Page 102 of Wicked Sins

I dial mom’s cellphone number from the house phone.

Straight to voice mail.

My aunt lives in Illinois, a three-hour flight. She should have arrived already, should already be with her sister even if she hit traffic leaving the airport.

I don’t know my aunt’s number—I don’t even know if she still stays in the same apartment she did all those years ago.

Why would he lie?

Joah was right to ask, of course. It doesn’t make any sense…not unless Mr. Bale is hiding something. Like, maybe their relationship isn’t as rosy as it was before they sent us to Happy Mountain.

That’s it.

I straighten up in a rush, cursing under my breath when I slosh warm coffee over my hand. I absently grab a kitchen towel to mop up the mess.

They’re getting a divorce, aren’t they?

The thought solidifies, takes root. I replay every moment since the cab dropped us off. Now an unreadable glance between Mom and Wayne has deeper implications than just a look.

How long was it going on for? Or was Emma’s death the final straw?

I’m not surprised. Mom never could hold onto a guy, especially once they’d gotten what they wanted from her. That’s how men are.

When the show is over, they leave.

Theyalwaysfucking leave.

That’s why she was looking for me.

But I was drunk, depressed, and bleeding in the pool house. They probably had a fight while Joah and I were playing Truth and Dare.

My shoulders sag.

I don’t know what’s more pathetic—that I’m actually going to miss living in this beautiful house, or that this has been the best few months of my life. Even discounting Joah’s attitude problem, the boarding school, and Emma.

I dry my hands on the dishcloth and head upstairs.

Time to pack again.

* * *

There’s a faint,far off banging sound that keeps pestering me as I fold up clothes and pack them into my suitcase.

I try to ignore it, but it’s grating on my already tattered nerves.

I pause my packing and head over to my bedroom window. At first, I can’t make out anything that might be causing the noise.

Tires crunch over gravel. I stiffen for a moment, and hope to God that it’s Joah that’s home and not his father.

I don’t want to be alone with him in this big house.

I shake away the thought with a bemused smile. Sure, he was acting a bit weird last night, but that’s no reason to feel uncomfortable around him.

Except I do, and the feeling won’t go away no matter how much logic I throw at it. I hear someone coming up the stairs, and the footfalls don’t sound heavy enough to be Wayne’s.

What if Joah comes into my room?

I want to talk to him, sure, but at the same time, I don’t want to be alone with him any more than I do Mr. Bale.

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