Just You by Rebecca Phillips

Author:Rebecca Phillips
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Tags: www.superiorz.org
Published: 2012-07-09T20:03:31+00:00

Chapter 12

Before I left to spend Christmas break at my father’s house, my mother presented me with a birthday card with a cartoon picture of a car on it, reminding me in a tangible way what my sweet sixteen gift was this year. And possibly my Christmas gift too, depending on the mechanic’s quote. But I was used to that. When your birthday is a week before Christmas, you get a lot of two-for-one presents.

This year, though, it didn’t bother me at all. Recently, my aunt Gina bought herself a brand new van for her bakery deliveries. She had planned on scrapping her old car, a bucket of bolts she called Stella, but my parents decided to buy it from her. For me. They arranged to split the cost on its much-needed tune-up, and as soon as Stella was road-worthy (and as soon as I passed driver’s ed), I would have my very own car, even if it was a lemon. Still, it was the best birthday present ever.

Well, maybe the second best.

Michael had plans to take me out to dinner on Saturday night, the celebration I looked forward to the most. But on Saturday morning, big, heavy flakes of snow started falling. By evening it had stopped, leaving behind a fluffy white blanket at least six inches high on every surface in the neighborhood. And because the unpredicted storm had taken the city by surprise, Dad and Lynn’s street still wasn’t plowed by seven o’clock and my father didn’t want me going out. Michael was allowed to come over if he didn’t mind testing out his winter tires, but we had to stay off the roads.

“Well, this throws a wrench in my plans,” Michael said when I let him in the front door. I reached up to kiss him, but he tilted his face so I got his cheek instead. Even though he’d been to my father’s house many times and felt welcome and at home here, he still tried to be extra respectful whenever Dad was around. He was so proper sometimes, it killed me. Of course my father loved him, treating him like the long-lost son he never had. It was kind of embarrassing.

“It’s okay,” I told Michael. I knelt on the floor to help Jamie stretch the tight elastic on his snow pants over the top of his boots. The instant he and Emma had finished dinner, they’d bolted for the closet to dig out the winter clothes. We could hear Leo in the kitchen, whining to go out. I handed Emma her mittens and frowned. “I hate winter.”

Dad emerged from the kitchen and asked Michael about the condition of the roads.

“They’re mostly clear now.”

“I still don’t want you out on them,” Dad told me, sinking into the recliner with his newspaper and bottle of beer.

I started to protest but quickly realized how pointless that would be. My father was permissive about a lot of things, but when it came to someone he cared about driving in bad weather, he refused to budge.

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