We Were Giants

Chapter 27

"Can you come pick me up?" Isaiah says into the phone.

He's been crying. His voice sounds raw.

"Where are you?" I ask, grabbing my keys and making my way to my car. Before he can finish speaking, I'm speeding off to his house.

I can't get there fast enough. My brain is racing. Isaiah won't tell me what's wrong. The ten-minute drive from my house to his feels like it takes several hours. When I pull up to his driveway, Isaiah is sitting on his porch, two gym bags beside him. He's crying harder than I imagined he could. It's a silent cry and he heaves when he sees me. His skin is splotched and tear-stained. He looks awful.

"Isaiah?" I fly out of the car almost forgetting to put it in park. "Isaiah, what's wrong?"

He shakes his head but says nothing. When he finally catches his breath, he stands, grabs his bags and marches to my car.

"I have to get out of here," he throws his bags in my back seat and I drive him to my house.

I don't know how to comfort him; I don't know what's happening. I put my hand on his knee. I squeeze gently and rub my thumb over the fabric of his jeans. I want to give him what little strength I have, but I don't know how.

When we finally get to my house, Isaiah takes a breath and speaks in a broken, ragged voice.

"It's my mom," he looks so small, suddenly. "She found out about us."

I feel my heart sink. I knew we should have told her.

"How?" I ask, but I already know the answer. It's my fault. I should have never told Dan Schaeffer.

"Dan Schaeffer told my dad he'd met us," Isaiah sobs. "And Dad told Mom."

I feel embarrassed. I feel angry. I feel betrayed.

"Is your dad mad?" I don't know why I'm asking this.

"No," Isaiah shakes his head. "No. Dad was. I don't know. Dad was cool with it."

We're sitting in my car in the driveway of my house. I don't know what to do. Do we get out? Do we stay here?

"But Mom told me she had already talked to you about this," he wipes his face. His hands are shaking.

"And then she told me to pack my bags and leave."

I feel my stomach sink. She did what? She kicked Isaiah out?

"She can't do that," I say, angrily. I want to kill her.

"She can," Isaiah nods. "I'm 18. She took my car."

"It's okay," I say calmly. "You can stay with us."

When he's calmed down enough, I grab his bags and lead him inside.

"Isaiah, is that you?" Mom calls from the kitchen. When neither of us answers, she comes out to greet us.

"Just go up to my room," I tell Isaiah. "I'll be up to check on you in a little bit."

I set his bags down and walk with my mom back into the kitchen. When I tell her what happened, her hands shoot to her mouth in rage and shock. She looks the angriest I've seen her in a long time. She's grown very protective of Isaiah in the past few months.

"I can't believe that bitch," Mom says. It's only the second time I've heard her speak like this and it still shocks me. "She's awful, Cade."

For a while, Mom and I sit in silence.

"Of course, he can stay here as long as he needs," Mom says softly. "I mean, we'll have to lay down some new rules, but I wouldn't dream of turning him out. I just can't believe her."