Page 88 of Tell Me Something True

He nodded. Pushed in his chair. “Just have to run to the station,” he lied, keeping his excuse generic and not something any of them could easily discover with a few questions, a quick scan of The Mount Laurel Gazette or the online gossip site Helen McMurtry ran for shits and giggles.

“See you,” he said, then took off before they could question him further.

Before he had a complete and utter fucking breakdown in front of them.

By the time he got to his car, his breathing was short and shallow. He was hyper vigilant as he backed out of the driveway. Completely focused as he slowly drove one block, then another, and another, the windows down, the A.C. blasting, his upper body hunched over the wheel.

He should go home, but he wasn’t going to make it. It was too risky, driving in this condition. Too dangerous.

He took a right onto Fiske Road and made it the two blocks to the back parking lot of the high school. Pulled into a spot at the rear where he knew the school’s surveillance cameras didn’t reach.

Tipping his head back, he shut his eyes. Concentrated on pulling air into his lungs for the count of four. Held it for the count of four. Exhaled for the count of four. Held it for the count of four.

Again.

And again.

But it wasn’t the box breathing that eventually eased the tightness in his chest. It wasn’t the frigid air blasting out of the vents that had his overly heated body cooling. Wasn’t the stillness and silence around him that had his racing heart slowing.

It was Tabitha. The memory of her that night at his house guiding him into taking longer, deeper breaths. Holding his hands, her grip warm and steady and so fucking certain, as if she never doubted he’d get through it.

It was her voice that replaced the buzzing sound in his head. That drowned out all the doubts and fears. All the fucking terrifying worries.

I’m here. I’m not going anywhere. Whatever you need, I’m right here.

I’m here.

I’m here.

I’m here.

Her words that he clung to even though he knew they were a lie.

Chapter 17

Tabitha climbed the steps to the deck that ran along the width of the back of the house. It had been separated into two smaller areas with a railing in between. The half belonging to the apartment where Ian and his mom lived had a round table with a tan umbrella, and four chairs; a cozy lounger and wide chair with matching tan cushions, and a small, wrought iron table in between them; and two huge pots filled with a bright and cheerful mix of flowers in pinks and red.

Tabitha opened the ugly green fabric camping chair she’d picked up during one her trips to the hardware store earlier that day, sat down, and tried not to covet her neighbor’s deck furniture.

When that didn’t work and she coveted that lounger and those cheery flowers anyway, she stood, turned her chair to face away from all the things she couldn’t have, and sat down again. The yard was large and private with a tall white fence blocking the view of the house next door and dense woods surrounding the other two sides.

The deck and the yard were why she’d rented this apartment, sight unseen.

Except for one foster home where she’d stayed for a few months when she was thirteen, she’d never had a backyard.

But that hadn’t been hers. Just as the tiny bedroom on the first floor hadn’t been hers. The bed and dresser in it hadn’t been hers. The food in the fridge and pantry hadn’t been hers.

The family hadn’t been hers.

Which they’d proved when they sent her back because she’d hoarded food in the bottom drawer of the dresser, afraid it was going to be taken away from her for the slightest infraction.

After that, she’d spent the rest of her childhood in a group home.

But that was the past. Look at her now. She was educated. Employed. And, in a few years, after she’d scrimped and saved enough to pay off her student loans, after she’d then scrimped and saved some more, she was going to buy her own little house with her own backyard.

With a sigh, she slid down in her chair, which was in no way at all comfortable to begin with, the comfort level only dropping with each inch she sank. Still, she persevered. Knees bent at an awkward angle. Shoulders at her ears.

She’d wanted this deck, this backyard, and had bought this chair specifically so she could enjoy them. This was a victorious moment. Another goal achieved.

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