Secrets, Lies, and Summer Skies

Chapter Forty

Grayson didn't return to the hospital before my release.

Dad made excuses about his having to work and give statements to the police, but I couldn't help but feel that he was avoiding me. It didn't make sense for Dad to lie on his behalf when the men were barely on speaking terms, but I couldn't get over the idea that he didn't want to be with me anymore. Despite the hurt that caused, it wasn't like I could blame Grayson. Our relationship had been nothing but drama and turmoil. Two people couldn't live like that forever. It was probably easier for him to walk away before we became any more entangled.

Of course, I didn't tell Dad that I thought he was hiding anything from me.

Besides, it wasn't like we had much time to talk about it over the first couple of days.

When we arrived at the house, I was naturally apprehensive about taking the stairs to my bedroom. So much so that I insisted that I stayed on the couch for the first few nights. I wanted to be near the exits and as far from all the places where Mark had attacked me as possible. One small mercy was that there weren't any traces of blood in the hall. Dad had brought cleaners in after the police had done their work. Although I was morbidly curious about what the scene had looked like in the immediate aftermath of my fall, I was glad that I'd never be confronted with it the way Grayson had.

One other thing I noticed – or, rather, didn't – was my bracelet.

The last time I'd seen it, it'd been in Mark's grasp when he'd snagged it on the staircase. The jerking motion which caused my fall must also have led to my arm breaking. Sad though it was to realize, the bracelet was probably long gone. Either Mark had taken it with him, or it had broken off my wrist and someone had thrown it in the garbage. It might even have been taken by the police as evidence. Whatever its fate, it certainly wasn't in the house.

What was in the house in that first week were the tradesmen Dad had hired to complete the makeover of my bedroom. I hadn't asked him to do any such thing, but it seemed to keep his mind off what'd happened. Moreover, it stopped him from asking if I wanted to talk every five minutes. My old furniture was replaced, the carpet was ripped out, and the walls were painted. I called Jenny and drafted her in to pack up and protect my clothes and personal items from the room before Dad accidentally threw out something important. Thank God for her, otherwise, I'd have had nothing of my old life left by the time he was finished with the purge.

While no amount of decorating could take away the things I'd experienced in that room, I was reassured that I wouldn't be spending much more time in it. Once I was well enough, I'd be back at college and living on campus, and my room would gather dust just as it had the last time I'd been away.

I'd just about fooled myself into thinking Dad had forgotten our promise to talk when I was feeling better. That was until we'd finished with dinner a little over a week after I came home. We were in the lounge in front of a movie, open pizza boxes were strewn across the coffee table, and tubs of ice cream were in our hands. The vow I'd made to myself to take better care of my figure at the start of summer was long since forgotten in the face of white chocolate and marshmallow swirls, and I dug my spoon through the vanilla to chase a vein of the sugary goo which ran all the way to the bottom of the tub.

Gently, Dad cleared his throat and asked, "Are you sure you want to go back to college? I can still ask about a transfer."

I slowed in my excavation but didn't give up on the task. It was easier to stare at the ice cream than it was to make eye contact with him. "It's easier if I just carry on though, right?"

"And... you don't want to be in the house," Dad guessed.

I let the spoon rest in the tub and raised my head to look at him. "Can you blame me?"