Page 15 of All In Good Time
“Because Derek didn’t want anyone to know.”
“Have you talked to the sheriff about it?”
“Yes, and we are trying to figure out what to do, but right now, Derek isn’t safe out there on his own, and we need to bring him home. Then we can figure everything out.”
He sighed, shaking his head. “He shouldn’t have dragged you into his shit. If that asshole hadn’t left—”
“It isn’t his fault. He’s scared. You don’t know how scared he is of his dad. Don’t you dare blame him.”
“I’ll try, but you don’t deserve any of this.”
“Hedoesn’t deserve it either, Marty. He’s a kid too.”
He stayed silent, his hands wrapped tightly around the steering wheel. Sometimes it was easy for all of them to forget that they were all really just a bunch of kids at seventeen. None of them knew how to really live on their own. None of them knew life without school and leaders and parents and security. It was hard to admit to themselves that none of them knew what to make of the future.
They were all moving parts of some story, and the things of the past were a result of something none of them could change. Luckily, they could do something about it now.
“How far?” He pressed on the gas, pushing their speed ten above the limit.
Becca lifted her map, using the signs and markings to understand exactly where they were. “Exit in three miles. We’re almost there.”
7
November 1984 | Before
When Becca woke up the next morning, Derek wasn’t there. She didn’t realize it at first. She quietly opened her door and leaned slightly toward the guest room, trying to hear if he was awake.
When she heard nothing, she assumed he was still asleep, and went downstairs to throw together a quick breakfast for the two of them, including a pot of hot coffee and a glass of cold water with a couple of painkillers for the hangover he was sure to have.
The breakfast sat on the table in front of her, untouched, for nearly twenty minutes before she decided it was a good idea to go check on him. Surely, he wouldn’t mind being woken for some food.
There was no answer when she knocked on the door, nor any sound. After ten seconds, she pushed the door open to see an empty room, with no sign of anyone having been in there at all.
She might have assumed their interaction had been a figment of her imagination. The bed looked untouched, the pillows perfectly fluffed and placed back where they always were. Like before, the only thing validating the entire experience was the small piece of paper on the nightstand, which looked like it had been ripped right off the corner of an old receipt, with a single word on it:thanks.
That was the last time Derek acknowledged her that year.
* * *
Something shifted after the new year in January. Her mom was always busiest in the winter months, so even though she was stationed “nearby” in Indianapolis, Becca had only seen her briefly on Saturday before she had to head back to the hospital on Sunday morning. Aside from that it was only a collect call or two for company.
Becca was always the loneliest during the winter months. Especially the two-week break from school, when Marty was away half the time in some tropical land and she was at home, like always, alone.
God, she wished she had made more of an effort to make other friends. Especially now that Marty had broken up with his girlfriend. Even when he was here, he was out a lot of nights on dates that went nowhere, and Becca had no desire to play third wheel.
So winter walks became her thing. Bundled in her heavy coat, face covered in a scarf, and hood hiding all her dark hair, she would walk about two miles a day in the freezing cold, just because it was better than sitting in that warm home alone.
As usual, on this day, she’d walked through the neighborhood and turned the corner down Maple Street, only to run directly into someone coming toward her at high speed.
“Shit,” a soft voice said, as they both fell hard onto the sidewalk.
A very icy and unstable sidewalk, apparently, because as soon as Becca hit the ground, a sickening crunch sounded from under her. For a moment, she thought it might be her body, numbed by the cold, but when she realized she could move without any pain, she looked down to realize she had not fallen on the sidewalk at all, but a skateboard.
“Shit,” the voice said again.
Becca looked up from the board to see a young girl with black hair and dark olive skin eyeing the broken board with a frown on her face. Both stayed still on the ground, and Becca bit her lip as sheepish guilt welled in her.
Great. She’d broken a little girl’s skateboard.
