Page 69 of Risking it All

“A scar?” Relic rapid-fire asked. “A birthmark? A mole? A freckle? A tattoo?”

I threw my hands out in a yes then sank to the ground. Sweat poured off my scalp, down my face, and I was going to look like a nightmare in therapy today. Strong hands on my biceps as Relic stood behind me, and he half encouraged, half hauled me off the pavement and practically carried me to the passenger seat of the car. Once he safely tucked me in, he eased into the driver’s side,started the car, turned the AC on high, and pointed every vent in my direction.

I glanced over at him, half expecting him to be looking at me like he hated me, but instead, he had this expression of jubilation that I couldn’t understand. “Why do you look so happy?”

“Because you are absolutely incredible.”

Maybe Relic had developed heat stroke on his walk here. “Are you okay?”

“I’m walking on air.” Relic placed the car in Drive and began our trip toward therapy.

“And why is that?”

“Because you brilliantly narrowed our list.”

***

My yearbook lay unopened on my desk, and despite my attempts to ignore it, I couldn’t shake the feeling that a monster might leap out and devour me if I looked away. Problem was, if I did cross the room and open it, an even bigger monster called “Panic Attack” would devour me whole. Emotionally, I couldn’t handle that. Not tonight.

Since it was a weekday, the amusement park closed at seven, I wrapped up work at eight, and Relic dropped me off in the neighborhood at eight-thirty. Because his older sister had work tonight, he couldn’t stay to chat, so I cruised into the house at eight-thirty-five. Since then, I had eaten the dinner Mom had left for me in the oven as Mom and Dad sat with me at the table and asked me their two million questions about work. I then took a shower, and now in my pajamas, I sat on the bed with a sketch pad and pencil and stared at the blank page. Well, when I wasn’t staring at the yearbook.

Relic told me not to worry about the yearbook, at least not tonight. He also told me to take the night off from thinking about the carjacking, but what he didn’t understand was that I always thought of the carjacking. Being shot, being left for dead…it all lived and breathed in me like a parasite. My heartbeat—the feel of the car bumping into mine. I breathed in—me exiting my car. I breathed out—them coming near me, attacking me, and me attacking back. I blinked—the boom of the gun being shot and the pain of the bullet ripping into me.

Because of that, I stared at the blank sheet of paper and, in my mind, saw the tattoo upon the page. If only I could draw it. Drawing, though, was not one of the many talents my mother had passed down to me. Still, if I could only draw some part of the tattoo. Wouldn’t that open up the entire world for me?

I needed my mom. I needed her to see into my mind and drag out this picture. Because I was exhausted from living like this, exhausted from reliving this damn nightmare day in and day out. I longed for peace.

Screw it. I grabbed the sketchpad and pencil, stalked out of my room, went down the stairs, and found my parents sitting at the kitchen table, leaning toward one another as if sharing an intimate secret. They had been quietly talking to one another, their voices light, Mom’s quiet laughter music to my ears, and Dad had a relaxed smile on his face as he looked at my mom. In front of Mom was a finished cup of tea, and it looked like she had made one for Dad as well, but his had gone untouched.

They glanced up when I entered, and I shrank at the lighthearted and happy expression on their faces. Good gravy, why did I have to always be the one who made them miserable?

“Hey, Mace,” Dad said. “What’s going on?”

Abort mission. Abort mission. But as I began my about face, Mom said, “Is that a sketchpad in your hands? Is my daughter actually drawing?”

My heart hurt with the anxiety-ridden beat. I practically strangled the sketchpad as I sat in the seat the furthest from my parents. “I have two things I want to tell you and they are both equally awful.”

Their faces fell, and I scrambled. “I mean, one isn’t bad. I’m terrified of your reaction, but it’s not bad. I think it’s great, but your reaction could make it awful. Actually, there are a few parts to it you’ll probably both be mad at, and I get it, but overall, for me, it’s a great thing and—”

“Macie,” Mom gently cut me off. “You’re okay. Your dad and I love you very much, and this is a safe space for you to talk.”

Yeah, well, that was easy for Mom to say as she was the therapist who could handle all of this, but Dad on the other hand? I went from staring at her, to glancing at Dad. Tracking the motion, Mom placed her hand over Dad’s and squeezed. “Right, Noah?”

“Right,” he parroted because it was easy to be all open-minded before actually knowing what I had to say. “Anything you need at any time, we’re here for you.”

Well, yeah…hopefully that would be true… So, here it went.

“There’s a boy and we’re seeing each other.” Did agreeing that we’d drive hundreds of miles to see each other equate to boyfriend?

Mom’s lips lifted in happiness because she was probably exhausted from keeping this from Dad. My father, on the other hand, appeared stunned.

“As long as you’re happy, we’re happy for you, baby girl.” Mom rocked her hand that was holding Dad’s. “Aren’t we?”

“Seeing? As in a boyfriend?” Dad didn’t ask this as a question. More like he stated it like some kind of reprimand, and the pencil in my hand audibly snapped. “You’ve been seeing him without telling us?”

Technically, I told Mom, but I had no intentions of ratting Mom out, yet she said, “Macie told me. The relationship was unfolding slowly, and she didn’t want to rush it by forcing him to meet us. You have to admit, doing so creates expectations and a pressure.”

Dad glared at her, and a pit formed in my stomach. Mom didn’t flinch, but she did turn her gaze to me. “Macie, go to your room and give me and your dad a chance to chat.”

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