The Miles Between - Page 40

“I know, Seth. I know.” Instead of the firmness I intended, I hear the rattling breathiness of my voice, like I am already vanishing because of my choice. His grip remains tight on my arm, and I’m glad he doesn’t let go. It feels safe, like as long as he holds on, I can’t disappear. Is that what I’m doing? I look up at him. “I’m okay. Just out of breath. Your legs are longer than mine. Let’s slow down.” He nods and we resume at a slower pace.

“Do you think they’ll be angry when they see you?”

My parents. Angry? Hardly. “No,” I answer. “I don’t rate enough importance for anger.”

“But you are angry.”

“Maybe. I wonder what that says about me. I guess I don’t have my priorities straight like they do.”

“And cynical.”

“Think so?” I smile, a tight deliberate smile, to top off my pessimism. “Aren’t you angry at your parents for abandoning you?”

“They haven’t exactly abandoned me, Des. It’s only been two months, and it was my decision too. I mean, eventually everyone has to move away from their parents, right? It’s normal. Part of growing up. A lot of kids count the days until they can get a little freedom.”

“Well, I got to grow up at the ripe age of seven.”

“Is that when they sent you off?”

I hear the disbelief in his voice. I look away and nod. He is probably already reevaluating me, wondering what makes me so repugnant.

“Some people really stink at being parents. You don’t need a license, you know?”

“A license might not be a bad idea.”

“But you at least have your aunt Edie. That’s her name, right?”

Aunt Edie. Because no child should be alone. Everyone needs someone. “Yes. At least I have her.” She’s everything an aunt should be. Understanding, fun, a good listener. The ideal aunt.

“She’s always been there for me,” I tell him. “At least as much as she can be, considering that my parents bounce me around from boarding school to boarding school—always at a great distance from her. She tried to get custody of me once. She loves me that much. She’s poor, but she has a little farm and an extra bedroom—a perfect place for a child to grow up—a pond and ducks and everything. But my parents wouldn’t hear of it. Too humiliating, I suppose. But she would have me if she could.”

“She sounds great. I’m sorry I missed her at the parents’ day picnic. Did she come?”

“Yes. Of course she came. But she and I didn’t sit with everyone else. We took a long walk. We don’t get to see each other often, so we’d rather spend the time alone.”

“Why was she coming today?”

All this talking, it’s going in directions I can’t control. Another reason why it is best to stay to yourself. Why leaving Hedgebrook was too risky. At least the routine there was safe.

“A visit. Only a visit.”

“I guess in some ways it turned out okay, after all. If she had come today, you wouldn’t have come to rescue me, and we wouldn’t be here right now. You’d probably be off with her somewhere instead.”

“Rescuing? I’d hardly call it that.”

“Was to me. How long have you had the car? Was it a gift?”

Now would be the time to tell. Before I dig myself in any deeper. But it is his own doing, really. He assumes too much. I never said it was mine exactly. One should never assume. It only gets you into trouble. The end of the day is just as good a time to tell as now. But he’s asking now. Outright asking. “Seth—”

“Yes?”

“Today. I just got it today. It was a surprise.”

“A guilt gift from your parents?”

r /> “Yes. That must be it.”

We are almost back to the car. Last sidewalk lines. Last steps. Last breaths. So important. And I’m missing it all. Seventeen, eighteen . . .

Tags: Mary E. Pearson
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