Need You Now (28 page)

“Well, I'm going to make sure Skylar lets you know the next time we have it. You're welcome anytime.”

“Thank you, Jack.”

As they ate, she and Skylar talked with Jack for a while. He enjoyed watching sports, and even though Grace didn't understand most of what he was talking about, she liked listening to him. He seemed happy to have company, and Grace couldn't help but like him.

“Where's your room?” Grace asked as she helped Skylar take their dishes to the kitchen.

“Just down the hall.”

Grace followed her around a corner, down a small hallway. They turned into a room on the left, and Grace swallowed hard. It was almost like a giant closet with a small twin bed, a nightstand, and clothes hanging on a rack by the door. All dark-colored clothes. It should have been the most depressing room on the planet, but like the rest of the house, there was something welcoming about it.
Maybe it's the smell of that amazing liver and onions
.

Bear strolled in, jumped on the bed, and rested his head between his front paws.

“Bear . . .” Skylar pointed her finger at him and shook her head. “Not your bed.”

The dog didn't move, but Grace could tell that Skylar hadn't expected him to. They sat down on each side of him, and Grace glanced around at the framed pictures on the walls, mostly of Skylar and her father. A couple of them were taken long ago and had a little girl in them—probably Skylar—with her mother. Skylar looked completely different in all the shots, wearing bright colors, her hair a dark blond. She was much younger in most of the photos, except for one of her and her father that was taken recently, and Skylar looked to be holding an award of some sort.

“So what kind of work does your dad do?” Grace turned to face Skylar as she petted Bear.

“He's an electrician. When he's able to work, he subcontracts for Tony Belton's company.” Skylar leaned down and tied the laces on one of her army boots. “I'm going to get out of this town, get a degree, and then get a good job. First thing I'll do is get Dad a better house and make sure he has enough money for his medications. Sometimes I know he's gone without . . .” Skylar sat up again. “For me.”

Grace thought for a moment. “Doesn't he have insurance?”

Skylar shook her head as she tucked one leg beneath her on the bed. “He gets some assistance . . . you know . . . from the government.”

Grace didn't know, so she asked the one burning question in her mind. “Did you start cutting because of your dad's problems?”

Grace hated to bring up the subject, but she couldn't help but wonder if Skylar had felt some of the same things Grace did.

“No, I
stopped
cutting because of his problems.” Skylar tucked her hair behind her ears. “He never knew anything about it. It started a couple of years ago. I didn't really have any friends, didn't fit in, and . . . I just tried it one day.” She paused, then rolled up her black, long-sleeved shirt, and Grace gasped as she eyed the deep scars, much worse than Grace's. “But as good as it felt at the time, I knew it was out of control. It was getting harder and harder for Dad to get around, and if anything had happened to me . . .” She rolled her sleeve back down. “I just stopped one day.”

Skylar ran her hand down Bear's back, and they were quiet for a few moments.

Grace wondered when she'd started to feel like her life was out of control. “I hope my dad can talk my mom out of making me go to that appointment with the shrink on Tuesday.” She reached over and rubbed Bear's head.

Skylar leaned back against the pillow on her bed. “If I could have, I think I would have talked to someone. Maybe I would have been able to quit sooner. But . . .” Skylar sighed. “We didn't have the money for something like that and—” She frowned, locking eyes with Grace. “I'm not saying that to make you feel sorry for me or anything. I'm just saying . . .” She shrugged. “I think you should talk to the shrink.”

Grace cringed. “I just can't. I don't understand it, so how can I explain it to someone else? And it would be weird to have someone all in my head. Not to mention embarrassing.”

“That's why you should go, since you don't understand it. I never really understood it either.”

“But you stopped on your own.”

Skylar shrugged again. “Yeah. But I would have talked to someone if I could have. Instead, I read everything I could about it.” She was quiet for a few moments. “You know, I think it's probably how an alcoholic feels, or a drug addict needing a fix. The cutting was a release. I think it gave me some sort of control over my own body when I couldn't control anything else in my life. It was like a high, but with highs . . . you always come down.”

“See? I don't need a shrink. I have you.” Grace smiled and silently said a prayer that she wouldn't have to go to the psychiatrist or psychologist—or whoever it was—on Tuesday.

When Skylar didn't say anything, Grace stood up and walked the few steps across the room to look closely at all the pictures on the wall. She'd realized what it was about Skylar, her father, and this place that she liked. The pictures, the smells, the kindness in her father's voice. Even Skylar seemed warmer in this space. It was a home, filled with love, just like what Grace had.
Just goes to show that it's not the size of the house. Just what's in it
.

“You'll figure it out,” Skylar said. “But I don't have the answers.”

Grace wasn't sure anything would work for her, although she was proud she hadn't cut in a long time. “I think I've stopped anyway.” She lifted one shoulder, dropped it slowly. “I haven't done it in weeks.”

Skylar didn't say anything.

“I guess I should take you to get your truck at my house.” Grace stood up and Skylar did too. But instead of moving toward the door, Skylar unzipped her black pants and slowly pulled them down to her knees. Standing in her underwear, she looked at Grace as tears formed in the corners of her eyes.

Grace gazed upon the deep scars that ran down Skylar's legs, and Grace was sure she would never cut herself as badly as Skylar had. She'd never do that.
Never
. Her heart was beating out of her chest. She looked up at Skylar as a tear rolled down Skylar's cheek.

“Go see the counselor, Grace. Don't wait as long as I did.” She started to cry. “What guy is ever going to want to be with me like this?” She pulled her pants back up as the tears fell.

Grace wrapped her arms around Skylar and held her tight. “Someone will love you for the person you are, Skylar, and you're a beautiful person.”

Skylar eased away, dabbing at the black makeup smearing under her eyes. “Promise me you'll go to that appointment.”

Grace looked at her pink tennis shoes and shook her head. “I can't. I can't talk about it.”

Skylar reached for Grace's hand, then squeezed as she closed her eyes and lowered her head.

“Dear Lord, please give Grace the strength and courage to face her fears, knowing that You are by her side all the time. She needs You, Lord.”

Grace started to cry so hard, she couldn't stop. She'd been praying, but hearing Skylar doing it on her behalf touched her beyond words.

Maybe there was hope for her after all.

Chapter Fourteen

Darlene sat at the far end of the couch from Brad, thumbing through a magazine while her husband channel surfed. With every click of the remote, she wanted to yank it from his hand. She glanced at the clock on the wall. Ten minutes until ten. Chad and Ansley had been upstairs for about thirty minutes, and now she just needed her third child to come walking through the door safe and sound.

An invisible shield of anger divided her and Brad, tension so tight Darlene wished he would just go to bed. Logic told her that fear for Grace had fueled their argument at the restaurant, but Brad's blaming her only added to her own guilt. Maybe if she hadn't been working, spent more time with Grace—maybe it wouldn't have happened. She wanted to broach the subject again with Brad, but she was too tired. And worried about Grace.

Five minutes later, the front door opened. Darlene tried not to let the worry in her heart show on her face. “Hey. How was Skylar?”

“Fine.” Grace walked toward the stairs. “I'm going to bed.”

Darlene glanced at Brad, wondering if he was thinking what she was. Darlene worried now every time Grace went upstairs to her room. She was about four steps up the stairs when she turned around.

“Oh, Dad . . . I know we talked earlier, but I just want you both to know that I'm okay about going to that appointment Tuesday.”

Darlene looked at Brad, then back at Grace. Brad spoke up before Darlene had a chance to.

“I think that's great, honey. What made you change your mind?” Brad pressed the Pause button on the remote.

Grace shrugged. “I don't know. I'm just okay with it now.” She turned and went upstairs.

“Well, you got what you wanted,” Brad said after they heard Grace's bedroom door close.

Darlene didn't say anything. She didn't have the energy for another argument that Brad was clearly provoking, and the most important thing was that Grace was open to visiting with the psychologist.

“I'm gonna go get a shower.” Brad put the TV remote down and left the room.

Darlene picked up the remote control and searched for anything that might take her mind off the pain she felt in her heart.

Brad stayed in the shower longer than usual, hoping the warm water would ease the tension in his neck and shoulders. He hated when he and Darlene fought. It didn't happen often, but when it did, most arguments were about the kids. This time Darlene had hit a nerve. She was right when she said Brad didn't want anyone to know about Grace. Partly he was protecting Grace from the ridicule she'd surely get from her classmates. But he also had to admit, her actions made him feel like he'd failed her somehow.

He couldn't understand why anyone would inflict pain on themselves unless there was something seriously wrong with them mentally, and that thought terrified him. He was hoping this would just go away on its own.

He knew in his heart that Darlene was right to insist that Grace see a professional, but Brad could still recall his visits to see a counselor when he was eleven. Dr. Mathis. A plump woman with silver hair and red reading glasses. He'd gone because he'd had bad dreams—actually, terrible nightmares that used to make him run into his parents' room.

But all he could remember was feeling like he was crazy because he had to go to a counselor. And that Dr. Mathis tried to put notions into his head that simply weren't true. She'd insinuated that his family life was a wreck. Not true. Tried to convince him he'd been bullied at school. Again, not true. And the list went on. It seemed to Brad that she needed to justify her fee by finding a cure for his sleep disorder. She never did. And for a long time, his mind had reeled with all the possibilities about what might be wrong with him. One day the nightmares just went away on their own.

He knew Grace's situation wasn't the same, but he could still remember Dr. Mathis and how much he dreaded those visits. He just wasn't a big fan of psychologists, and he didn't want to put Grace through that.

As he turned off the water, Darlene walked into the bathroom and began her ritual. He resented the fact that she'd said he didn't want Grace to see a psychologist because it would embarrass him. Did she think he was that shallow, that concerned with what people thought? Maybe he was.

He stepped out of the shower, dried off. Darlene didn't look up. He thought about the ways they used to make up, years ago. Things seemed simpler then. Tonight he doubted there would be a make-up session. And that was okay. He was tired. And tomorrow was church.