Deception So Dark by Clara Kensie

Author:Clara Kensie [Kensie, Clara]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Snowy Wings Publishing
Published: 2018-02-12T16:00:00+00:00

Instead of heading back home after visiting my mother, Tristan and I cut through the forest surrounding the APR to take a walk down Lilybrook’s quaint Main Street. Next to a wrought-iron bench was a wooden sign: Welcome to Lilybrook - A Friendly Place to Live. The February day was warmer than average and the sun shone, but I was frozen all the way to my core as we strolled under the leafless trees and past the bus stop and pharmacy. “All these weeks, I couldn’t bring myself to see my parents.” I took his arm and put it around my shoulders, the way I felt safest. “And once I did, my father broke my wrist and my mother told me to go away and never come back.”

“Your dad didn’t know what he was doing,” he replied, “and your mother didn’t mean what she said.” He kissed the top of my head.

“Yes, she did.” My father may not have been in his right mind when he broke my wrist, but my mother had been aware of every word she said. She blamed me for everything. She would never forgive me for telling our secrets to Tristan, or for living with the Connellys. My father had crushed my wrist in a fit of crazed panic. My mother had crushed my heart in a fit of whispered anguish.

“I’ll talk to Mr. Milbourne,” Tristan said. “He won’t put you on her do-not-allow list if I tell him not to. I’ll talk to the board of directors if I have to.”

“Don’t,” I said. “I’m not going to force her to see me if she doesn’t want to.”

I wasn’t sure about visiting my father again, either. The nurse said I was “disturbing” him. What did that mean? Was my mere presence in his cell this afternoon enough to disturb his peaceful sleep?

The whole time I lived here in Lilybrook, I’d avoided seeing my parents, telling myself I wasn’t ready. But now that I couldn’t see them, it hurt. My mother rejected me, and it hurt.

We passed the police station and post office and dance studio, then came to Hawthorne’s, the local diner popular for its blueberry pie. “You’re cold,” Tristan said. “Let’s get some hot chocolate for the walk home.”

Tristan was right this morning. I never should have gone to visit my mother. He warned me not to see her, he warned that she would hurt me. He knew it would happen, this morning at his house, and he didn’t even need a premonition. He just knew.

At the counter, he ordered two hot chocolates to go, looking back over his shoulder to make sure I was okay.

Taking care of me. Being the hero. Being my hero.

His winter coat stretched across his broad shoulders as he handed me one of the hot chocolates.

Even his hands were big and strong.

Outside, we left Main Street and headed back through the forest. The heat from my hot chocolate seeped through the foam cup. Tristan’s arm was around me. I was toasty now, warm to the core.

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