. You’re welcome.
Back in my seat, Sleeping Beauty stirs. Before she can blink awake, I duck down, pretend to pick something up from the floor, and pop up presenting her ticket.
“Think you lost this,” I say nonchalantly.
She yawns, takes it without suspicion. “Thanks.” Then she’s out again.
Confidence blooms into a grin as I finally relax and enjoy the rest of the ride.
At my stop, I’m in a better mood than I’ve been all day.
I flag a cab by the station, tell the driver the address, and spend the entire drive glancing out the back window.
Every bend, every darkened corner hides someone trailing behind.
I can’t see them, but the back of my neck tingles with warning.
I hand over the last of my cash, glad it was enough to get me here. The grim look I receive for not tipping burns right through me. I can’t use my card. Trackable payments would only feed the paranoia that’s already driving me crazy.
It’s already evening when I finally lift the lion-shaped door knocker and let it fall with a loud clang. The sound makes me smile in spite of myself. Mom used to hold me up so I could reach and drop it, and I’d giggle at the noise. Must be one of those unshakable core memories.
“Honey!” Grandma squeals the second the door opens and pulls me into a hug. “What a surprise! Why didn’t you call?”
I fumble. “Then it wouldn’t have been a surprise, right?”
Her warmth falters into suspicion. “Are you all right? Does your father know you’re here?”
I dodge. “Can we talk?”
“Of course, honey.” Her smile warms my heart. “Walt! Get down here, Sara’s visiting!” she calls over her shoulder.
Grandpa limps into view a second later, leaning on his cane, the brightness on his face lighting up the room.
It doesn’t last.
The next half hour is a battle. I beg, plead, promise anything to get them to let me stay. I tell them I could finish school here, that I’d behave, that I’d never give them trouble.
“I promise,” I say over and over, the word like a lifeline. Promises matter. Sworn oaths, like the one Richard took when he stepped into office, don’t mean a thing. He betrays them, but I would never break my word.
“Wait...” Grandpa cuts in, his voice heavy. “You mean your father doesn’t know where you are?”
“I’ll be eighteen in a few hours,” I argue, desperation leaking through every word. “Who cares?”
The way they glance at each other, worry and doubt written all over their faces, guts me. A silent conversation I’m not part of. My heart curls in on itself. They’re slipping away from me.
I pull my last card. My hands tremble as I unfold Mom’s letter and put it on the table between us. “Please.”
Grandma reads with her lips pressed thin. Her eyes flick briefly toward Grandpa before she squeezes my hand. “Honey,” she sighs. “I’m so, so sorry. I know what this must sound like to you. But it was an accident. Your father wasn’t even in the vicinity.”
“That doesn’t mean he’s not responsible—” I snatch the paper out of her hand.
She lowers her head. After a long exhale, she speaks again.
“Your mother didn’t always see things clearly—”
“Don’t,” I snap. “Don’t twist it.”
They share another look. A pit opens in my gut, swallowing my confidence. I shouldn’t have come. They’re not on my side.
Grandma must have known Mom wanted to come home to them.
She wouldn’t have shown up here out of nowhere, planning to move in again.
They were close. We came here every week.
They talked for hours while I sat on the swing in the yard or did puzzles with my grandpa while his favorite show played in the background.
Maybe she didn’t tell them about what’s in the diary, but she would’ve confided that her life was falling apart.
They had to sense she wasn’t all right. Still, they didn’t do anything.
I begged back then too. All I got were birthday cards and the occasional invitation for Richard and me to those stiff, silent dinners. That’s it.
“Did you find the diary?” Grandma asks.
I hesitate to answer, wondering if I can actually trust them. “I took apart my whole closet... I found the letter.” That’s the truth I can share with them, and I hope she doesn’t ask any more questions.
“Stay here for now.” She nods, her expression softening as she exhales slowly. “Go upstairs, freshen up. When you’re ready, we’ll make dinner together, all right?”
My vision clears as the blur of panic recedes.
They’re letting me stay, and I won’t make them regret it.
Maybe I was wrong and they are the people I always thought they were.
Maybe my father also had a hand in preventing them from taking me in.
Who knows. I ignore the alarm bells ringing in my head and get up to hug them both.
I’d love to see my father’s face when he realizes I’m gone. Boarding school, my ass.