Page 61 of Lighting the Lamp
“When?” My throat tightens, already knowing where he’s going with this.
“When Dad died, it’s what Momma looked like when I told her what happened. She looked like the last light in the world had gone out and she didn’t know how to keep moving.”
I turn my face away, blinking fast.
“That’s how you’re looking now, like someone blew out the only candle you had left.”
“You don’t get to drop this bomb on her and then disappear, giving up just because she didn’t give you the answer you wanted,” he adds, voice tightening. “You don’t vanish when it’s inconvenient and you have other shit. That’s not love. That’s fear.”
My voice comes out rough. “But she’s shutting me out.”
“She’s scared, and you know why. So, remind her—over and over if you have to—that you’re not going anywhere. That you’re not just here for the soft days and the sunshine.”
“What if she doesn’t believe me?”
“Then you keep showing up until she does. You show up tired. You show up scared. You show up in the fucking rain if you have to, but no matter what, you show up.” Cooper looks me dead in the eye, like he’s willing me to stop running.
His words crack something open in me because I know why Alise is pulling away.
My phone buzzes in my pocket while I’m halfway through a slice of cold leftover pizza, and when I pull it out, I see Aunt Peggy’s name come across the screen. I know it’s not her, because Aunt Peggy never calls me, but Alise does.
“Hello?”
“Beau?” Her voice is small, like she’s already halfway to crying but trying not to let it crack.
“Yeah, I’m here,” I say, standing up so fast my chair screeches across the kitchen floor. “What’s wrong?”
“I’m at the community center. It’s a birthday party. I-I didn’t want to come, but Momma said I had to, and it’s so loud, and I-I can’t breathe?—”
Shit.
“Okay, it’s all right. I’m coming.”
“Please.” Her voice breaks on the word, and it guts me. “Please come get me. I don’t—I don’t know where to go.”
I’m already grabbing my hoodie and shouting something to Momma about taking my bike. I don’t even hear her response because it doesn’t matter. All that matters is getting to Alise as quickly as possible.
I don’t remember pedaling, just the wind clawing at my face and the pounding in my chest like a drumbeat. By the time I reach the community center, I’m out of breath, sweaty, and ready to rip the world apart if I have to.
My eyes scan the room for Alise. I take longer than I’d like, but I spot her tucked behind the equipment cart in the corner, like she’s trying to fold herself into the floor. She’s drawn herknees up to her chest, locked her arms tightly around them, and plastered her hands over her ears. Her whole body vibrates as if someone plugged her into an electrical outlet.
I don’t think; I just move on instinct, knowing the noise in the gym is unbearable to her. Where are her headphones? An array of noises fills the room: the other kids screech, music blares, and balloons pop like gunfire. One explodes just a few feet from Alise, and she jolts so hard she bangs her elbow on the metal cart, moments before a kid sprays whipped cream across the air and it splatters on her sleeve.
She freezes, and suddenly she’s not Alise anymore; she’s a statue. Her skin is pale, and her eyes are wide with a blank look in them. She’s gone somewhere deep inside herself, and no one even sees it, except me.
Aunt Peggy is hovering nearby, flustered, glancing between the mess of fallen cupcakes and the other parents pretending not to stare.
“Where are her headphones?” I ask, marching right up to her.
“What?”
“Her headphones. Where are they?”
“Someone took them. I stepped away for a second to get them, but I must have taken too long because she panicked.”
Jesus. I clench my jaw so hard my teeth ache. I don’t say what I want to. I don’t ask who the hell took them and beat them to a bloody pulp.
Aunt Peggy kneels down beside her. “Alise, honey, just breathe. Come on, baby, just breathe.”
