Page 22 of Risking it All

“No,” she answered honestly. “But a good cry can help.”

I picked up the stuffed rabbit my younger brother Oliver gave me when I was in the hospital. He told me it was his favorite when he was younger and that he wanted me to have it to thinkof him while I was healing in the hospital. “I didn’t like having the panic attack.”

“I’ve had more than a few myself and I agree, they’re unpleasant, but you’ll be okay. To be honest, it gives me hope. It’s encouraging to see some of the emotion within you being released. It could be a sign that your mind is ready to start the healing process.”

I had no idea if that were true, but how exactly did one argue with their art therapist mother? I stroked the rabbit’s ears as I sorted through the twisting in my soul. “How mad were Gianna’s parents last night?”

“We didn’t call them.”

My head perked up. “What?”

“She’s asleep in the guest bedroom.” Mom gave her best stern look I knew not to question. “We decided to let last night slip, but we’re not going to allow this to become a habit. We’re here for you, Macie. Anytime. Any way you need us. If either you or your friends are in a dangerous situation, call us and we’ll be there, but as parents, there are lines. We can’t allow Gianna to think she can use you so she can get drunk.”

I nodded, understanding.

“Can I see your arm?” Mom asked, and I felt like throwing up. I extended it, and she held it as she examined the aftermath of last night’s hives. “How long have you been having hives?”

“Since I came home from the hospital.” When it was cold, I wore long sleeves to hide them. In the spring, I wore light sweaters, but now with it being summer, I was running out of ways to keep them a secret. I hadn’t had them in a few weeks, so I thought maybe I was safe, but oh how wrong I had been.

“You should have told us.”

“Why? So you can have one more thing to worry about with me?” I muttered. “Like you don’t have enough already.”

“You’re not a worry to us. We want to help.”

That was such a lie, but I didn’t feel like arguing. “Is Dad still mad?”

Mom’s head tilted in sympathy. “He’s not angry with you.”

“He seemed angry last night.”

Mom placed her hand over my ankle and that light touch made a tiny amount of my hurt dissolve. “You’re right, he is angry. But not with you. Your dad has a lot of emotions brewing inside him, too. While your dad feels a lot of things for you, I promise anger isn’t one of them.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“Knock, knock.” Dad pulled a white T-shirt over his head then ran a hand through his bedhead hair as he entered my room. “I believe I heard my name.”

“From your bedroom?” I countered.

“As soon as I heard your Mom speak, I’ve been hanging in the hallway.”

I guess eavesdropping was a genetically inherited trait.

It was comical to see Dad wearing the SpongeBob pajamas my brothers bought him for Christmas, especially given the tattoos on his body—remnants of his “bad boy” days. He rubbed the sleep from his eyes then gave me a careful once over. “How are you feeling, Mace?”

I gave a shrug because I didn’t honestly know. “Better. The same. Like crap.”

He bobbed his head as if those were acceptable answers, and he sat in the chair Mom had just abandoned. “Your Mom’s right. I’m not mad at you, and I’m sorry I yelled.”

I focused on the bunny’s ears again. “I’m sorry I yelled at you.”

“I’m actually relieved you yelled. It’s a hell of a lot better than your being quiet.”

Not sure how to respond, I stroked the bunny’s ears. Maybe Oliver was right. Maybe we did need a rabbit as a family pet. That would make my Aunt Abby extremely happy.

“How did it feel driving again?” Dad’s absolute hope and happiness caught my attention.

I had no idea what he was talking about until my slow mind eventually caught me up. Ah—I told him I drove Gianna home last night. “Um…good?”

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