Unhinged
Page 48
His suggestion makes me bristle. I won’t have her tied up in a straitjacket or drooling under sedatives again. I love her, regardless of the rift between us, and she’s suffered enough for a lifetime.
“Wait, Dad.” I sit down next to him, feeling out my options. “I’m going to tell you something … I just don’t know how you’ll react.” Staring down at the earbuds on my floor, I consider animating them, having them wrap around his ankle like an amorous cat.
I stare so hard, my eyes sting.
“Allie, you’re making me nervous. What’s going on?”
My heartbeat hammers loud enough that I hear it in my ears. I’m so close to breaking loose, so close to showing him my magic. The earbud cords tremble—a movement so minute, only I can see it. Then I lose my nerve and look at my eels instead, breaking my concentration.
“Mom and I had a fight yesterday,” I mutter. “I—I pushed her, and she fell into the mirror. That’s what made it hit the dresser. That’s why I shut myself up in my room. And she told you I wasn’t feeling well to cover for me so I wouldn’t get in trouble. I’m really sorry.”
Dad’s skin flushes dark pink. “You pushed your mother?” His gaze deepens with disappointment and apprehension—a look that makes my confidence shrink to the size of an ant. “What’s with these violent outbursts?”
“Outbursts? This is the first one.”
“It isn’t. I heard you yelling at your mom in your hospital room. Was this over Jeb again? Did you sneak out last night to see him? Is that why you’re wearing your shoes in bed?” The color in his face isn’t a blush anymore. It’s bordering on purple.
I stand up. “No! None of this is about Jeb.” I can’t have him doubting Jeb again, not now that they’ve finally worked things out. “I took a couple of sedatives after my fight with Mom. I guess they kicked in before I had time to undress.” A full-blown lie.
When he keeps watching me, unconvinced, I add, “I hate that we fought, that I almost hurt her.” Even more, I hate that I’m defending her when she should be defending herself to both of us.
Dad’s fingers drum the dress bag—unconsciously keeping rhythm with the nervous twitch in his eyelid. “What was this fight about? It had to be big, to make you push your mother into a mirror.”
“Well. I didn’t exactly push her …” I want to say more but draw a complete blank.
A look of discernment crosses Dad’s face. “Wait. It was over the car, wasn’t it?”
“Huh?”
“The Mercedes that was in our driveway when I got home.”
“Uh …” I don’t know what to say. Mom’s apparently told him something, and I have to go along with her story.
“Your mom said you wouldn’t give her the keys when she asked for them.”
I glance over at the corner behind my door where Morpheus’s vest, shirt, and hat lay crumpled last night. They’re gone, along with his keys, and Mom just handed me my alibi on a silver platter. “Did she tell you she tried to take the keys from me and I wouldn’t let go?”
Dad’s gaze hardens. “No.”
“They slipped out of my hand and caught her off balance.”
“You mean that’s how she fell into the mirror?”
I nod, despising myself with every move of my head.
Jaw clenched, Dad stares into me. “Look, I agree with your mom. It’s generous of that exchange student to offer you his car until Gizmo’s tire is fixed, but you can’t drive it. If you were to get even a dent in it, he could turn around and sue us for more money than your college education is worth.”
“All right,” I whisper, relieved the explanation for the car is out of the way. But that’s the only relief I get because now Dad’s looking at me like I’m a stick of dynamite he needs to defuse. “Dad, I get it.”
“I don’t think you do,” he says, shaking his head. “I’m guessing you think your mom got overemotional about the car.”
“Like she does about everything,” I mumble.
“Well, this time she has a reason. When we were first dating, I had a wreck.” He glances down to where his toes wiggle inside his woolly socks. “It was in a sports car … not as nice as the one in our driveway but similar. I took a curve too fast and hit a tree. The car was destroyed. I was in a coma for months.”
My breaths become shallow. I can’t risk inhaling too deep and missing even a word. This is something sacred, a part of their history they’ve kept from me.
“I know you wish I’d talk more about my mom and pop,” Dad continues, though the change of subject throws me.
“No, Dad. I get why you don’t like to.”
“It’s because of the wreck, Allie.”
I stare dumbly at him, trying to connect the dots. “They were in the car with you?” He never told me that's how they died …
The dress bag crunches as he crosses his ankles. “Well, no. It’s because of the wreck that I don’t remember them. If it wasn’t for your mom, I wouldn’t remember anything about my childhood. She put a photo journal together for me so I would know my parents’ faces, since they had passed away before I met her. I couldn’t remember that I have no sisters or brothers, or cousins or relatives who were interested in knowing me. I didn’t even remember meeting your mom. That’s how bad the damage was. Is. My life before I crashed that car, before your mom … it’s just gone. As if I never lived it.”
There’s a prick in my heart, like a thorn piercing me from the inside out. “Dad, I’m sorry.” The apology feels inadequate. Memories are such precious and priceless things. It’s always made me sad to think about Jeb losing his from Wonderland. But this is so much worse. “You never told me.”
“You already had a messed-up childhood. I wasn’t going to add anything to that. You needed at least one parent who had a semi-normal past. Right?”
I shrug, though I don’t know if I agree. Maybe if we’d both been honest all along, we could’ve helped each other.
“So, do you see now?” he asks. “Why she doesn’t want you driving that car? It’s too easy, when you have unharnessed power at your fingertips, to forget you’re not invincible. To make rash decisions that can affect your whole future.”
“Wait, Dad.” I sit down next to him, feeling out my options. “I’m going to tell you something … I just don’t know how you’ll react.” Staring down at the earbuds on my floor, I consider animating them, having them wrap around his ankle like an amorous cat.
I stare so hard, my eyes sting.
“Allie, you’re making me nervous. What’s going on?”
My heartbeat hammers loud enough that I hear it in my ears. I’m so close to breaking loose, so close to showing him my magic. The earbud cords tremble—a movement so minute, only I can see it. Then I lose my nerve and look at my eels instead, breaking my concentration.
“Mom and I had a fight yesterday,” I mutter. “I—I pushed her, and she fell into the mirror. That’s what made it hit the dresser. That’s why I shut myself up in my room. And she told you I wasn’t feeling well to cover for me so I wouldn’t get in trouble. I’m really sorry.”
Dad’s skin flushes dark pink. “You pushed your mother?” His gaze deepens with disappointment and apprehension—a look that makes my confidence shrink to the size of an ant. “What’s with these violent outbursts?”
“Outbursts? This is the first one.”
“It isn’t. I heard you yelling at your mom in your hospital room. Was this over Jeb again? Did you sneak out last night to see him? Is that why you’re wearing your shoes in bed?” The color in his face isn’t a blush anymore. It’s bordering on purple.
I stand up. “No! None of this is about Jeb.” I can’t have him doubting Jeb again, not now that they’ve finally worked things out. “I took a couple of sedatives after my fight with Mom. I guess they kicked in before I had time to undress.” A full-blown lie.
When he keeps watching me, unconvinced, I add, “I hate that we fought, that I almost hurt her.” Even more, I hate that I’m defending her when she should be defending herself to both of us.
Dad’s fingers drum the dress bag—unconsciously keeping rhythm with the nervous twitch in his eyelid. “What was this fight about? It had to be big, to make you push your mother into a mirror.”
“Well. I didn’t exactly push her …” I want to say more but draw a complete blank.
A look of discernment crosses Dad’s face. “Wait. It was over the car, wasn’t it?”
“Huh?”
“The Mercedes that was in our driveway when I got home.”
“Uh …” I don’t know what to say. Mom’s apparently told him something, and I have to go along with her story.
“Your mom said you wouldn’t give her the keys when she asked for them.”
I glance over at the corner behind my door where Morpheus’s vest, shirt, and hat lay crumpled last night. They’re gone, along with his keys, and Mom just handed me my alibi on a silver platter. “Did she tell you she tried to take the keys from me and I wouldn’t let go?”
Dad’s gaze hardens. “No.”
“They slipped out of my hand and caught her off balance.”
“You mean that’s how she fell into the mirror?”
I nod, despising myself with every move of my head.
Jaw clenched, Dad stares into me. “Look, I agree with your mom. It’s generous of that exchange student to offer you his car until Gizmo’s tire is fixed, but you can’t drive it. If you were to get even a dent in it, he could turn around and sue us for more money than your college education is worth.”
“All right,” I whisper, relieved the explanation for the car is out of the way. But that’s the only relief I get because now Dad’s looking at me like I’m a stick of dynamite he needs to defuse. “Dad, I get it.”
“I don’t think you do,” he says, shaking his head. “I’m guessing you think your mom got overemotional about the car.”
“Like she does about everything,” I mumble.
“Well, this time she has a reason. When we were first dating, I had a wreck.” He glances down to where his toes wiggle inside his woolly socks. “It was in a sports car … not as nice as the one in our driveway but similar. I took a curve too fast and hit a tree. The car was destroyed. I was in a coma for months.”
My breaths become shallow. I can’t risk inhaling too deep and missing even a word. This is something sacred, a part of their history they’ve kept from me.
“I know you wish I’d talk more about my mom and pop,” Dad continues, though the change of subject throws me.
“No, Dad. I get why you don’t like to.”
“It’s because of the wreck, Allie.”
I stare dumbly at him, trying to connect the dots. “They were in the car with you?” He never told me that's how they died …
The dress bag crunches as he crosses his ankles. “Well, no. It’s because of the wreck that I don’t remember them. If it wasn’t for your mom, I wouldn’t remember anything about my childhood. She put a photo journal together for me so I would know my parents’ faces, since they had passed away before I met her. I couldn’t remember that I have no sisters or brothers, or cousins or relatives who were interested in knowing me. I didn’t even remember meeting your mom. That’s how bad the damage was. Is. My life before I crashed that car, before your mom … it’s just gone. As if I never lived it.”
There’s a prick in my heart, like a thorn piercing me from the inside out. “Dad, I’m sorry.” The apology feels inadequate. Memories are such precious and priceless things. It’s always made me sad to think about Jeb losing his from Wonderland. But this is so much worse. “You never told me.”
“You already had a messed-up childhood. I wasn’t going to add anything to that. You needed at least one parent who had a semi-normal past. Right?”
I shrug, though I don’t know if I agree. Maybe if we’d both been honest all along, we could’ve helped each other.
“So, do you see now?” he asks. “Why she doesn’t want you driving that car? It’s too easy, when you have unharnessed power at your fingertips, to forget you’re not invincible. To make rash decisions that can affect your whole future.”
