“The point is,” he said, mocking me, but with real anger threaded through his tone, “is that Erin doesn't give a crap what people call her as long as she's doing whatever it means to be alive. Her definition of it, anyway.”
I shuddered, imagining what that might be. It was like rental-car syndrome, only worse. That limo for prom? No one cared what happened on the inside, because it wasn't like it was
“So forget about the reason you were sent back, or all the reasons you weren't—”
I flinched at the venom in that last word.
“—and just help me find Erin and Lily,” he said. “Then we'll worry about what to do next, and who has the right to do what.”
“All right,” I said finally. I could help — or try, at least. If only to spare the Turners another call to the hospital… or jail.
He nodded curtly and put the car back in drive without another word.
Well, at least there wasn't any more crying. Guess I'd fixed that.
She lied. She freaking
I focused on the road, all too aware of the silence between us. Even though I hadn't done anything wrong, I got the distinct sense that Alona was upset with me, which was rich. It was never her fault, always somebody else's. In this case, maybe the light was to blame because she hadn't received specific directions and had felt forced to make something up. Whatever.
I shook my head in disgust.
And yet, in spite of myself, I couldn't help imagining what it must have been like for her to find herself back here that first morning, without any information, any guidance on why or what to do next.
Anyone would have been terrified, wondering if they'd done something wrong or if there'd been a mistake or if this was some kind of punishment from on high. After all, who gets sent back from the light ever, let alone after almost a month?
And Alona, always with control issues, would have been even worse. She'd spent most of her living years trying to contain everything, to keep her life — her mother's condition and her father's complete lack of willingness to get involved — from imploding. Variables that were beyond her ability to influence ate at her, worried her until she'd done everything she could to manage them and create contingency plans. I knew this girl, probably better than she knew herself.
Still, that didn't make what she'd done right.
In fact, it made it sting more. She'd been lying to me, not just when she'd met up with me after graduation on her bench, but also when we were kissing outside the Gibley Mansion last month, and when she'd held my hand in the car yesterday. She'd been lying, if only by omission, that whole time. I didn't know what to do with that. She couldn't have found another time, an early point in our… whatever it was we had… to tell me the truth? Had she really not trusted me until today?
Don't get me wrong: I knew, logically speaking, that she'd had plenty of reasons not to trust me, and that it was a significant change for her to tell me a truth she found personally humiliating, even now, when she knew I'd probably be angry.
But I guess I just thought we were well past that point. And it hurt and made me feel a little off balance to learn I was wrong.
I pulled into the parking lot of Krekel's and found a space.
Alona cleared her throat. “So, what's the plan?” She was trying to sound normal.
“We'll take a look around, talk to some people.” I shrugged, avoiding her gaze. “See if they've seen her.” My fear was that even if Erin had actually come here, she was already long gone and no one would remember anything.
“I'll handle the looking, you take the talking,” Alona said with a nod.
“You think?” I muttered. Given that no one else could hear her, it was the only option that made any kind of sense. And no, it wasn't the most mature response ever. Sue me. I was still struggling with the bomb she'd just dropped on me.
She stiffened. “Hey, you know what? I said I'm sorry, and if that's not good enough—”
“Actually, you didn't,” I said, biting off the words.
She stopped, frowning, her head cocked to one side as if she were mentally replaying our earlier conversation. “No, I'm pretty sure I—”
I just looked at her.
“Oh.” She stared down at her hands for a long moment before glancing up at me. “Okay, well… I'm sorry,” she said defiantly, chin jutting out in challenge, daring me to… what, gloat? Like that was at all what I felt like doing in this situation.
“Fine, whatever. Let's just do this.” I reached for the door handle.
“It's not… I wouldn't do the same thing now, okay?” she said quietly. “I just—”
“Didn't trust me,” I said, my mouth tight.
“Didn't know you,” she corrected. “And now I do.” She met my gaze without flinching.
