Page 23 of Secondhand Smoke

“Yeah.” Merc patted his shoulder. “We usually eat around six-thirty. We’re having pasta tonight.”

Pasta…and baby confessions. How appetizing.

Five

Sam took a bracing sip of Earl Grey and set her mug down carefully on the kitchen table. Beside her, her mother picked at imaginary dirt beneath her fingernails, trembling with anger and emotion, wan with something akin to despair. Across from them, Erin toyed with the frayed hem of her sweatshirt sleeve, refusing to make eye contact.

With her eye makeup scrubbed off, Erin looked even younger than her sixteen years, vulnerable and incredibly naïve. Sam wanted to gather her into her arms, tuck her sleek head beneath her chin and hold her tight, as she’d done when Erin was a baby.

Instead, she said, “Do you understand that what you did this morning was wrong?”

Erin huffed out a breath. “I’m not stupid.”

“And yet you snuck out your window before dawn.”

She shrugged.

Their mother laid a hand on Sam’s forearm. “You aren’t usually so blunt,” she whispered.

“You’re right,” Sam agreed. “I’m not. But I’m also not convinced hoping, praying, and sweet-talking is going to get us anywhere.” The day’s panic and frustration boiled to new life inside her, leaving her chest tight, her breathing rapid. “I’ve tried, Erin,” she said. “I’ve tried to be kind, and tried to make up for Dad not being here, and tried to tell myself this was some sort of phase you need to get through. But I think I’ve been too relaxed.”

“Relaxed?” Erin scoffed, finally lifting her head, shooting a glare across the table. “You’re never anywhere close to relaxed.”

“No, not personally. You’re right. I go to bed at night with a knot in my stomach and wake up from nightmares every morning.” She wasn’t going to mince her way through this argument. She was done with that; this morning had been the last terrifying straw. “You think hiking into town was rough? Did you think at all about the way thingscouldhave turned out? What if Jesse and his friends had hit you, thrown you down, ripped your clothes off–”

“Sam!” Mom gasped. “Don’t talk like that.”

Erin’s eyes goggled.

“No, I have to talk like this, or she won’t learn. Erin, you’re lucky you weren’t raped today. Gang-raped. Killed! Don’t you understand that? I’m not trying to wreck your fun. I’m trying to keep you from getting pregnant, from getting hooked on drugs, from getting expelled from school. I’m trying to protect you, damn it.”

“Sam, that’s enough,” Mom said.

Erin blinked, and lifted a sleeve to her face…to dab at the building tears.

Sam pushed out of her chair and crossed the kitchen in three long strides. Out the back door, shutting it firmly behind her. She needed some air. Heaping bucketfuls of air.

Evening crept in with stealthy cool strides; it skirted across her ankles and reminded her that she was barefoot. She’d changed from her work clothes into cropped jeans and a soft t-shirt, one she wished was long-sleeved as she hugged her torso and turned the corner of the house, stepping into the direct draft of the breeze.

A motorcycle sat at the end of the driveway. Aidan swung off of it, removed his helmet, lifted his head toward her. She felt the touch of his eyes across the distance, and didn’t care what he was doing here, or how long he would stay, only that the sight of him made it a little easier to breathe.

“Your sister okay?” he asked as she reached him.

“Apparently I was being too hard on her with the whole lecture thing, but otherwise, yeah. She’s fine. Learning nothing from her mistakes as usual.”

“Hmm.” He studied her a moment, helmet in his hands, expression hard to read. “You usually save that kinda attitude for me. Youmustabeen harsh.”

She sighed…but grinned a little. “I was just born to be a party pooper, I guess. And there’s no bigger sin than ruining everybody’s good time.”

“I want to disagree with you.”

“Want to?”

“But I can’t. Sorry. You’re a total sinner.”

They both laughed at the same time, and it released a tension valve inside her, lightened her insides, brightened her heart. He had a good laugh: deep, rich, smoky on the edges. A man’s laugh, and not a boy’s dorky honking.

Careful, her conscience warned.Don’t let yourself go to that place again, that stupid hopeless wanting.

---