Blame The Weeds (gxg)

22

Light streamed in through my still-open window. Even a warm breeze hit my cheeks as I sat against the wall. My heart was stitching itself back together after last night, but nowhere near fast enough.

I'd nodded off once or twice during the night but barely slept. So, as much as I needed to, I couldn't crawl into my empty bed. The Hoffmanns had long ago commissioned my help for the day they'd be gone for the supply convention. Way back when I thought—no, knew—I'd be able to fix Luke.

My back popped as I stood from the floor and headed for the shower. The voices were soft downstairs as everyone prepped for the big tournament. I let the water drown them out.

With damp hot skin, I combed my curls and stepped into a dress that'd died in the back of my closet. It was white and stiff, and fell to my knees. I had no remembrance of the dress. It wasn't tied to my childhood, nor was it connected to green eyes and soft freckles. Yet there I stood with gaunt cheeks and red eyes. My brown skin was sallow, and the popped veins at my temples were green. I displayed the consequence of the past few days.

My ankles buckled as I stepped downstairs, hair dripping. Gabrielle skittered around in an emerald sundress with two soccer balls under her arms. Dad scoured the living room landscape for a ballcap, cursing occasionally. Then Rue came through the front door, bearing a burst of sun. Her yellow jersey, black shorts, and cleats were pressed and clean, and her long braids were in one thick braid over her shoulder. She stopped when she saw me, dark brows pinning as she took in my state.

"Good luck," I spoke.

"You too," she said, sobering. "You know, with Luke."

"Yeah."

We stared at each other, both exhausted, neither prepared. Then I saw a glint around Rue's neck.

I reached without thinking, and she stepped back, a hand going to cover it.

"That's Luke's cross," I whispered.

"We're late!" Gabrielle shouted from somewhere upstairs. Dad grunted from the kitchen.

Rue paused. "He gave it to me this morning."

"Why?"

"I don't...He said he wanted me to have it."

I shook the panic from my shoulders and took a breath.

"I'm sorry," Rue whispered.

Before long, I saw my family off from the doorway. Gabrielle's car disappeared down the street.

So I went next door.

Frank was hovering in the doorway, waiting. He stood stiff in a too-small black suit, his oily red head gleaming in the morning sun.

"Good morning," he said. I ignored it. Ida honked from the driveway and Frank jolted. The woman had her long, pale fingers locked around the steering wheel, strangling it. She avoided my eyes with a tight jaw. Frank took my arm and pulled me inside the front door and away from Ida.

"She's still not...coping well." He squeezed my arm. "She doesn't mean to be cruel. You know that, right?" His grip tightened. "You push too hard sometimes, that's all."

Ida slammed a hand on the horn once more. Frank dropped my bruised arm. Then, clearing his throat, he cast his eyes back to his wife.

"This has tested us." His eyes clouded over as he watched Ida fiddle with the radio. "It could be days, weeks, months. Years, even. Suddenly you wake up and realize how bad things are. It's slow. One day you're a family eating dinner at the table, talking about work, school, life...and then, as if someone snapped their fingers, it all disappears."