Dead Silence
Page 51
It made her day tick by painfully . . . excruciatingly slow, as she worried more and more about just how much damage she’d actually done, and whether or not it could be fixed this time.
Rafe, of course, was his usual tactful self, asking her if she’d finally dumped her backwoods boyfriend and was ready to “trade up.” Instead of giving him a black eye, which Violet seriously considered, she decided it was best if she steered clear of Rafe for the time being. They might be working on uncovering a mystery that only the two of them knew about, but he was annoying as hell.
And clearly, he was toxic to her relationship.
When Jay didn’t show up for a second day of school, Violet felt physically ill, her stomach churning uncontrollably as she tried to choke down her sandwich at lunch and pretend it didn’t bother her that her boyfriend was willing to ditch school just to avoid her.
After throwing most of her food away, Violet escaped to the girls’ room, locking herself in one of the stalls as she took out her cell phone, knowing that calling Jay again was pointless. She opted instead for a text. A simple message that she meant more sincerely than she’d ever meant anything in her life:
No more secrets, ever. I swear.
She tucked her phone back into her pocket and leaned her forehead against the cool metal of the stall door. Hopefully he’d understand just how hard this was for her, making a promise to open up to him in every way. It wasn’t like her to bare all to anyone . . . even to someone she trusted with her life.
Even to Jay.
But if that’s what she had to do to keep him, then so be it. Because she didn’t want to do this . . . any of it . . . without him. She didn’t want to be without him.
She knew it meant telling Jay about her imprint, and what Rafe had done to get rid of it. Telling him everything Dr. Lee had said and done to make her stay on the team and the months she’d kept it from him. And explaining her grandmother’s and Rafe’s mother’s roles in the Circle of Seven.
All of it.
And it was worth it. If only he’d forgive her.
If only he’d call her back.
CHAPTER 11
VIOLET STOOD IN FRONT OF THE MIRROR AND appraised the indigo blue maxi dress that swished around her ankles, wishing she had something a little more funeral-y to wear. Eventually she’d decided that with her mom’s cardigan it at least looked church-ish, which would have to be good enough. Besides, she reminded herself, it wasn’t like she was actually planning to attend the funeral. She was simply planning to spy on it.
But she still didn’t want to be disrespectful, not this day of all days. Not to the family being put into the ground. This was their time to find peace, and Violet didn’t feel like a pair of jeans and a T-shirt were appropriate attire, even from a distance.
Jay had skipped school for two days, which had made it nearly three days since she’d seen him. She wanted to convince herself that she was numb about it, that she hadn’t cried herself to sleep the past three nights, but she’d be lying . . . again. And the new, more honest Violet was trying not to do that. Least of all, to herself.
But today was Friday, the day of the funeral, and now she was the one playing hooky. She grabbed the directions off the printer and stuffed them into her purse before slipping on some flats and rushing out the door. She didn’t want to be late.
The sight of a car parked in her driveway brought her up short, nearly causing her to trip down her own front steps.
She tried to think fast, to come up with an excuse for the way she was dressed since she’d texted her friends to tell them she was staying home sick today, but it was too late. Chelsea was already slamming her driver’s-side door behind her, a look of single-mindedness on her face. Jules was right behind her, and Claire, not to be outdone, but also not willing to get out of the car, unrolled her window from the backseat.
“Where the heck are you going in that getup?” Chelsea asked.
“Um, I . . .” Violet faltered, coming up blank. She tried to turn the conversation around as she glanced at Claire, who’d pulled out a compact and was dabbing at her lip gloss. “Shouldn’t you guys be at school?”
“Yeah,” Chelsea stated. “But it’s lunchtime, and since Jay wasn’t at school again, and you’ve been all Mopey McMoperson lately, we thought we better stop by to make sure everything was okay. Clearly, it is, and you’re off to some big shindig at the local feed store.” Chelsea pointed at her dress. “Hope you get there before all the good hitchin’ spots are gone.”
“It’s not that bad,” Violet said, defending her fashion choice.
Jules snorted. “Yeah. Yeah, it is, Little House on the Prairie. You and Pa gonna rustle up some vittles for supper?”
“At least lose the sweater,” Chelsea offered. “You look like your mom.”
Claire, still sitting in the car, glanced up. “She’s right, V. You totally do.”
Violet glanced down at the dress, thinking how much she’d liked it when she’d tried it on. Remembering, too, that it had been Chelsea who’d talked her into buying it in the first place, telling her how the halter top showed off her shoulders. Of course that was before she’d covered them up with her mom’s oversized cardigan. “Sorry, guys. I . . . gotta run. I’ll call you later.”
“So you’re really not gonna tell us what this is all about, are you?” Chelsea drawled as if she wasn’t at all surprised by Violet’s secrecy.
Rafe, of course, was his usual tactful self, asking her if she’d finally dumped her backwoods boyfriend and was ready to “trade up.” Instead of giving him a black eye, which Violet seriously considered, she decided it was best if she steered clear of Rafe for the time being. They might be working on uncovering a mystery that only the two of them knew about, but he was annoying as hell.
And clearly, he was toxic to her relationship.
When Jay didn’t show up for a second day of school, Violet felt physically ill, her stomach churning uncontrollably as she tried to choke down her sandwich at lunch and pretend it didn’t bother her that her boyfriend was willing to ditch school just to avoid her.
After throwing most of her food away, Violet escaped to the girls’ room, locking herself in one of the stalls as she took out her cell phone, knowing that calling Jay again was pointless. She opted instead for a text. A simple message that she meant more sincerely than she’d ever meant anything in her life:
No more secrets, ever. I swear.
She tucked her phone back into her pocket and leaned her forehead against the cool metal of the stall door. Hopefully he’d understand just how hard this was for her, making a promise to open up to him in every way. It wasn’t like her to bare all to anyone . . . even to someone she trusted with her life.
Even to Jay.
But if that’s what she had to do to keep him, then so be it. Because she didn’t want to do this . . . any of it . . . without him. She didn’t want to be without him.
She knew it meant telling Jay about her imprint, and what Rafe had done to get rid of it. Telling him everything Dr. Lee had said and done to make her stay on the team and the months she’d kept it from him. And explaining her grandmother’s and Rafe’s mother’s roles in the Circle of Seven.
All of it.
And it was worth it. If only he’d forgive her.
If only he’d call her back.
CHAPTER 11
VIOLET STOOD IN FRONT OF THE MIRROR AND appraised the indigo blue maxi dress that swished around her ankles, wishing she had something a little more funeral-y to wear. Eventually she’d decided that with her mom’s cardigan it at least looked church-ish, which would have to be good enough. Besides, she reminded herself, it wasn’t like she was actually planning to attend the funeral. She was simply planning to spy on it.
But she still didn’t want to be disrespectful, not this day of all days. Not to the family being put into the ground. This was their time to find peace, and Violet didn’t feel like a pair of jeans and a T-shirt were appropriate attire, even from a distance.
Jay had skipped school for two days, which had made it nearly three days since she’d seen him. She wanted to convince herself that she was numb about it, that she hadn’t cried herself to sleep the past three nights, but she’d be lying . . . again. And the new, more honest Violet was trying not to do that. Least of all, to herself.
But today was Friday, the day of the funeral, and now she was the one playing hooky. She grabbed the directions off the printer and stuffed them into her purse before slipping on some flats and rushing out the door. She didn’t want to be late.
The sight of a car parked in her driveway brought her up short, nearly causing her to trip down her own front steps.
She tried to think fast, to come up with an excuse for the way she was dressed since she’d texted her friends to tell them she was staying home sick today, but it was too late. Chelsea was already slamming her driver’s-side door behind her, a look of single-mindedness on her face. Jules was right behind her, and Claire, not to be outdone, but also not willing to get out of the car, unrolled her window from the backseat.
“Where the heck are you going in that getup?” Chelsea asked.
“Um, I . . .” Violet faltered, coming up blank. She tried to turn the conversation around as she glanced at Claire, who’d pulled out a compact and was dabbing at her lip gloss. “Shouldn’t you guys be at school?”
“Yeah,” Chelsea stated. “But it’s lunchtime, and since Jay wasn’t at school again, and you’ve been all Mopey McMoperson lately, we thought we better stop by to make sure everything was okay. Clearly, it is, and you’re off to some big shindig at the local feed store.” Chelsea pointed at her dress. “Hope you get there before all the good hitchin’ spots are gone.”
“It’s not that bad,” Violet said, defending her fashion choice.
Jules snorted. “Yeah. Yeah, it is, Little House on the Prairie. You and Pa gonna rustle up some vittles for supper?”
“At least lose the sweater,” Chelsea offered. “You look like your mom.”
Claire, still sitting in the car, glanced up. “She’s right, V. You totally do.”
Violet glanced down at the dress, thinking how much she’d liked it when she’d tried it on. Remembering, too, that it had been Chelsea who’d talked her into buying it in the first place, telling her how the halter top showed off her shoulders. Of course that was before she’d covered them up with her mom’s oversized cardigan. “Sorry, guys. I . . . gotta run. I’ll call you later.”
“So you’re really not gonna tell us what this is all about, are you?” Chelsea drawled as if she wasn’t at all surprised by Violet’s secrecy.
