The Good Neighbor: A psychological thriller with a shocking twist by Cathryn Grant

Author:Cathryn Grant [Grant, Cathryn]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Inkubator Books
Published: 2019-09-07T16:00:00+00:00

25

Luke

I remember that day like it happened last week.

When I was younger, what I mostly remembered from that day was my dad in the center of the entryway with a suitcase standing up beside each foot, the handles extended, ready to roll. To me, those suitcases looked like little kids he was taking with him. Maybe because I was crying and everything was a blur. I was fourteen and I felt like a fucking loser for crying, but I couldn’t stop. He looked at me like I was a loser. He looked like he felt sick to his stomach, and I wasn’t sure if he was embarrassed that I was such a loser or he just wanted to be out of there and not have to deal with my runny nose and eyes, not to mention the drama of my mom standing a few feet behind me, yelling and crying at the same time.

Those suitcases looked like the kids he wanted instead of me. It was stupid. Stirring up drama. I don’t even know why I thought that. There weren’t any other kids in our family. He didn’t have a kid with his girlfriend, so kids had nothing to do with it. I sure wasn’t a little kid, so it makes no sense, even now, why I had that impression.

Those were the things I remembered the first few years. The last year or so, what I remembered about that day was Ashling.

I’m not sure if that’s because remembering her makes me feel good and remembering my dad makes me feel like shit, even after all this time. It could be I’ve picked the memory I prefer. Or maybe because one memory of that day makes me feel like the same runny-nosed loser and the other makes me feel like I found my soul mate, and it was a no-brainer, not the search of a decade.

That day hadn’t improved when I arrived at school.

I was pissed that my mom made me go to school after what happened at our house that morning. I barely had time to blow my nose and scrub my face with a cold washcloth. All that accomplished was turning my skin redder.

Tears were pressing against the inside of my skull all the way to school. I couldn’t say goodbye to my mom when I got out of the car or the tears and more snot would ooze out. I could barely get my backpack on my shoulders, thinking everything might start running down my face. The only way I survived the morning was reminding myself how pissed I was at my mom for making me go to school. Being pissed moved the tears deeper so they didn’t shove against the backs of my eyes.

At lunch, I was sitting at a table in the back corner of the cafeteria. I faced the wall, the rest of the room behind me so they couldn’t see my misery while I tried to choke down whatever they were serving that day. Fish sticks, I think, and fries.

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