Page 113 of The Love of My Next Life
I make my way to the front desk and tell them I don’t have the hotel key, and I need to use the phone because mine is dead.
“You okay, honey?” the receptionist asks softly. “Do you need me to take you somewhere?”
My heart aches at her kindness. I can only imagine the stuff she’s seen, especially on the morning after something like prom. Alone, still in my prom dress, with a dead phone and in need of a ride? I shudder and force a smile.
“No, but thank you,” I tell her honestly. “I’m okay. Really.”
I dial Macon’s number on the hotel phone, and it goes to the automated message. I chew on my lip, then dial Claire. She doesn’t answer either. I consider calling my dad, but decide instead to punch in Sam’s number, surprising myself that I even know it from memory.
“It’s like eight in the morning on a Sunday,” she grumbles into the phone by way of greeting. I chuckle, just grateful she answered at all, then I cut to the chase.
“Can you come and get me? I need a ride.”
Sam picks me up and takes me through the drive-thru for coffee and a muffin. She doesn’t ask me what happened, but somehow, I know she’d listen if I wanted to tell her.
I don’t.
I’m still not sure if I should be angry, worried, or totally humiliated.
He’ll lose interest once you spread your legs.
Her words from months ago echo in my ears, but I push them away. Not now. Not yet. I just need to be naïve a little longer. Sam turns on the radio and we make the rest of the drive in comfortable silence.
She pulls up to the curb of my house and idles.
“Let me know if you need anything, okay?” she says, and I nod.
“Thanks. I’ll see you tomorrow.” I climb out and walk slowly toward our front door.
Both Claire and Macon’s cars are in the drive, and my stomach tightens with nerves. Claire took the limo. Macon could have ridden with a friend. Their cars in the drive don’t mean anything.
I open the door and step inside, then freeze. It smells like coffee, which means Dad is at least awake. Andrea, too. I turn and try to tiptoe to the stairs, but my dad’s deep voice stops me.
“Come in here, Lennon,” he says slowly.
He sounds strange. Emotionless. It frays my nerves to ribbons. Emotionless from Dad is bad news. I take a deep breath, plaster on a fake smile, and walk toward the kitchen.
Dad and Andrea are standing at the kitchen island when I round the corner.
“Hey, guys,” I say with forced brightness. “Good mor—”
I stop short when my eyes fall on my luggage. I stare at it. My pink hard-shell carry-on and my matching checked bag are sitting in the middle of the kitchen floor. Slowly, I look from the suitcases to my dad and Andrea.
“What’s this?” I ask quietly. Andrea glances at my dad, her forehead scrunched, and her lips turned down. “Dad?” I say louder. “What’s this?”
“Lennon,” my dad says, “you’re going to go stay with your aunt Becca.”
I cock my head to the side.
“After graduation,” I say. “I have weeks, yet.”
“You’re going to stay with your aunt Beccanow.”
“What? Why?” I stare between Andrea and my dad, but neither of them answers me.
“Why?” I ask again. Andrea closes her eyes. My dad doesn’t take his off me, but he still doesn’t answer. My nostrils flare.
“Why?” I shout, and pound my fist down onto the table, making Andrea jump.
