“Drinking a beer.”
He looked up at the ceiling as if he could see directly into my mom’s room. “Doesn’t seem right.” He hesitated a moment and I thought he might say more but he rose to his feet and I walked him to the front door.
“‘Night, Lila.”
“‘Night.”
I watched him jog in the direction of home until the darkness swallowed him up and I lost sight of him.
Then I went upstairs, got ready for bed and slipped into my mom’s room, closing the door quietly behind me so I didn’t disturb her. What Jude didn’t know—what I hadn’t told anyone—was that Derek slept in the spare bedroom and had been doing so for the past two years.
I crawled into bed next to my mom and listened to her breathing. Reassured by the sound, knowing that she was still here, I drifted off to sleep.
Chapter Nine
Lila
The book slid out of my hands and hit the floor with a clunk. I sat up and blinked, disoriented. Dread settled in my stomach. When my eyes adjusted to the darkness, I made out the sleeping form of my mom.
“Go on and get some sleep, honey,” the night nurse, Marge, told me. She must have turned off the lights.
Her job was to keep my mother as comfortable as possible. Which meant that she dosed her with medication for the pain.
“Mom, I’ll be back later, okay?” I said quietly, wanting her to know but not wanting to disturb her in case she was asleep.
“Goodbye, baby,” she said, her voice barely a whisper. “Love you.”
Marge ushered me to the door as if she was in a hurry to get rid of me. “I’ll look after her.” Sensing my reluctance to leave, she tried to reassure me with words that we both knew was a lie. “Everything will be okay.”
With one last look at my mom, I crept out of the room and stood in the hallway for a few seconds. I wasn’t tired anymore. I was keyed up.
In my room, I put on my sneakers and pulled my hair into a ponytail, checking the time on my phone as I slipped out of the house. It was ten o’clock. A crazy time to go running but I’d been doing it every night.
A shadowy form came from the side of the McCallister’s house, the big orange October moon lighting his way. Like he’d been waiting for me. Expecting me.
“You need to stop running so late, Rebel.” He turned on his phone flashlight and trained it on the ground in front of us so we wouldn’t stumble or twist an ankle in a ditch or pothole. “It’s dangerous.”
“You don’t have to come with me.”
He snorted. “Like I’d let you go alone.”
Nobody knew we ran late at night. Every night for the past few weeks, Jude had been climbing down the trellis from his bedroom window and there he’d be, waiting for me, even on a school night. Even when he was tired after a full day of school and football practice.
Jude was the starting quarterback this year and had been since our sophomore year. Which was a big deal in a football-obsessed town. He was carrying the hopes and expectations of an entire town on his shoulders but if he felt the pressure, he never let it show.
I used to think that everything came so easily to Jude. Sure, he had natural talent. But nobody on the team worked harder than Jude. He gave it his all and left everything out there on the field. It was the same for everything he did. Once Jude committed to something, he gave it a hundred and ten percent.
In the distance, a dog howled but other than that, it was quiet except for the sound of our breathing and our feet pounding the dirt lane. The crisp fall air smelled like wood smoke and decaying leaves.
“How’s your mom?” Jude asked as we crested a hill.
“Same,” I said, effectively ending our conversation.
There was nothing else to say, and unlike him, I couldn’t chat while I ran because I needed to breathe so Jude didn’t push me for more.
Waiting for someone to die was the cruelest form of punishment. Every morning before I went to school, I worried that she wouldn’t be there when I got home. Every night when I went to sleep, I worried that she would be gone when I woke up.
I wanted to keep running, to the end of the world. Or back to a time when my biggest problem was having to wear a dress to meet the McCallisters. Before my mom got sick and Derek checked out. Had he been a good guy when I was younger? I couldn’t really remember. Maybe it was my fault for never treating him like a dad. But I was only seven when he married my mom, so shouldn’t he have made the effort?
“You good?” Jude asked.
Not even close. But I knew he was talking about running and if I said I wasn’t fine, he’d slow his pace or turn around and head home. I wasn’t ready to go home. Running had become my addiction and I needed it. I needed it to help me forget. To make me so tired that I’d eventually fall asleep.
“I’m good.” To prove my point, I shot forward with a burst of speed. For me, it was an effort to run this route and I had to push my body to keep going even when I felt like quitting. It wasn’t flat. It was hilly and rugged. For Jude, it was a cakewalk.
He was the bionic man, his stride so strong and sure, and his breathing measured, not the least bit winded. He didn’t look like a boy anymore. At six foot two, he was the same height as his dad who had always seemed like a giant to me. He had a six-pack and washboard abs, and I knew this because when he mowed our lawn in the summer
