Poison Ink (22 page)

14

T
he house seemed dark and silent when Sammi arrived home. Its stillness made it seem empty, almost abandoned, as she walked up to the front steps. Sammi frowned. Her mother had to be home. If she had gone anywhere she would have called. Sammi had her new cell phone in her pocket, set to vibrate.

She must be sleeping.

A layer of ice seemed to have formed on her skin. Sammi’s insides felt brittle. Images swirled in her mind that she wished she could scour away forever. The photographs in Dante’s sanctuary were things she could never unremember. But even worse than those Polaroids—than those images—were the epiphanies she had experienced.

She’d give anything to forget what she knew.

A snippet of an old song—one of her father’s old favorites—came whispering through her mind.
Wish I didn’t know now what I didn’t know then.
Truer words had never been spoken.

Once inside, she slipped her keys into her pocket. The tire iron felt heavy in her backpack as she closed and locked the door behind her. Dim illumination came from the back of the house. They had always kept the light over the kitchen sink on overnight, just in case anyone wanted to come down for a glass of water.

Sammi set her pack down quietly on the throw rug in the foyer and slipped off her shoes and jacket. She didn’t turn on any more lights. A couple of windows had been left open a few inches in the living room, and she padded quietly over to the nearest and slid it closed and locked it.

“I guess it’s your turn, huh?”

She spun, heart fluttering, and saw her mother curled on the sofa with her head on a burgundy cushion.

“Mom! Jeez, you scared the hell out of me!”

Sammi pressed her good hand to her chest and felt her heart beating wildly, a caged bird struggling to be free. She steadied her breathing and stared at her mother, frowning with the realization that her mom had been lying on the sofa in the dark without even the television on, and wondering how long she had been there.

“What’s wrong, Mom? What do you mean, my turn?”

Her mother stared past her with glazed eyes. “What time is it, Samantha? After eleven, I think. You have school tomorrow. I expected you home two hours ago. Or did you just decide you don’t give a shit anymore what I want or expect from you? That your mother’s concern for you and the rules of this house weren’t important?”

She shook her head. “It isn’t like that. I told you I’d be late—”

“By ten, you said. And even then, I wanted to argue. I didn’t, because I’m trying to give you some freedom. You need that right now. I understand. But this is too much.”

Linda Holland sat up and pulled the cushion onto her lap, petting it like a lazy house cat. “Not that you’ll listen. Or care.”

Sammi stared. “Of course I care. I just…I screwed up tonight, okay? I lost track of time. I’m sorry. I am. But you’re making way more of this than—”

“Than what?” At last her mother looked at her, eyes narrowed. But her gaze held pain instead of anger, and Sammi wished she hadn’t looked up after all.

“You’re sixteen, Samantha. In two years, you’ll be gone, and I’ll be on my own. I’ve been trying to prepare myself for that. What I didn’t expect was that you’d leave sooner. College is almost two years away, but you’re already gone. Just like your father. You’ll do anything to avoid coming home, now. Just like him.”

She spat the last word with such venom that Sammi winced, gnawing at her lower lip.

“Wait a second,” Sammi said. “I come home late and you just assume the worst? I know things are pretty screwed up right now and you’re having a hard time, and I’m sorry I haven’t been around more, but I’m having a pretty shitty month, too, you know?”

She felt her composure cracking. “Never mind getting my ass kicked. I’ve lost a lot of things I thought I could count on. My best friends. This guy I thought might actually turn out not to be a total jerk. Not to mention my father—”

Her mother smiled without a trace of amusement. “You never had him, Sammi. Not really. Neither of us did. Counting on him was a mistake. The worst part is that the older I get, the more I realize that the only person you can ever count on is yourself. Your father’s gone. I love you more than anything, but I’m not just upset with you for the way you’ve been vanishing lately. That’s just helped me see the truth. You might as well already be gone. I’ve got to come to terms with the fact that I’m alone.”

“That’s not fair,” Sammi protested.

Her mother shrugged. “What is? We live our lives. That’s all we can do. Fairness is a myth, no different from Santa Claus or the Easter Bunny, but it’s the one we hold on to the longest, right up until reality spoils it all.”

Sammi tried to think of some way to explain why she’d kept her mother at such a distance the past couple of weeks. But just as her mother had been trying to hide the worst of her pain over her impending divorce, Sammi couldn’t add to the burden her mother was already carrying.

“It isn’t what you think, Mom. I’ve got a lot going on, that’s all.”

Linda stood. “Look, it’s just life. I’ve got to figure out what mine is going to be now. In some ways you’re doing me a favor, making me realize this sooner than if I’d waited for you to graduate high school.”

“Mom—”

“I’m going to get a glass of water. Go up and get to bed. You’ve got school tomorrow.”

Sammi felt a tightening inside her chest as she watched her mother turn her back. She didn’t think her mom had ever done that before, and it hurt more than she ever would have guessed. She tried to think of something to say—something that would not require her to discuss the impossible turns her life had taken—but came up with nothing.

Under the weight of her regret, Sammi left the living room, picked up her backpack, and went up the stairs to her bedroom.

She peeled off her clothes and pulled on a T-shirt. Retrieving her cell phone from the pocket of her jeans, she flipped it open and scanned the menu of her programmed numbers. Adam Levine’s home phone was still in there, listed as
Adam Levine.
She hadn’t changed it to
Cute Adam,
as she’d listed him before. She couldn’t bring herself to be that precious with him when he was so furious with her. When he hated her, which he surely must.

Maybe it was just a fantasy, but she thought she could have talked to Adam about all of this. Even if he hadn’t understood what she was going through with her parents, and even if he didn’t believe her about Dante, he had an openness that would have meant so much to her right then. She needed someone to talk to—someone to whom she could tell her plan.

But Sammi couldn’t think of anyone who wouldn’t think her crazy, and that was the last thing she needed right now.

With a sigh, she flicked her phone closed. Almost every day since she had first called him and discovered how the girls had destroyed any chance she had of having a relationship with the guy, she had sat and stared at his name programmed into her phone. Eventually she would call him again. Try to explain.

If she could just get him to listen long enough to tell him what Letty and the girls had done—how they had assaulted her, and that they’d stolen her cell phone and sent him those messages—perhaps they could start again. If she could just get him to believe her.

Sammi ran her thumb across the smooth shell of the phone. If she had his cell number, she could text him. That would be easier.

She frowned, realization making her feel absurd. Could it be that simple? With a shake of her head, she got up from the bed and went to her desk, took out a piece of paper, and started to write. Her mother knew the name of Adam’s mother. With that, and the number, getting the street address would be simple. She would write a letter.

Tomorrow she would drop it in the mail.

By the time Adam received the letter, all of this would be over, one way or the other.

Friday morning Sammi came awake with a massive intake of breath, as though she’d forgotten how to breathe during the night. Her eyes went wide and then threatened to close again as the lure of sleep tempted her. But the sun streamed through her windows, which were partly open to allow the breeze to swirl around her bedroom. Sammi blinked against the daylight, reaching up to rub grit from her eyes.

With the early-morning sunshine, the events of the previous night seemed distant and even more impossible than they had before. But she knew they were possible, after all. More than possible. In all the films she had ever seen and stories she had read, the sunrise was supposed to chase away the shadows and the darkness. But Sammi did not feel safer now. In truth, she felt more exposed and vulnerable than ever.

Her cell had been charging all night. She disconnected it and glanced at the clock on her bedside table. Too early to call Zak. But if she wanted to make the morning bus, she’d have to hurry. Her mother hadn’t bothered to wake her at the usual time, and Sammi tried not to read anything into that. Mom was just preoccupied these days, and understandably so.

When she had showered and dressed, she took the tire iron out of her backpack and hid it in her closet, underneath stacks of shoe boxes. The gloves went on the top shelf. Then she stuffed her books back into the bag, knowing of at least one homework assignment she hadn’t gotten around to last night, and went downstairs.

Hurrying to the bus stop, she called Zak. His ringback tone was “Phantom Limb” by the Shins. Sammi rolled her eyes. Their earlier stuff had been much better.

Zak answered, his voice a rasp. “Better be good, cousin.”

“‘Good’ is not a word I’d use.”

She could hear him grunting as he woke himself up more fully. “Sorry, Sammi. Just half asleep. I don’t have a class until noon. How’re you feeling?”

“Getting better. Wish I didn’t have school today, but that’s life.”

“How’s your mom?”

Sammi hesitated. Zak had been inquiring about her healing bones, but now he’d switched gears. The question about her mother wasn’t idle curiosity.

“You heard?”

“Well, yeah. Of course. My dad is your father’s big brother, Sam. Word gets around in families, y’know?”

“I know. It’s not good, actually, if you want to know the truth. I don’t know if it’s ever going to get better. It’s like a bomb went off, and we’re all dealing with the fallout.”

Zak sighed. “I’m really sorry, Sam. If there’s anything I can do—”

“You know, there actually is.”

“Name it,” Zak said. It sounded like he wanted a task, some kind of challenge.

Sammi wondered if he was eager to do her favors to make up for not being able to help her the night she’d been beaten. She could have told him right then that what had happened to her hadn’t been his fault. But if he felt guilty and that made him willing to help her, then absolving him of his guilt could wait a couple of days.

“What time does Rachael’s shop stay open until tonight?”

“I think she closes at nine, why?”

“Do you guys have plans?”

“I don’t think so. What’s going on, Sammi?”

Zak had so much concern in his voice that she almost told him, right there on the phone. He was her cousin, after all. They were family, and she ought to be trying to hang on to the parts of her family that weren’t falling apart. But she resisted the urge.

“Can you ask her if she’d be willing to meet me there at closing time? I really need help, from both of you.”

“You’ve got it, Sam. You know that. I’m sure Rachael feels the same way.”

Yeah,
Sammi thought.
’Cause she was there that night, too, and couldn’t stop the girls from kicking the shit out of me.
Nobody could have stopped them. But how to explain that?

“Now, are you going to tell me what’s going on?” Zak asked.

“Tonight.”

“Does this have to do with that tattoo those bitches wanted you to get?”

“Yeah. It does.”

“You’re not going through with it, are you? After what they did—”

“Zak,” she interrupted. “Please. Just…I’ll see you tonight, okay? And I’ll explain it all.”

By then she had arrived at the bus stop. She stood on the corner with Jimmy Paolini and Sara something, both freshmen. Most juniors wouldn’t be caught dead riding the bus, out of sheer embarrassment. Sammi had never cared, but today she wished she had never left the house. Hell, she wished she could stay there forever, hiding in her room with her guitar.

“All right,” Zak said, unsatisfied. “I’ll see you tonight.”

“Thanks. Later.”

Sammi flipped the phone shut and slipped it into her pocket. Sometimes she socialized with the two freshmen, but this morning she said nothing to them, and they seemed to sense in her mood that she wanted to be left alone. She caught Jimmy staring at her cast a few times, but that was better than the way he usually stared at her breasts.

All day, Sammi avoided the girls. In class she kept her head down, eyes front, pretending that they didn’t exist. At lunch she sat with Anna and laughed and smiled, as if this were just any other day. A few days earlier Marisol had come up to her in the hall and thanked her for trying to help Cori when Letty and the others were stomping on Las Reinas. If Sammi ever needed help with anything, she only had to tell Marisol and it would happen. A war simmered between the two factions, and so Sammi tried to avoid Las Reinas as well. She didn’t want to light the fuse that would set off an explosion of new violence.

After school she went home and searched for ways to distract herself. Her teachers had gone easy on her after her release from the hospital, but Sammi still had some work to catch up on, so she busied herself with that. When her eyes hurt and her fingers were cramped from holding a pen, she got up and stretched, then fumbled with her guitar for a little while, still trying to get a clean sound playing with the glass slide on her left index finger. The cast got in the way. She wondered how long after it came off it would take before she got the dexterity back in her fingers—how long before she could make real music again.

When her mother came home from the bank, they made dinner together, a Parmesan-crusted chicken breast dish with risotto on the side. After dinner she offered to clean up, but her mother smiled tiredly.