Page 78 of Shadow and Skulls

Carson and Cole both groan out loud. “I thought we were going to watch scary movies tonight.”

“Your sister doesn’t like scary movies, and you boys know it,” my mother speaks for me. “And now that she’s living alone, it’s definitely not a good idea.”

I stick my tongue out at them before hurrying inside. “Goodnight. I’ll see you all in the morning.”

As soon as I’m cuddled up on the single bed in the guest room that I share with the twins, I open my messages.

Tank: Is she okay?

He answered me. I knew he was reading my messages.

Me: Yes. Thanks to you.

Tank: It was nothing.

Me: It was everything.

Tank: How are you?

I rub my thumb over the screen. A thousand things run through my mind, and I want to share them all with him. My new house, the trip I’ll be making to Iowa next week, my fears …

Me: I’m fine.

Tank: Kelsie

Me: Okay, I’m not just fine. I’m scared, happy, sad, lonely, excited. In no particular order.

Tank: That’s a lot.

Me: That’s me.

Tank: You never would have guessed it by looking at you. Maybe you should show them what you’re feeling. No one can read your mind.

Me: You can.

Tank: No, little shadow. Not even I can read your mind. I may have been able to see you there in the dark, but only you know what you’re feeling.

I let the tears fall freely out the corner of my eyes. Isn’t it funny how the dark is the only place you can cry without restraint? Why is that? Maybe we’re afraid the light will somehow diminish our tears in some way. Or is it simply vanity?

Me: I hate that you are so honest with me.

Tank: Always.

We lie there together, neither of us wanting the conversation to end. My grandpa was right. I need to show my dad I’m healing, but I also need to show Tank, too. So, I end the conversation first. I know he’s with me, even when he’s not.

Faith.

Me: Goodnight, Tank.

Tank: Goodnight, Little Shadow.

A few minutes later, I hear the click of the door. I close my eyes, pretending to be asleep. My dad moves to the side of the bed, the blueberry scent of my mom’s perfume following him. She carefully plucks my phone from my hand.

They’re quiet for a moment as they read my messages.

“He’s stalking her,” my father whispers harshly.

I pinch my lips between my teeth. His comment does not need a response from me.Faith.

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