Page 54 of The One I Left Behind

I try her birthday but get a red light. I’m wondering how many chances I get before it locks me out. I have no idea what Clayton’s birthday is, so that’s not an option. There’s no chance, but I type in my birthday anyway, not surprised when it turns red.

“Fuck,” I say, loudly enough that she startles awake.

“Whatcha doing?” she asks.

“Trying to get into your house.” I bend down to her level, moving my hand to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. When I do, she flinches and draws back. That’s the second time she’s done that, and I do not like where my mind goes as to why she might react that way. “Gillian, do you remember your code to get in your house?”

“070509.”

“Really?” I ask, not sure if I can believe her, but I enter it anyway.

The light turns green. I rack my mind for the meaning of the numbers. It can’t be Clayton’s birthday because he was born in 2010, if my math is correct. Maybe they’re just random.

I lift Gillian and carry her in fireman style since she’s passed out again.

Her house is neatly decorated with minimal clutter. The pictures adorning the walls are of Clayton, or her and Clayton. Two with her younger half-siblings, Briar and Koa. Her couch looks comfy, with a television on the opposite wall. The space speaks Gillian.

I take her into the master bedroom, strip off her jean jacket and her boots, then open the covers and slide her under them before turning her on the side and tucking her back in.

Not wanting to lie on the bed, I strip down to my boxer briefs, grab the blanket from the end of her bed, and sit on the small chair in the corner of the room that barely fits me so I can watch her sleep.

Eventually, my eyes betray me, the day of completing my dad’s long chore list for the party getting the better of me. It’s when I’m dozing off that my memory triggers. 070509. Her key code is the day I left Willowbrook.

I awaken to the automatic lock of the front door sliding open. Gillian is still in bed, the blankets flung off, and her legs spread open. The dress rose through the night, offering me a glimpse of her white silk underwear. Fucking hell.

“Mom!” Clayton calls. “Laurel!”

Shit. I grab the blanket and cover Gillian, so she doesn’t have to be embarrassed.

“Gill.” I nudge her.

She mumbles something and rolls over.

I grab my pants, putting one leg in while whispering her name over and over. I’m trying to get dressed so fast, I lose my footing and land with a loud thud on the bedroom floor.

“Mom?” Clayton stands in the doorframe, staring at me. He’s definitely not pleased.

“Hey, Clayton,” I say from the floor with one leg in my pants and the other one out.

“What are you doing here?” He scans me, probably to make sure his eyes aren’t deceiving him. “Mom!”

Gillian jolts awake, looks at him, and bolts up in the bed. “Clay!” She lifts the blankets to cover herself, then peeks down to see how she’s dressed. There’s a look of relief on her face.

“What’s this?” Clayton asks, motioning to me.

Gillian looks at me, her forehead scrunching. I slide my leg into my jeans and stand. Gillian’s eyebrows rise as if she’s reminding me I’m still shirtless. I grab my shirt off the floor and toss it over my head.

“Um…” Her cheeks are so red, you’d think she just ran through the desert.

“I gave your mom a ride last night.”

Clayton’s expression transforms from anger to disgust. “Gross.”

“I meant a ride home. I gave her a ride home.”

Gillian bites her lip.

“Where’s Laurel? Her truck is outside,” Clayton says.

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