Page 78 of The Lookback

“All of it is because of what happened to you,” I say. “Think about it. Because of your past, you’re uniquely qualified to know exactly how hard this would be on a teenager.”

“But my parents knew nothing about the music industry, about contracts, or even about traveling more than twenty miles from home.” He sighs. “They didn’t get in over their heads, they basically chucked me into the ocean. Without a raft or a paddle or even a life preserver. That’s not what it would be like for Maren. We could guide her.”

“Or we could tell herno, because that’s not the kind of life she needs.”

“We know that because we had it and we walked away,” he says.

“Right, that’swhywe have to say no for her. She’s too naive to do it for herself.”

“When you were a kid, did you ever just stick a lemon wedge in your mouth?” He tilts his head. “Or kick an anthill just to see them come pouring out?”

I roll my eyes. “Just say what you want to say, Eddy. You’re not Abigail. Your analogies suck.”

He’s smiling. “Takes one to know one, Abby-wannabe.”

I kick his steel-toed boot. I know it won’t hurt him, but at least he can tell I’m mad. “Just say it.”

“For the record, I don’t want to be Abby. Steve maybe, but not Abby. I like my man-parts right where they are, thank you very much.”

I laugh.

“The thing is, I think that when you’re young, you can’t really learn some lessons by being told that it’s a bad idea. Sometimes you have to touch that stovetop for yourself.”

“But she’ll get burned.” A tear wells up in the corner of my eye. “I can’t let her. She’s been through too much already—don’t ask me to watch that, too.”

“What’s worse than her being burned?” Eddy looks a little sad.

I shrug.

“Being burned when we aren’t there to bandage her up.”

Ihatethat he might be right.

19

HELEN

When Abby was eight, she left my art kit out on the front porch, and the neighbor’s cat puked on it. The pencils, the eraser, and even the sheet paper, it was all ruined. Soaked clean through.

We had to just throw it all away.

The look on her face that morning, when she came to confess that she’d left it out. . . She looked just like she does right now.

“What?” I ask.

“Do you remember when you hated Steve and thought he was ruining my life?” Her eyes brighten up, and her whole face shifts. I hate how she can do that. Hide her guilt and beam in a believable way. If I didn’t know her so well, I’d think I had imagined the whole guilt part entirely.

“What did you do?” I narrow my eyes. “Don’t act all chipper and put a spin on it.”

“Mom called,” she says. “She does that an annoying amount lately, probably because she and Dad have discovered Face Time and now they want to see Nate, like, biweekly.”

I groan. “Mom?”

“I hadn’t told the kids they couldn’t say anything about the wedding, and Izzy?—”

I drop my face in my hands. “You must be kidding me,” I mumble into my palms. “Abbbbby!”

“She’s flying in tonight, and she’s really, really excited to come dress shopping with us.” She grimaces.

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